Books Of The Dark Arts

Please call me Eren :) he/him “Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway” All of this is also on my Wattpad @thepheonixwrites

[plscallmeeren]

T H E G A M E

Hannah Abbott x Reader

Request: yep short one

Summary: as a quidditch player, you're not new to girls fawning over you... much to Hannah's dismay

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1.5K+

Hannah leaned back in her seat as best as she could, taking a sip of the butter beer Ginny had smuggled in for her. The rows around her were lined with red and gold, not to mention Luna Lovegood's roaring lion hat. From where she sat, her gaze fell directly to a mass of green and silver diligently singing anti-Gryffindor songs.

"Who do you think will win? Honestly?" her friend Riley asked for the second time, obviously hoping someone would agree with her that Slytherin had a better chance without being disloyal.

"Gryffindor. Honestly," Hannah obliged, grinning. You were on the team, after all, possibly the best chaser at the school. Certainly the most charming. Although she had been making a fool of herself for years. Tripping on the stairs just as you happened to look her way. Unable to meet your eyes and stuttering consistently when you asked her something school-related. Starting conversations and then cutting them off mid-way. Her ears warmed just thinking about it.

"Fine," Riley gave in, slumping into the seat next to her. "If you insist on being deluded." She righted her Gryffindor scarf.

There was some indefinite shouting starting near the entrance, and soon the teams had trekked their way to the centre of the stadium. The perfect excuse for Hannah to stare at you, clad in your Quidditch robes. Hard jaw, tousled hair, she knew the hands hidden beneath those gloves-

"He's hot," Riley added deftly, gesturing at you.

"Who, (y/l/n)?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'd let him ride me, if you know what I mean." She smiled stupidly. Hannah wanted to hit her for a moment, then decided she didn't. "Good a-"

"He's alright," she interrupted sharply. Her friend shrugged, as if to say 'denial, again'. "I mean..." she searched the team desperately, "Potter's not bad, huh? Good... hair?"

"Sure," Riley mumbled, but had already turned away and was talking to someone behind her that Hannah didn't know. Probably from a year above theirs. Didn't you spend a lot of time with that year? She spun around and tried to invade the conversation, but they were neck-deep in Quidditch trivia. Riley listed her fourth and fifth favourite Irish beaters from the 40s. Hannah turned back to staring at you, somewhat dejectedly.

"AND... GO!"

Someone behind her wolf-whistled and two minutes into the game a huddle of Gryffindors in Ginny's year made a bet about who could get you into bed first. Oh, no.

•••

Your feet hit the grass with welcome force and you stumbled forward, lifting Harry with the rest of the team. You had been well in front already, but your captain never failed you and you had won by nearly four hundred points.

"Well done, team!"

"Proud of us?"

"We destroyed those bastards, we fucked-"

"You were great, Ginny!"

Harry slipped off your shoulders in the chaos a few meters from the tent, and you were greeted by a small fan base that had probably descended from their seats earlier to comfort or celebrate no matter the outcome. Three girls - two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw - took each of your hands while one walked backwards to talk to you.

"You were so good, (y/n), really fabulous. And you looked good doing it," she complemented, and you couldn't help but grin. Who minded attention? She was quite pretty, with long brown hair that curled around her thigh. Her dark eyes gleamed. "We're the brains behind the party tonight, so don't forget, yeah? My name's Shirley."

"I know, I've seen you around," you said softly. "And you two are Charlie and Laila, right?" They nodded happily. “Well, I’ll see you around. Gotta get changed for the party.”

They departed silkily and you had to shake your head as you entered the changing rooms. You placed your broom next to Ginny’s and pulled your robe off in utter relief.

“Can I shower first?” Ginny asked hopefully, not likely to take no for an answer. She was already stripped to her underwear with one foot through the curtain.

“Sure.”

“Good man. Good game, too! Don’t think I forgot about that shot after the whistle…” Maybe she said something else but you couldn’t hear anything much as another shower head sprung to life on the other side. You shook your head, sitting down on the bench and cringing at the feel of your sticky skin against the cloth.

“There’s some girl that wants to come in here, mate,” George informed you happily from the other side of the tent.

“Don’t know what they all see in you,” Fred sighed, pulling off his own robes and staring down at his abdomen pointedly as if it might decide this was the time for a six-pack.

“Well, not everyone can be as fit as me,” George winked.

“Show me your stomach right now. It’s not fair if you look different to me, think how much it will mess with pranks?”

“You mean all our shirtless prank? I won’t be pulling those on mum, if you don’t mind.” The two dissolved into their own conversation. You hadn’t the heart to ask who the girl was.

Twenty minutes later, however, you exited the tent well after most of the team (who hadn’t even bothered to shower). You were extremely happy to be back in jeans and a tshirt.

Standing before you was none other than Hannah Abbott looking very determined indeed. You were used to her acting shy and a little mousy, but extremely nice and generally kind. She was also quite nice to look at.

“I have to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

She nodded vigorously as if you had fought her on the matter. “Lots of girls like you.” She didn’t elaborate.

“Um.” Considering the circumstances, you really didn’t know what else you could say.

“Not for your sharp tongue at the moment, but you know, being a quidditch player, generally attractive, charismatic.”

“I don’t know what to add to this conversation,” you replied lamely, standing helplessly with your broom under one arm and your clothes lumped over the other.

“Just listen,” she said loudly. You were happy to oblige. “I need you to know that I like you for more than that. I mean sure, being a quidditch player and so on is pretty cool, and you’re certainly very attractive-“ Hannah cleared her throat. Your eyes wondered from her blond, clamped back hair and doe eyes down to her lips, the slant of her neck… “But I notice other things. More important ones. You always ask the ghosts for stories when they look sad. You subconsciously stand in front of your friends when a teacher talks about the dark arts or a scary magical creature. You tease your mates ruthlessly, but never about something sore. If you dump a girl, she always comes out sort of bewildered that she isn’t angry at you. You write your friends notes with little compliments and slip them over if they received a bad mark in class.”

You were teetering on the edge between being flattered and concerned but chose the former decidedly. She really was pretty. Gorgeous, even.

“I’ve noticed a lot more than that, too, barely trying, and I feel like I could testify that you are the kind of person anyone would be happy to have around. I’d like to have you around.” She heaved a sigh. “And I know I can’t expect it from you, but if you could give us - together - a chance, I’d be over the moon if I never had to hear another girl talk about how hot you are. Or at least if she did, I could tell her to shut her fucking trap.” She flinched slightly at her own cursing.

You smiled, gently dropped your broom at your side and moved forward to hug her somewhat rigid frame.

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

“It means, Hannah, that I’d love to give us a chance. And until further notice, I won’t have any girls that you don’t approve of beforehand.” You pressed a kiss to her cheek as she giggled and pulled away, staring down at her fondly. Your knuckles rested under her chin and you tilted her face upwards, teasing. Her lips parted. “And I have noticed you as well. No list prepared, but I always like what I see.”

“Really? Aren’t I nerdy?” Her nose scrunched in distaste. “What a stupid thing to say… I shouldn’t be giving you reasons not to like me.”

“What’s wrong with nerdy?” you smirked, swiping your thumb across her bottom lip before stepping back, picking up your broom again. “My favourite flavour. I’ll see you at the party, right?”

“Sure,” she grinned, honest and relieved.

“See ya, Hannah.”

You walked past her, and only a few seconds later did she turn around and yell out: “You were good! I mean, you are. At the game.”

[plscallmeeren]

P E T A L S

Hermione J. Granger x Fleur Delacour x Reader

Request: yes

Summary: Fleur moved to Hogwarts, partly for school and partly because she had major crushes on both a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff. She was sorted into Slytherin but still slowly grew closer to the group of Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, Hermione and (y/n) the last two especially. What if they get over themselves and confessed that they do indeed like each other? Well you can imagine (we're ignoring age gaps ok chill)

Warnings: unedited lol I'm so sorry for that ending

Word Count: 1.6K+

You leaned back against the window panes, ignoring the chilled crust of ice that melted against your back. Outside, the sun was dabbled on the snow, enough to make it glitter without revealing its own face. The trunks of the forest were a dark line between two blankets of white.

Your gaze returned to the textbook on your lap, but the chemistry of transfiguration had been hammered into your brain with such brute force it was no longer interesting. From the bay window, you looked down on Fleur, her sheet of silvery hair draped over a straight back, eyes focused on a book very similar to your own. Hermione, on the other hand, was hunched over the desk in the centre, fuzzy hair creating a dome around her face. She scribbled furiously, at times writing over strands of hair without noticing them seep in the ink.

"Hey," you chided, smiling despite yourself at how different they were. "Maybe it's time we took a break?"

"A break?" Hermione gasped in despair, just as Fleur nodded the same words in relief.

"C'mon, I'll make you both a cup of tea. Rosehip for you?" You motioned at the white-haired beauty before gesturing to a mildly frenzied Hermione. "English breakfast?" The brunette agreed eagerly before poring over her notes again.

"I'll come with you," Fleur announced, standing with a grace that made you feel clunky jumping down from the sill.

You walked in silence out of the library, almost bowing at madam Pince, who jumped, having forgotten you came in no less than five hours ago.

"I'm impressed you knew my favourite tea for studying specifically," she said softly, not looking at you as you meandered down the corridors, bars of light streaming in through tall windows.

Your brows raised. "Really? I like to think I know a fair few things about you."

Fleur laughed, accent thick. "Like what?"

"I don't know." You slowed down gradually, thinking too hard to walk. "How you mention France every time it's warm... the way you twirl to test your skirt when no one's looking. Maybe that laugh when you're telling me about a kiss..."

She smiled shyly, almost twirling, almost mentioning France, and definitely laughing. "No one warned me the English would be so charming."

"I don't know how to take that," you grinned. The two of you were standing still now, the corridor an open ended street on either side, void of people.

Fleur tried not to ask but couldn't help herself. "I laugh a certain way?"

"Oh, yeah." Her fingers tease at yours, brushing her knuckles against your waist. "There's a whole expression whenever you even think about kissing, whenever someone even mentions it..." Your hands are at her hips ever so gently. You don't dare close in any further because your legs are already touching. "The corners of your eyes crinkle. You try to repress a wide smile, so your dimple comes out."

Fleur only stares, enraptured. "Your head tilts forward and your hair narrows around your face... like now." What overcame you to say that last part, you didn't know. But her eyes widened and for a moment she moved forward rather than back, lips connecting to your cheek before she stepped away completely.

"Maybe you do know a few details," she said unnecessarily loud, her homeland in every word.

"Oh, I don't know," you murmured. "Anyone might notice these things." I must be going crazy.

•••

"Oh, you've got to be joking. Please tell me you're joking," Hermione groaned, clutching a cushion to her stomach.

"I'm not!" Fleur cried, tears in the corners of her eyes from sheer laughter. "'E looked me in the eye and told me that 'e would take 'er name if they got married, namely 'Dudman'!"

You chortled, covered your face with your arms. "I wonder if he writes 'Mr. Dudman' in the columns of his books."

Hermione snorted despite herself. "Oh, by the way, did you hear what Dean was saying about Ginny the other night?"

"What?" Fleur gasped.

"He was drunk and he kept running around telling everyone the curtain didn't match the drapes, and that they should guess what colour the carpet was... except when people guessed, he just told them it was an Arabic flying carpet... he did that about six or seven times."

Fleur practically sobbed, managing a very unconvincing "that's 'orrible" as she suppressed the smile and her dimple showed perfectly.

"I'm going to get more butter beer from the kitchen," you announced happily. "Although I still wanna know who they keep it for."

You stumbled out of the room as the other two agreed, but they remained lying on your bedroom floor, where even Fleur had slid down from the bed.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Hermione mused, picking at a scab on her knee. "How much time the three of us spend together when others would be out with dates. I mean, I know you and (y/n) get out more-"

"I don't," Fleur interrupted a little too abruptly. "Well, only once or twice. I think (y/n) is the one who tries to every week or so, but doesn't generally like it..."

"Oh."

Hermione was thinking all sorts of ways. Of who Fleur would go out with, how far she would go on a date, who would Hermione even like to see? How about (y/n)? Why did she never hear about your dalliances? For a moment she saw both of you together, scarcely dressed under a blanket. Jealousy surged through her. "Who would you go out with? Want to, I mean?

"Oh, I don't..." Fleur murmured. Her own mind looked much like Hermione's, only the wild brown hair was not missing from the picture. "They would have to be perfect." I must be going crazy.

•••

You were lying on your bed, Hermione at your side, her head nestled in the turn of your arm. You stared down at her, she read to you.

Hermione finished the last page, looked up, and your lips nearly touched as you spoke, hushed, about what the book might really mean. She thinks you must be the most beautiful person in the world at that moment. She thinks she must be going crazy. She falls asleep in your arms, loving that madness.

•••

Starlight fell on Fleur like a beacon, illuminating her in that white dress. She had barely slept that night for thoughts of sparkling eyes, brown and (eye colour). Usually she would never lay herself against the grass, and even now she thought of stains. But these were the early hours of the day where some things matter more or less, and she was dreaming with her eyes wide open.

Dreaming that two figures were nearing her, laughing and talking quietly. Figures she recognised. It was not until Hermione told you off for not knowing Bathilda Bagshot's birthday that Fleur tensed, found reality where she was least expecting it.

"Well, look who it is," you smirked, leaning down beside her and sitting yourself in the grass. "Couldn't sleep?" She shook her head. "Neither could we. Ran into each other in the hallway. What was keeping you up?"

She did hesitate, she was sure, looking back. But in a moment of courage that ruined a year of quiet, Fleur answered: "Thinking of you both. Of kissing you, far in the future."

"Why so far?" you joked, even as Hermione turned to stone beside you. She was joking, wasn't she? Surely. Surely she wasn't...

"I don't know. Why?" It was too late for her to be mortified.

"Wait, what do you mean?" you echoed, catching onto her solemn expression.

"I'm saying I want to 'iss you. Both. All the 'ime!"

Hermione was staring at you aggressively, searching for a reaction, but your gaze was locked on Fleur. "Wow. I can't say..." You gulped. "I can't say I've never thought about it."

Hermione looked frantically between the two of you, more confused than she was used to being.

"Really?" Fleur breathed, entranced. "I know this isn't what you mean, but I 'ave to tell you - I liked you so much from the beginning, it was a part of why I came to 'ogwarts..."

You smiled, frenzied inside. "Oh, Fleur. I'm so happy to hear... I mean, I..." Your lips touched hers delicately, and possibly for the first time since you had met her, crimson spread across her perfect cheeks.

"I mean," Hermione said a little too loudly, "I wouldn't mind... I have noticed... the both of you are very attractive and quite clever-"

Fleur sat up and beckoned the brunette over with nothing more than a finger, wrapped fine fingers around her jaw and held their lips together for two seconds, maybe three.

The moon reflected on them, nuzzling into their embrace like mist.

—————

This is SO SO bad I'm sorry it's so late in general and then this 🥲 maybe I'll edit in the future it was just stressing me out and yeah my apologies

[plscallmeeren]

L O S E R

Kate Bishop x Cassie Lang x Reader

Request: yep @Joewatt111

Summary: you've had an unfortunate few years, but when your friend drags you to a party, Kate and Cassie are practically waiting for you to cheer up (SORRY rushed at the end but I'm already so late man)

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 3K+

You stared at your shoes. Maybe the universe thought this was funny. Entertaining? You strongly disagreed.

"Mr. (y/l/n), we're doing our best to repair the damage. I'm sure it will work out fine."

You nodded curtly. The woman before you was of the kind every school had at least one - she organised timetables, senior years, events, information and just about every problem around, leading you to the obvious question of why the place actually bothered with a headmaster.

She was a middle-aged type, built to handle quite literally anything you could throw at her. She wore round glasses and numerous t-shirts and cardigans and bland pants that were all such a similar colour they blended into a silhouette supporting a head of grey curls.

"Can I... go? Sorry, I just told my friend I'd be around for lunch..."

"Oh, yes, go on, we'll handle it. And don't even worry your pretty little head about the matter, eh?" Sure. Don't worry about it. Easy.

"Thanks." You gently closed her office door behind you and pushed cheap headphones into your ears. A beat pulsed through them with deafening certainty, and Justine Frischmann started yelling 'whore' over and over again like she was insulting you personally.

The stairway felt mercilessly long and by the time you reached the cantine, the person in the hairnet could only bother to ladle half a bowl of soup. You slammed down your tray in front of Rio, your unfortunate best friend, only freeing one ear from Elastica.

Who wants a life anyway?

Another heart has made the grave

Forget it, forget it, forget it

"There's my troublemaker," he rejoiced, gulping down final scoops of  mashed potato. "So, what did you get called in for?"

They don't understand how the last card is played

But somehow the vital connection is made

"My scholarship's been revoked because they fucked up and sent another kid's marks that apparently weren't so shiny," you scoffed.

Who would've thought it of someone like you?

Rio chewed on that for a moment, although it might have just been the mash. "But they can undo that, right?"

"Probably. Isn't exactly ideal, though."

Whore, whore, whore!

"Hm. Gonna tell your parents?"

You barked an ugly laugh before you could stop yourself. "That was actually funny. Thanks." He shook his head with profound disappointment, pushing back his dark fringe so charmingly you sighed. "Look, it's fine, but knowing I couldn't afford to go to this school without a scholarship is disconcerting enough as it is. I don't need them fucking with my life."

"You could use some fucking, though," Rio added helpfully.

"There are certain aspects of your personality I could do without."

"Liar. Now, there's a big party on tonight - not that you would know, I've heard the reception under a rock can be pretty bad - but anyone with even the vaguest social life is going and I'd be thrilled to be one of those people."

"So, go," you said coldly, painfully aware where this was going.

"No, because hanging around alone in a corner, talking to someone, is mysterious - hanging around in a corner alone is plain creepy."

"You're creepy either way, don't worry," you murmured, sipping at your water.

Rio shook his head, pulled your plate away just as you were about to stab your fork into it. "Look, I know you think your life is being written by Homer or something, but bad as almost losing your good education and your mum being sick all the time.... Really, I do,  He looked at you sternly and for a moment you relaxed. "But hot chicks help problems like that."

"You know what?" you threatened blindly, grunting when he tried to take your food again. "Fine, I'll go to your stupid party. But I'm only coming because you are obviously a deeply desperate person who doesn't value real relationships. And I'm obliged to assist you."

"Aren't you glad?" He speared one of your carrots and nearly swallowed it whole. "The world is waiting, child, all of it at your fingertips."

"Save it for drama."

•••

The music was loud, and not particularly good. Enough time on the lawn would probably turn you to smoked meat. Loud guffawing erupted, closely followed by a sound that suggested someone had either started drinking early or caught up very fast indeed.

All in all, a boring party from what you could tell from the car across the street.

"I haven't been this excited since you went depressed," Rio grinned, clapping a hand onto your silently reproachful shoulder. "Look, it's even got a bunch of bedrooms upstairs - perfect for hooking up."

"Remind me, how many times has that come in handy for you?"

"7th grade, Tracy Golden. She made out with me for at least five minutes before locking me in."

"The things you're proud of," you sneered, swinging open the car door. It was true that you had been a bit more outgoing until a couple of years ago, but there had been no time for parties or hot girls. Not with... everything else.

You both held your breath slightly crossing the lawn, although to be fair, it wasn't much better inside. Someone knocked into Rio a grand five seconds later, splashing a hearty sip of beer down his one leg and staring into his eyes a moment as an apology. He beamed, watching as she walked away. "Now I'll really fit in, don't you think?"

You rolled your eyes, snatched a beer off the nearest counter and took a swig. The beer matched the music. "So, anyone you've got your eye on? Or just the same crush from the last five years?"

"Shut up," he murmured, kicking at your shoes weakly. "Sara is..."

"Coming toward us. Act cool, I know it's hard." Rio startled with such force his spine straightened to a pole and he flinched when cool fingers touched his arm. "Hey, long time, no see."

"Yeah, it's been ages," she replied giddily. She had long blonde hair that fell in waves across a cheap goth backdrop, but you couldn't deny she was pretty, certainly in combination with many a kind word and all that energy. Rio looked like he might faint. "When's the last time you two came to hang out?"

"Couple years, I think. I'm not much of a party-goer, but Rio's doing a good deed and trying to get me out of my shell." You struggled not to cringe, but the whirlwind on your best friend's face was worth it.

"Oh, you always were so sweet," she crooned, stroking his bicep to bring the point home. Rio leaned into her slightly, turning from corpse-colour to violent red. "I love your rings. Isn't that the one from Lord of the Rings? Inscription and all," she laughed, inspecting his hand busily. He grunted in some gut reaction before recovering speech.

"That's the one," he said, voice high-pitched.

"Hey, you wanna go and catch up outside? I was just about to head over to Carly, we haven't spoken in ages either." If he didn't thank you for being an amazing wingman, you really were never coming to a party again.

"Oh, let's do that. Please?" Her hands were still clasping his fingers firmly. Rio nodded and she led him away in a heartbeat, perfectly gelled hair sticking in all the wrong places.

Well, so much to him.

But you were glad. He had been crushing and lusting over Sara for a painfully long time now, in the most and least innocent ways. She probably wasn't the only girl who had noticed his glow-up over the summer.

Evidently, there was no Carly or anyone similar, though, so you wandered over to a free armchair between one group playing kiss, marry, kill and a couple who were mostly set on the kissing part. You pulled out your phone and prepared for a few hours of doom-scrolling before Rio was ready to go.

Barely twenty minutes. But good plans aren't made to last.

There you were, minding your business, when someone crashed into you, tripped over your knees and slipped to the floor at your feet. It didn't take much to realise that the someone was an extremely pretty girl. Damn you, Rio.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm so sorry," she replied instead, taking your hand to help her up. You stood as well in an attempt to make it less awkward, not that that was going to happen. "I'm so, so sorry. I don't usually go to parties - other than my mom's dinner parties, that is, led alone host them. Co-host, I should say, I have a terrible alcohol tolerance and, um- you don't care."

You smiled. "You have my sympathies. You okay? Sorry about my knees being... well, there."

She laughed a sigh of relief that made your blood rush not one place, but everywhere, faster. She was familiar, the long dark hair and the mark beneath her eye... brown eyes... so...

"And that's how my dog got his name, Lucky. Do you have any pets?" She was staring at you very intently, straight brows, drawn together slightly because Lucky and all those associated were important. "Let me guess, a cat."

"Um, I used to," you managed, "but we can't really afford him, so he mostly lives outside, hunting his own things. His name is Green, which was my sister's decision and um, mostly based upon the fact that there was a film called Blue, something about a red dog and she thought Green would be the most original."

"Wise," she nodded. "How old is this little sister?"

"Oh, she's older than me. I think she was twelve when she chose that, though. Green is well into his eighth life, I assume." She laughed again. Pretty sure the blood was rushing to your head, because you were so dizzy, for a second you considered sitting back down.

"My name's Kate, by the way," she said shyly, and the 'click' in your brain belonged in Looney Tunes.

"(Y/n). Nice to meet you." You automatically lifted a hand for her to meet, before realising you didn't know if girls your age did that anymore, skilfully reverting to a handshake that seemed to confuse her at least as much. Kate took it, though, and with a firm grip.

"Nice to meet you, (y/n). I think you're my favourite new person of the week."

"You must meet a lot of people. I'd return the sentiment, but you're my only new person of the week, so." The sheepish grin that took your face by storm was far from enticing, but apparently it did the trick, because she lay a hand on your wrist and began pulling, gently at first. Your fingers uncurled - you hadn't noticed the near fist - and her hand slipped into yours perfectly. The back of her hand was soft, so soft, but her palm and fingers had the callouses of a mechanic, a guitar-player, someone who knew what they were doing because they had done it a long time.

"Where are we going?" you half-shouted as she wove left and right of teenagers, avoiding the ones playing drinking games and off-handedly greeting the ones she knew. Maybe only a little.

"Upstairs," she replied. The music switched to Breakin' Dishes, making you chuckle in spite of yourself before realising what she had just said. "Oh, don't look at me like that, I just want to get to know you better and I can hardly hear you down there."

Don't think of Rio. Don't think of Rio.

You forgot to pay attention where you were going altogether until you were already at the top of the stairs, your grip loosening on the polished mahogany railing. The music was muffled here, its bass and gist echoing through every curl of the carpet.

She dragged you into the closest room that was unlocked, pushing with her back to the door until she turned around and jumped back, almost tripping all over again.

"Sorry!"

"Kate! Oh, it's fine, come in."

You peered past Kate's shoulder with blatant confusion, your eyes falling on none other than Cassie Lang. She was in your maths class, not that she would have noticed.

"(Y/n)! Haven't ever seen you at a party, I don't think."

"You know me?" you blurted before you could help yourself. "I mean, yeah, I haven't been to a party in a while. It's great to see you. Great party." Great party? Downstairs it moved on to a Kanye song.

"Of course! Maths, no?"

"That's the one. Mr Atkar and such."

"You're sweet," Cassie smiled from where she sat on the bed, her legs crossed. "Do you two know each other well? Oh, were you coming up here to-"

"No," you said immediately, regretting everything and sort of hating your best friend when some hurt or indignance or similar flashed on Kate's face. Her beautiful face. Your eyes fell for a moment further down, further... then up. "I mean, we just met, and I don't think Kate would appreciate being associated with someone like me, anyway."

"Someone like you?" Cassie asked blankly.

"Oh, you know. Loser or whatever. You'd know, I guess." You licked your lips nervously. Cassie's sharp cheeks and curved lips, you were going mad.

"I don't know," she responded, puzzled almost. "All my friends think you're really hot and mysterious."

You choked on your own words for a few long seconds while Kate nodded, impressed, before you could object. "I don't- I mean- I'm not sure I believe you. Not that I'd question you, obviously, I just- You know, what mark did you get on that maths test? I did terribly. And why were you actually here alone? Did we interrupt something?" Kate bit her lip and Cassie giggled. You wanted to sink into the ground and then as low as you possibly could until you reached the centre of the earth and either encountered a magical world where no one had heard of your misgivings or were burnt alive. Either one sounded like a vast improvement.

"Let's see," Cassie said slowly, standing and sauntering over to you. Kate leaned against the door, and you had the deafening impression there was an understanding between them. "You should believe me, because it's true and I agree. I got 89% on my maths test, but I'm sure you didn't do too bad yourself. I was here alone because the guy I wanted to come up here with, didn't want to." She breathed tequila.

"Hard to believe," you breathed, not sure what you were referring to.

"I know, right?"

Kate came up behind you, her chin hovering over your shoulder. "I'm sorry. But I'm sure (y/n) here will make out with you, if you want."

"If he were up to it," Cassie crooned. "But I think he's a bit nervous, so."

You swallowed forcefully. "I would be up to it. I'm not saying we should, but in theory... I haven't disappointed anyone in the past."

"Oh, really?"

Kate resigned herself to the bed. It was like a fever dream, the two beautiful girls before you, and one was wrapping her arms around your neck. If it weren't for the beer, you would be stuttering. If it weren't for the wine, Kate wouldn't have brought you up here in the first place. If it weren't for the tequila, Cassie Lang wouldn't be leaning towards you, fingers in your hair, lips parted in a silent caress of your name. Maybe. Or maybe you would, they would.

Her mouth was on yours, and you didn't dare waste a thought on anything but that kiss, the taste of her honey chapstick, trying not to pant when your hands met her waist, held her steady as she pressed into you. The clash was loud and fast and undeniably clumsy, but when you tried to be gentle it didn't last long. Cassie pulled away and you chased her lips, yearning so deep it reached from your lungs to your legs, ached.

"You certainly don't disappoint," she whispered. She turned to Kate and winked. Centre of the earth. Centre of the earth.

"Um, sorry, that was forward of me," you stammered, well aware that made no sense and your fingers were still entwined at the small of her back. She walked backward to the bed, sitting down as your hands slipped away.

"Well, now I'm jealous. And a little curious," Kate pouted. A joke, surely.

"Come on, (y/n). We don't want you thinking of maths with poor Kate here," Cassie chimed in, touching shoulders with the girl next to her. Your breath hitched, steps slow across the floor until you stood before Kate, trying not to gape.

You placed the knuckle of your index finger at her chin, tilting her head. Was it you or her who had leaned in? Had she first started pulling at the loops in your jeans so that your back curved like a cat's? Or had you been the one to move forward, slowly moving her closer and closer to the bed where she now lay, hair splayed, a siren on the rocks. She was gentler, slower, less confident but beyond good. She changed her mind once and again, using her tongue and then nibbling your lower lip, then smaller kisses. All the while she released short hums, more or less often and high-pitched, but with every breath.

You pulled away first this time, probably out of sheer stupidity, remembering where you were - perched above her, knee digging into the bedding beside her hip. You sprang up, breathing heavily.

"Damn," Kate panted, not sitting up at all. Your eyes had abandoned her face long ago.

"Not bad, huh?" Cassie smiled. "For a loser."

[plscallmeeren]

V E N U S

Hermione Jean Granger x Luna Lovegood x Reader

Request: yes

Summary: you and Hermione study one night in Luna's part of the forest... there's flirting, teasing and well... one thing leads to another (see warnings)

Warnings: Swearing, pillow princess Luna, top Hermione, top reader, humping, scissoring, fingering, fondling, unedited

Word Count: 1.8K+

Leaves rustled at the caress of cool wind, falling to the ground in tribute to the changing seasons. Autumn had already tainted fields of them vibrant oranges and yellows, occasional red specks blossoming on the horizon.

Hagrid's hut cast long shadows across the fields, pumpkins ripe and enormous. Hermione shivered beside you, pulling her jacket closer. You offered your own, but she wouldn't let you freeze in her stead.

The two of you passed the dark lake, and by the time you had reached edge of the forest nearly the same blackness had hastily descended upon the sky. You pointed out Orion. She thought of Sirius, and you were silent once more.

"This is as good a spot as any," she announced some steps amidst the looming trees.

You nodded. "It's so quiet. I think I could almost get sick of the constant throng in that castle." You smiled at each other. She knew you didn't mean it. After all...

"You're just as much a diligent student as me. Neither of us would ever leave Hogwarts if we could choose."

"True. It's amazing, really, how pretty you are for a nerd."

"Oh, come off it." She chuckled, sitting down before a thick pine. You sat cross-legged, leaning back against an opposite hazel.

"Fine... where do you want to start?"

"Potions. I feel a bit insecure about that exam. Especially the last couple," Hermione admitted, pulling out her textbook already.

"So Draught of Peace, Felix Felicis?"

"And Amortentia."

"Mmh, I bet you just wanna talk about how much you love me. Y'know, say it always has my scent... why could that be?" you jested, grinning as she rolled her eyes.

"You wish. You probably draw me in your margins. Or do you write Mz Granger, surrounded by little hearts?" She pouted.

You only shook your head, flipping pages until you spotted Felix. "So, what are the ingredients for liquid luck?"

"Evading, I see. Well, alright, pretend you don't fancy me. Let's see. Ingredients include..." She listed them all perfectly and for some time you could study without incident, more and more of your reading depending on wand-light.

You both perked up, however, when the sound of sticks crunching reached you. Had you been spotted? It was well after dusk and no teacher would appreciate you being out around this time.

Emerging from the woods, however, was none other than Luna. "Hello," she hummed. "You've found my favourite spot. I was just feeding the thestrals."

You beamed. "Come, sit down. We were just about to start on Astronomy. Isn't that one of your best subjects?"

Luna agreed quietly, sitting down beside you. "More the stories. I love reading about Venus and Neptune and those other beauties... much like you two."

Hermione flushed red, quite grateful for the dark. "You're the moon goddess, Luna. I mean, your name."

"It suits you," you chided. "Even now, seeing the moonlight reflect on your hair, your eyes, lips..." You gulped. She was staring at your mouth now. You thought of Amortentia.

"Thank you," she whispered, drawing herself closer to you. Her coat wasn't as thick as yours or Hermione's.

"Maybe I should sketch Luna in my margins. Or little 'Mrs. Lovegood's or something like that," Hermione smiled.

"I certainly would," you agreed. Luna's cheeks were tinged pink, more visible because the attention of your lights were on her. "Are you blushing, love?"

"Can't help it," she breathed, nestling her face into your neck out of embarrassment. A strong part of her, however, only wanted to be closer. Her whole body edged imperceptibly toward you. Hermione repositioned herself also, almost closing the gap between the three of you to 'talk better'. Your hand drifted to Luna's thigh, smoothing over the wool of her dress. You resisted the sudden urge to slip beneath it, along the brown tights, up to where the fragile fabric merged...

Hermione's knees were touching yours. Even through your jeans it was electric. Your mind jerked awake, albeit the late hour.

"I was going to ask...," Hermione began cautiously, "is there still something going on between you and Neville?"

"There never was," Luna replied happily. "We went on one date and decided we were stronger friends."

Hermione glanced at you, hardly a moment, hardly a look. Luna's leg shifted and your fingers found themselves at the hem of her dress.

"Does that mean I can kiss you?" you asked before thinking it through. You could have slapped a hand over your mouth. It was the lateness, surely - surely she would understand - but instead she stood. You cursed at yourself. Humiliating.

Except then she sat down again, back to Hermione, seated on your lap. You gaped. "Well?" she prompted innocently.

Your hand captured the nape of her neck, pulling her gently closer, teasing at the soft rose curve of her Cupid's bow, the plumper flesh of her lower lip. Finally, your teeth grazed her cheek and your mouths met. She let you lead, and you forced yourself to be patient, lingering after rushed tides of kisses. Torturous.

What is happening? Your books were long forgotten beside you. Hermione leaned closer still, breath tickling the blonde’s neck. This has to be a dream. Too surreal; just like these two beautiful women. But you were too afraid to stop, lest someone change their mind.

“It’s now or never,” you thought Luna whispered, but it was mostly lost in the wind, in the distraction of her braided her brushing against your shoulder. Hermione’s lips finally reached her skin, timidly venturing along the slant of her throat. Luna pulled back for air, your mouths disconnecting for the first time, lips dark against the pale of her face.

You allowed your fingers to wander; beneath the dress, along the tights, against the pool of damp between her legs. Your eyes met her crazed ones, and amongst whines - accolades for Hermione, who had now reached fingers around her chest - you elicited a nod, maybe two, three. How much of it was just her moving in accordance with Hermione’s sloppy kisses, the rhythm of her desperate grasps at Luna’s breasts, you would never know.

Yet with hardly any hesitance, your nails pinched the fabric, pulled it down, digits exploring her folds, disoriented. You ran your thumb over her pussy, curled it once inside her, searched along her for her clit. Your index and middle finger clasped around it, almost exasperated, and she rewarded you with a breathy moan that made you shudder.

Hermione groaned, slipping her hands further under layers of clothes so that she could reach Luna’s flesh properly, her front to the other girl’s back so that she could grind herself against Luna’s ass.

You caught her lips again, less stable this time, as she was pushing back and forth between you and Hermione, hoping for more friction. Your free hand grasped her jaw to hold her face still, meeting her with all the vigour you could translate.

Hermione discarded her coat, you following suit, leaving your moon goddess momentarily untouched and dazzling as she writhed on your lap. Her thin jacket was long gone and her dress, long-sleeved top underneath, stockings - were rumpled, scrunched in various places. Before you could worry about the cold she pulled the dress over her head, then the white top. Her tights remained bunched around her ankles, panties pushed to the side.

You wished, in retrospect, you had taken a moment to just look at her, admire her, but patience was a virtue and within seconds you were all over her, tongue tracing the smooth descent of her skin, running over the stretch marks at her belly, teasing the line of her underwear. Your fingers jerked into her, curling after every quick thrust within her cunt. She moaned wildly, out of breath, hair splayed behind her head like a halo.

Hermione had lowered Luna’s torso onto her own legs, kneading at her breasts with tender defiance.

“Harder,” Luna whispered into the night, face gleaming before the brightness of Lumos. “Please.”

“Are you sure, love?” you managed.

“Yes. Please.”

You could see Hermione’s grip on Luna’s body fasten, one of her hands migrating to her mouth, where Luna greedily sucked on her digits, grunting around them. Your speed picked up, fingers slamming with more force into her pussy as you toyed with her clit. Her back arched, the bones of her shoulders digging into Hermione’s thigh while her hips gyrated faster than you could have fingered her. Moans came in gasping lungfuls, your grunts accompanying her at the effort.

“Oh, Merlyn,” Hermione whined, pulling back her hands as if she was over-stimulated herself.

Luna threw her head back fully then, coming to an abrupt standstill, but you rode her through her orgasm, cunt clenching around your fingers as you felt her cum leak onto your hand. You smeared it across her inner thighs, leaning back, watching her pant.

She slumped to the ground. You and Hermione haphazardly leaned down on either side of her, hands lazily dragging over her body. You gravitated towards Hermione, pushing past her skirt tiredly, rubbing up and down her slit, arm slung over Luna. Hermione couldn’t help but react, grinding against you. She humped your hand with increasing vigour until she was jerking on the ground, looking like she was having a fit. Pathetic noises sounded from her, desperation clear on her face.

Luna rolled over somewhat, interrupting your connection to Hermione, instead guiding their legs together. Her pussy began moving against Hermione’s and very quickly they were scissoring, both of them humping the other so fast they looked desperate. “Sluts,” you cursed, feeling yourself grow hot with want. The sound of their slick loud.

You rolled over also, positioning your groin at Luna’s ass, started thrusting yourself against the plush of her backside.

All three of you were groaning (you), moaning (Luna), whining (Hermione), a sinful orchestra with the sound of slapping skin as base.

“Oh, Merlyn, oh God, oh God-“ Hermione started to chant, and you could feel Luna’s body tense simultaneously, the two of them coming with pornographic finales. Now hurried, you gripped Luna’s waist with considerable force, pushed yourself even harder into her. Luna groaned as you worked toward your own orgasm, body being pushed back and forward with every movement.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-“ you gasped, finally coming through your clothes, the rush of it almost making your eyes roll back into your skull. “Fuck!”

Luna backed into you (for the warmth), and you carefully wrapped your coat around her sore and bare figure.

“Which subject was that?” Hermione chuckled, brown curls cascading across the leaf-covered ground to the tip of her wand.

“I just hope it isn’t taught by Professor Snape,” Luna replied drearily. You couldn’t help but laugh.

[plscallmeeren]

A M E R I C A N W O M A N

Jennifer Walters x Reader

Request: Yes

Summary: you (fem reader) love to cook and spoil your girlfriend (Jen). This was a short one sorry :/ have been very busy (six weeks traveling India there's a lot to see)

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 600+

You hummed along to 'Glass Onion', singing a few words every now and then when you were sure about what they were. The rice boiled over while you were distractedly peeling tomatoes. "Fuck," you murmured, turning that stove off and wiping away some of the water.

I told you 'bout the fool on the hill, Lennon sang - you thought it was him - instantly making overcooked rice seem inconsequential as you joined in again. The song came to a close as you poured the tomatoes into the pot.

Kadhai Paneer was one of Jennifer's favourite curries, one you loved cooking for her whenever you had time. 'Lucifer Sam' by Pink Floyd blasted through your speakers and you whirled around dramatically when the lyrics began.

Keys rattled in the door and you jumped to attention, cursing under your breath. You knew you should have started earlier.

Before you knew it, Jen's steps were dragging through the apartment, tired eyes scanning the kitchen. She was obviously exhausted from a long day at work, but she smiled nonetheless. "You cooked again? What is that, it smells great... wait." She looked at you seriously. "You didn't."

"I did." You grinned, turning the music down a bit and rounding the counter to peck her on the lips. "Kadhai Paneer, dal, chapatis." You kissed her again, this time on her forehead. "You look beautiful. And tired."

"Such a sweet-talking devil," she cooed, laying her arms around your neck. "Can I help somehow?"

"Forget it. Lie down on the couch and rest. You're my hardworking American woman, after all." You smirked, hearing the song switch to 'American Woman' by Muddy Magnolias. "Do I look like, the step all over me type? I'm a whole lotta grown-ass American woman!"

Jen laughed, pressing her face against your shoulder. "Please don't turn the music down. I'll just watch you from the other side of the kitchen like some creep, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of having it any other way," you said defiantly, leading her groggy form to the couch so she could collapse onto the plush seating. You gently massaged her shoulders just long enough so that she would relax with a great heaving sigh.

She lay splayed in a star shape, eyes on you relentlessly. Every now and then they fell closed by accident, but mostly her smile infected all her expression.

You waltzed back to the kitchen, spooning the rice and dal into separate bowls, head nodding. She chuckled as you put on a bit of a show, twirling and swaying as you set down plates and cutlery.

Next, your playlist treated you with another Pink Floyd, but a slow one. You calmed your movements somewhat, taking strides that matched the melody as you finally turned the last stove off.

Long you live and high you'll fly

Smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry

And all you touch and all you see

Is all your life will ever be

"I don't know this one," Jen breathed, sitting up slowly, "but it's moving."

"Yeah, I think so," you whispered, sitting down and serving both your plates. "Makes you think, anyway."

Jennifer smiled, sat across. "Thank you for doing this. Now, but also in general. I don't know whether I show my gratitude enough."

"Save your good words for work," you laughed. "I love doing things for you. And if food makes you happy, then food it is."

"Food definitely makes me happy."

"Why, marvelous." She actually giggled, and you had to stop yourself from kissing her over the table. "Bon appetit."

"Right back at you. You're a great dancer, by the way."

"I know," you said smugly, but your insides went all warm and fuzzy anyway.

Jen had some spoonfuls before scooping with her chapati hurriedly. "Oh my God, this is good."

"Always the tone of surprise." She stopped, tilted her head with a look that said 'really?' in a board sort of voice. You loved that look.

[plscallmeeren]

D O M I N A N T D R U N K

Hermione Jean Granger x Reader

Request: yes

Summary: Hermione discovers a new side of herself when drunk (she and fem reader have been dating for a while now)

Warnings: Swearing; fingering, oral (f receiving), alcohol, drunk sex

Word Count: 1.7K+

Harry and Ron watched their best friend tip yet another fire whiskey down her throat. The sixth, to be exact. They nodded pitifully when she stumbled toward the cupboard to find another drink, exchanging worried glances.

"You realise she's a total lightweight," Ron whispered to Harry, brows furrowing as she tipped the golden liquid into her glass. "You reckon this is because of her potions exam?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know how to stop her." Hermione had spent the entire evening rambling on about how badly her potions final had been and that she would probably fail. (Harry and Ron highly doubted this, considering her worst marks were some of their best, but that wasn't a very favoured argument.)

"Hey, 'Mione," Ron called timidly, catching her attention after the second attempt. "You think that should be your last glass, maybe? Yeah? It's just a bit much for someone your size-"

"Shut up, Ronald," she interrupted, throwing her head back so that brown curls cascaded down her back. "It's not even midnight!"

"That's true," Harry joined in for the sake of solidarity, "but that doesn't have much to do with how sloshed you are-"

"Really, Harry. If you were drunk, too, you wouldn't care."

"Maybe we should go find (y/n), she could probably-"

"(Y/n)?" Hermione perked up. "Is she here?"

"No, but we could bring her-"

"She's so hot," Hermione drawled. Harry and Ron looked at each other in horror. "The way we shag... you have no idea. She can be really rough or really sweet..."

"What's protocol is situations like these?"

"I'm just hoping this situation will never happen again. It's a miracle Seamus and Dean haven't walked in yet-"

"Bloody hell!"

Hermione was struggling with the buttons of her shirt, but judging by murmurs of 'far too warm in here' the objective was to remove it.

"Okay, that's it. Keep your shirt on for a second and we'll take you to your girlfriend," Harry said firmly, but before he or Ron could stand up, she had rushed out the door and was giggling all the way down the stairs, almost crashing into the armchair near the archway.

"Bloody hell," Ron repeated.

"Oh, shut up."

You were sitting peacefully in the common room on the big couch by the fire, studying for herbology, when Hermione burst past Fred and George - mercifully, the only other two there - to sit down on your lap, careful notes be damned.

"Hello, love. What..." She pressed her lips to yours and you could have tasted the alcohol from her lips alone. "Since when do you drink more than one glass?"

"Since I'm stupid," she moaned, collapsing into you as her friends (and the twins) watched from afar. "I'm stupid and I'll fail and..."

"I don't know what draught you've been fed, but that's not true. I'll give you evidence of it in the morning - even if it takes a visit to every professor. Okay?"

"Okay," she mumbled, and you noticed she was doing kitten licks against the side of your neck. "I need you to fuck me."

You hesitated only a second, catching Harry's eye and nodding for them to leave. They scurried away gratefully. "I can't to that, love. You're drunk."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"So... you don't think I'm hot?" She undid another button or two teasingly until you nodded, laughing.

"Very."

"Then take me to your room."

"I have roommates."

"Then let's go to the prefects' bathroom."

You stared at her for a moment before giving in. Maybe if you gave her such a hard time asking exactly what she wanted, she would give up. You closed her shirt again with nimble fingers, making Hermione groan while Fred and George smirked from the opposite end of the room.

She dragged you by the hand, which led to you half-holding her upright when the lull of her steps overwhelmed her enthusiasm, until you finally reached the bathroom. Fortunately, Hermione could still remember the password in her drunken state. She locked the door behind you.

"What now?" you asked softly, resting your hands on her love handles. She crooned, humming as she considered.

It was strange seeing her this way - even when she was entirely distracted from reality, even when you were fucking her raw, she always had some form of composure. Not like now, where she mumbled every thought that came to her and slumped against your body for support.

"Fuck me. Please."

"I don't know. Too vague. Tell me exactly what to do."

She pondered this for a moment. "So... I'm in control?"

"Yes, I suppose. I'll do every little thing you ask. How does that sound?"

Hermione grinned. "Take off my shirt."

"Whatever you desire," you smiled, working the buttons in quick succession before pulling off the white clothing. She leaned into you, pressing the lace of her bra against your own t-shirt.

"Undress."

You pulled off the band tee and old sweats nonchalantly, followed by your boxers. Hermione ran her hands over your skin in wonder, as if it were the first time she could touch the planes of your body.

"My skirt. And stockings."

"What about them?"

"Get rid of them. And my bra. Take it all away."

"Yes, ma'am."

You unzipped her skirt, sliding it down her legs with the adjacent stockings and pulling them away from her feet one by one. The clasp behind her bra was easy, and you tried not to stare at her breasts like a child at a toy. Her nipples were perked, though, and some stretch lines reached from under each one, showing you that she had grown larger.

"You forgot my panties."

"You didn't ask."

In her impatience, she pulled them off herself, but from then on she didn't forget any details. "Kneel in front of me," she ordered, backing against a wall.

"Yes, ma'am," you smirked. Morally, you should have stopped there - earlier, even - but it was impossible. Not when you were now at eye level with her pussy, thighs sticky with juices.

"Put your tongue on my clit and move it in vertical ellipses." You obeyed, laughing against her at the absurd smarts in her language. She moaned loudly, bucking her hips into your face as her fingers scraped the walls for hold.

"Faster," she commanded, though she was getting dizzy from the stimulation. "Faster, faster, more."

You couldn't help yourself, digging your fingers into the soft flesh of her ass, just like she had told you to in the past. She was so soft - unbearably so - and your hands slipped down to her thighs, gripping them to keep her steady.

She mewled as her hips rolled over your face harshly. "Go on," she groaned when you pulled away a moment for air. You lay your tongue flat on her pussy before resuming, teasing her.

Hermione whined, spasming. It took you a moment to realise that she had already come, and that she couldn't stand during the sensation.

You fell back against the cold tile, letting her slide along your body until she sat almost on your chest. "Have you ever come that fast? I didn't know people could come that fast."

"Neither did I," Hermione admitted shyly. You were about to suggest sitting up, but to your amazement she was moving back and forth over your torso, legs spread. She was humping you.

"Hermione," you managed, watching in near fascination as she continued, head thrown back as moans and whines fell from her lips, a symphony of pornographic sounds. "Your cunt is still swollen from..."

"I know. Be quiet." You didn't find it in you to deny her, so you just watched. She was getting louder and louder. If you hadn't known better, you would have guessed she was in pain.

"Fuck, 'Mione," you groaned, back arching intuitively to get further inside her. "You're doing things to me."

But she didn't answer, lost in her own world. You were tempted to... "Can I touch myself?"

She nodded - or so you hoped - because the second you reached for yourself, both of you were making enough noise to drain out the slick squelching of her against your skin.

"Fingers," Hermione panted, placing a hand over your mouth, "put three inside of me."

"Three?" you asked, crazed. "You've got the tightest cunt-"

"Just do it," she said certainly, hand securing itself around your throat. "I command it."

Lightheaded from lack of air, you pulled your hand from yourself to her pussy, offering. She reluctantly rolled off you, splayed out on the white floor, waiting.

You took a deep breath, then plunged three fingers into her folds.

She screamed - or something like it - but before you could pull out she grabbed your wrist, pushing you inside again, as far as it would go.

"Again, again, again."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chanted, forcing your digits into her even though her vagina rejected them and she wailed.

"Faster."

You could feel the sweat tumbling down your back from the effort, but you sped in and out of her cunt with brute force. You spared a glance at her and almost came; she was spread across the tile floor, thighs completely wet, body shaking, convulsing in attempts to get you further in.

"Come. Come with me," she squealed, so narrow around your fingers you couldn't enter. Your thumb took over; rushed circles clumsily drawn over her clit. Her hands groped you until they found your shoulders, fingernails digging into your back painfully. Her eyes rolled backc head lifting.

"Fuck!"

She came, and a moment later so did you. You collapsed next to her, chest rising and falling quickly.

"One more round," she panted. Had you misheard? You suddenly remembered she was still intoxicated.

"You're a dominant drunk," you mused. "Who would have thought."

"Now," she ordered.

"'Mione, I don't know if-"

"Do as I say," she insisted, sounding almost bratty but definitely enjoying the control.

"Yes, ma'am," you panted, sitting up.

"Do you know that spell for your wand? You know the one."

"Yeah, I do."

[plscallmeeren]

H E A D C A N O N S

Loki Laufeyson / Odinson x Reader

Request: no just feeling in love

Summary: completely mixed batch of romantic headcanons including fluff, smut and some toxic things that would probably come into play at some point

Warnings: some general sexual stuff but nothing rough lol; mentions of extreme jealousy etc

Word Count: about 1K

He loves recommending books to you and talking about them afterward. It used to be him accidentally gushing about a book (usually poetry or fairy tales) and at some point you just started reading them without him knowing. Eventually he gave up on keeping the titles secret.

At first he was put off when you weren't too submissive during sex, but he adopted the "treat her like a Queen" idea and now, without diminishing his own pride, he looks forward to worshipping you every day.

He loves dancing - spinning you around the room, slow steps, but very close - anything. If you are in a room filled with of people he can show you off, but alone it is just as intimate.

When he's insecure, he can revert to considering himself superior. You generally let him be aloof for a while before addressing the problem directly, but it's a struggle every time to make him admit why he has low self esteem.

He has a treasured copy of Nordic fairy tales with beautiful illustrations that he shows only you. He lets you tenderly flip the pages, in awe at wonders like forest fairies, nymphs, glamorous witches and hags alike. Not like Thor, that 'oaf'.

One night, you sat on the edge of the your shared bed, legs bare, teasing him for how desperately he wanted you. He knelt before you, whispering "please", kissing his way up from your ankle to your thigh on one leg.

Loki hates it when she is a woman and is handles awkwardly at first. You have a habit of immediately talking to her or circling an arm around her waist when she enters the room so that she can't worry to the point of turning back into a male body.

He loved hearing his name from your lips as he pleasures you: "Loki, Loki, Loki". It is only right for a god to be subject to whispered prayer.

He makes fun of/critiques Thor a lot, but in quieter moments he loves telling childhood stories and Thor's adventures. On darker days he will ask whether you're sure you wouldn't prefer Thor - after all, everyone else did.

He lives to kiss you. It sounds dopey, but anywhere, anytime, in front of everyone - kissing you on the lips, on your neck, hair, chest, arms, especially hands. Anything to taste you, to feel as close as possible.

She feels particularly sound in her own body when you fuck her as a woman. When she's spread out before you, bare, there's no hiding who she is, and you are more than happy to ravage her as much as their common body.

Loki doesn't need much sleep. At night, he sometimes feels lonely and yearns for the halls of Asgard. He cries quietly in bed, careful not to wake you. Some days, he retreats to the library and sobs, cries absorbed by surrounding stories.

Tea. Tea. Tea. Always. And every time he makes a cup for himself, you get one, too. He knows your favourites and which ones you like at what time of day.

He writes you letters. Love letters full of poems - some of his own hand and others quoted - and confessions. Every swooping letter is drawn with careful precision, every reference a new find from the library in honour of you. Such a hopeless romantic. When you write such letters back, leaving them with him before he wakes, he almost sheds tears of bliss.

If you have tattoos or scars or burns - anything of the like - he will trace them, stare at them as he comes, turned on endlessly by every unique mark on your body. All his. No one else knows every freckle like him.

He is possessive. He always has been, and as much as you try and calm him and prevent jealousy... sometimes he yells at you for talking to someone else too much. Sometimes he whispers that you have betrayed him like his father. Sometimes you find him searching through your things; what for, you will never know.

Loki loves your laugh, and he will do the most ridiculous things to earn it. Before knowing you, he would have considered every antic and joke beneath him and embarrassing, but he hardly cares anymore. That is, until Thor laughs so loud from beside you that he can't hear anything at all.

Stargazing. He points out every constellation, knows every myth - some are inspired by people he knows.

He reads to you. He takes you on surprise picnics and plans fancy evenings.

He loved how you see through his lies and tall tales, but take him seriously or laugh anyway. Every one of them has a grain of truth, after all, and it doesn't make him untrustworthy.

He doesn't really swear, but secretly likes it when you sound harsh talking to others.

Loki will talk about your future all the time, especially after making love, rambling on about your house, lifestyle, garden, parties.

You talk for hours at once, incorrigible.

No one can calm him down like you. The moment you touch his arm when he's yelling at Thor or anyone else, it ceases, but he sometimes pretends to be angry a bit longer, just enough to get to your room and keep his pride in front of the others.

Loki loves you. Selflessly. Eternally. Insatiably.

[plscallmeeren]

M A G P I E S

Peggy Carter x Reader

Request: yes

Summary: you're pretty much Shoto Todoroki, half fire half ice etc. your young daughter is Eri. Peggy is still getting used to the future and trying to find a man as per Steve's instructions before passing on, which is turning out to be a bit tricky. That is until you and your daughter need saving... (there are so many good Peggy gifs like damn)

Warnings: Swearing; almost pure fluff

Word Count: 2K+

Peggy Carter did not need a man. She had had one, that damned Steve Rogers, and he hadn't done her much good at all. But that didn't mean she didn't want a man. That was a whole other matter.

And yet, sometimes she felt pressured by some of Steve's last words. "Live, Peggy. Find the one you were meant to dance with."

Damn him.

Now it was for his sake that she would look at every second man twice, wondering whether he was animal enough to take her on. Usually, she convinced herself they weren't upon first glance. All others eliminated themselves when she talked to them long enough.

They were so fragile. At times, she pretended to be less than she was - weaker, dumber, more of a bimbo - before she remembered that she was Peggy fucking Carter, one of the best agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. ever to have roamed the earth, and she would rather die than change for some man. Except that wasn't entirely true. Because sometimes she just wanted to be treated human - like any human - anything.

And if they weren't fragile? Then they were lying. Lying through their teeth when they said there was something special about her. Lying with their hearts when they placed her hand on their chest, telling her to listen, showing her that that fast beating was for her, only her. She had quickly found out that phrases like that meant sex, and sex on the first night usually meant there wouldn't be a second.

She needed that, too. But it grew old fast.

For all the challenges of modernity, some things never changed.

With that in mind, Peggy was awfully close to simply catching a plane to England. Maybe it was this place. Maybe she had exhausted everything the U.S. had to offer.

The wind bit at her cheeks, chipper as it hustled about the snow-laden city. She sat down on a bench, staring at her shoes, hands deep inside fur-lined pockets. Did it make sense to leave? Or would S.H.I.E.L.D.'s next mission be waiting for her at the airport?

She crunched her feet against the frozen grass. The ice, even in the park, had long been trodden to water. People, she thought indignantly. Too many people.

She stared at her shoes until she realised she was staring at two pairs of shoes, one much smaller than the other. She looked up.

Before her stood a small girl, around six, she guessed, with pale hair and large, pleading doe eyes. Red eyes. Something that looked suspiciously like a horn peaked out from amongst her hair. Peggy blinked.

"Um, excuse me," the child said shyly, fiddling with her fingers. "Could I have an autograph? For my art book. I really like you. I mean, I think. I don't really know you, but still. You're so pretty, the sort of pretty where you're kind, too."

"Why, thank you," Peggy replied earnestly, abashed. "You're very pretty, too. I'd love to sign your book."

The girl beamed, pulling out a small booklet from behind her back, bunching her arms together as she held it towards the agent. Peggy gladly wrote her name on one page, copying the contagious smile on the child's face. Before she could say much more, the girl bowed, thanking her graciously, and ran off.

The man who took her under his arm, whispering words of encouragement, was severely underdressed for the weather - a thin black top, normal pants and shoes. You didn't look at all cold, even though you definitely should have been. Peggy took you in twice, just for good measure. If you had told her straight up you only wanted one night of fun, she wouldn't have complained.

You scooped up your daughter with one arm, approaching Peggy as you instructed her to say goodbye.

She couldn't help but grin as the girl teetered: "I'm Eri. I forgot to tell you. It was nice to meet you, bye! Have a nice day."

"You, too. I'm Peggy." Eri giggled something about it being silly to tell her because she obviously knew, but the agent was distracted by the hovering sensation of being watched. So were you.

There were Hydra agents - so out of place in a peaceful moment - closing in. One on a roof, three in a crowd, two strolling through the other end of the park. A wannabe hostage situation. She concentrated on placing them, gasping when she realised they were no longer moving. A thin layer of ice, barely perceptible but glistening darkly, cocooned each one of their bodies, only their heads free to move should they wish to breathe.

Peggy's head whipped around to look at the father and daughter again, only to find their retreating figures some yards away, unbothered in the commotion of the disturbed crowd.

She had to follow you. She should follow you. She wanted to follow you.

So she did.

She remained in the shadows, happily watching Eri talk and talk to her father, never stopping for air. She told you about magpies, about her friend's birthday party, about cacti, about her pregnant teacher... and how did people get pregnant?

Apparently you saw this as a practical time to arrive, unlocking the door to your apartment block as Eri peered at you suspiciously.

So far, no more Hydra. You never knew.

You turned around, waving at Peggy, who had forgotten her very half-hearted cover. She blushed furiously. That must have looked bad. Like she was stalking or something...

But you didn't seem to mind. "Wanna come in? I'll make you a cup of coffee, and Eri really wants to tell you about magpies," you called out, Eri nodding vigorously beside you.

"Oh, I..." Better chance to make sure they're safe, an insistent voice said inside her head. Meet him, get his name, get his number, echoed around her mind, all-consuming. "Sure, I'd love to. And I definitely don't know enough about magpies."

Eri shook her head tiredly, as if this were a common ailment, but took her hand and dragged her up the stairs nonetheless. By the time you found them at the door to your apartment, Peggy was much the wiser in the field of ornithology.

"Oh- oh- and one magpie can mimic over 35 species of other local birds, as well as other animals like dogs or horses." Against her will, Peggy was actually interested in hearing more.

"I didn't know that, either... Why don't they teach you these things?"

You chuckled, opening the door. She could have swooned, standing so close to you, the subtle charm of your warm cologne. Eri ran ahead.

"I'm (y/n), by the way. Can I take your coat?"

Peggy's face grew hot fast as you took her jacket, muscles flexing when you put it on a high hook.

"Okay, so... coffee. How do you take it?" you asked easily, leading her towards the kitchen, where she sat down at a small table.

"Uh, black with some sugar," she answered nervously, watching you move around the kitchen. Your body was lean, but she was certain you could take care of yourself, whatever it took. There was little fear in you. She wondered what had caused the pale red scar over your eye, but didn't dare ask. Scars were personal; undeniable reminders of when something went wrong.

"Here," you handed her the coffee eventually, Eri still only audible from a room in the back, "your coffee." She stilled under the gaze of your beautiful eyes, one silver, one blue, her mouth incapable of speech in the face of wonder.

You only smiled, leaving to make your own. She wondered whether she had ever met someone with heterochromia, wondered whether it came from the scar, wondered whether there was a single thing about you that wouldn't strike awe into her.

"So... where are you from?" she attempted a decent conversation, only to be interrupted by Eri bursting through the door to show her an entire book about magpies.

There was obviously much to learn.

"They also get sad when someone dies, and use tools, like here... and here... and they work in a team and play games like this!"

You both watched Eri run around the flat a few times before speeding back and picking up the book, presumably to learn more facts off by heart before presenting them.

"You were saying...," you tried to resurrect the conversation. "I'm from Japan, born and raised."

"Really? Then why on earth did you come to America?" Peggy asked before she could stop herself. Maybe it wasn't fair to take out her misdemeanors here out on the entire country.

"My, uh, my wife died seven years ago. In childbirth," you said slowly, but steadily. Peggy closed her eyes briefly. "Everything there belonged to her, if that makes sense, that entire country, and... I needed something of my own, so we came here. New York dreaming and all that. Perfecting English spelling is a sorry pastime, let me tell you."

"I'm sorry," Peggy mumbled. "I shouldn't have asked." You shrugged. "But you seem to be settled in well, no? I mean, I haven't seen you spell, but otherwise..."

You laughed, taking a sip of coffee. She copied your movements. It tasted perfect.

"Yeah, I'd say we're settled. I mean, Eri more than me, she knows every second person and bird around, which is a lot in the city. You know, we'll be walking and she'll point to some stranger and say "look, Jeremy's dad!". It's a bit freaky," you told her, leaning back in your chair.

You didn't mind those honey-brown eyes, chocolate curls, plump red lips. You could have looked at her all day and certainly all night.

"Well, then she's further than me, too. I can only tell when someone's dangerous or not. My work, of course."

"Yeah."

The two of you continued to talk. She wanted to ask about the scar, badly, but couldn't help but notice she was having one of the most pleasant conversations since being here.

Eri raced in and out of the room on a ten-minute schedule, always bright and lovely.

It was with a heavy heart that Peggy saw the message from S.H.I.E.L.D. on her phone, demanding her presence.

Eri was currently explaining to you the difference between Australian, European and American magpies, and the different ones in each region.

"I'm really sorry to cut this short, but I have to go. Duty calls," Peggy intervened sadly.

Eri lit up. "You're going out to save the world? Will you mention me to whatever bad guys you fight?"

"Sure, if I come across any," she replied carefully, sending you a look that promised she would do no such thing.

"Can I give you my number? If you ever need any help on duty, you can give Eri and I a call, although I'll admit she's much more useful if it involves magpies." You smiled at Peggy. She melted.

"That'd be good," she whispered, handing you her phone. You quickly added your contact, passing it back to her.

"I think I'll need it soon enough," she thanked you, letting you lead her to the door. You held her coat for her, and it was mildly on purpose when she leaned backwards while doing so, brushing your toned abdomen with her back.

"See you, Peggy."

"See you, (Y/n)."

Her heart beat quickly, and she felt just great and nervous enough, and all she could think about was dancing, to the point where Steve's voice was lost in translation.

That night, she dreamed of magpies.

[plscallmeeren]

Hello! Someone reposted your work(s) over wattpat, their username is @smileybannana

Just wanted to let you know, have a nice day!

Thank you so much for letting me know… as I understand it the profile has been deleted and a lot of authors have been involved… never would have known. Super grateful to you. Have an amazing day

[plscallmeeren]

F E V E R

Loki Laufeyson / Odinson x Reader

Request: yep @tricksterlover_1054

Summary: Loki comes down with the flu and after due confusion you take care of him :) (established relationship)

Warnings: symptoms of sickness (such as fever, throwing up); unedited (so sorry for the long wait!)

Word Count: 2K+

Loki groaned, burying his head into the crook of your neck as far as possible. Your hand lifted to meet his hairline, fingers running through the black strands. "What's wrong, darling?"

"Nothing," he answered, muffled by your skin. Nothing, he said as his head ached, icy chills festered with an unnatural feeling in every corner of his body.

"You sure? We can go to bed if you want, there's no rush to finish the movie..."

"No, no, I should like to enjoy it all at once." He forced his gaze back to the screen, (enormous, of course - worthy of Tony,) trying to concentrate on the film you had been gushing about for weeks.

He felt fine. Really, it was nothing. Thor must have knocked him in the head with that damned hammer at some point.

You glanced sideways at your lover, worry creasing your forehead at the way he fidgeted. Your nails never abandoned his roots, tugging and caressing his scalp.

Nothing, Loki repeated to himself, though he was sure he couldn't remember the last time he had really felt cold.

•••

Loki stirred beside you, waking you with the help of rustling covers. Your eyes wedged themselves open, observing as he nestled into your side, tried desperately to get closer, closer to you than humanely possible, throwing a leg over your own to pull himself near.

You considered searching for a blanket, but couldn't bring yourself to wrench your bodies apart. He shivered beside you, almost sighing when you wrapped your warm arms around him.

Loki accidentally grew cold sometimes, almost like a glamorous statue of snow, only unbothered, careless until you flinched at his touch. But this... he never shivered, never seeked warmth. You embraced him tighter, rubbing the wool of your jumper against his bare skin hopelessly.

•••

You awoke before him, a sure sign of misdemeanor. He hardly moved when you pried away, but he looked better once you had piled two soft blankets over him, pulled one of your larger sweaters over his predominately limp arms.

You helped Wanda make breakfast, carrying a particularly large helping back to Loki in the late morning.

He whined as you shook him, but eventually his blue-glazed eyes found you and he smiled weakly.

"Food?"

"Food."

He devoured the English breakfast in minutes, breathing heavily by the time the last morsel was gone.

"How are you, love? You were... cold last night, so I wonder..."

"You should have woken me," Loki answered indignantly, but you interrupted his reproach.

"No, I mean you felt cold. You. Shivering and all."

"I'm fine."

"Alright."

You didn't bother pushing. It would only end in irritation. Then again, he looked relieved when you slid into bed beside him, offering your lap and gentle caress as he explored the TV - a new and strange thing.

"Are you up for the mission later?" you asked after some time, careful as possible.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He gave you a very telling look, so you only shook your head. Hopeless. You would just have to keep an eye on him.

Meanwhile, Loki was fighting with himself, attempting to ease every panic that surfaced. Why had he been cold? Why did everything feel so uncomfortable, a dull ache, almost?

Some short hours later you were both seated in the Quinjet, silent as you mulled over plans in plans in plans, each dependent on whether or not one or another succeeded.

The mission consisted of you wooing a military man, of Loki gently creeping into his mind while distracted to make him show you some vaguely specified documents. Your hopes were far from high.

"So, monsieur..." you drawled, leaning toward the bald man, French accent well overdone. "I hear you have met the... couronne?"

"Ah, the crown," he answered happily. "Yes, you see..."

You glanced at your beloved, eyes narrowing when you saw him walk around the party aimlessly, gaze permanent on you when he should have been inconspicuous.

"So that was all, really. And you, madam? Ever met someone famous?"

"Oui, but it's rude to talk about someone when they're present," you countered easily, willing yourself not to look at Loki.

The man laughed, badges bouncing on his chest. "Witty, aren't you, honey?"

"Only for those deserving, monsieur."

You could feel your lover tugging at your mind, desperate. Any moment now, he should have been invading on behalf of the mission, but instead he was pleading you...

"Mademoiselle? Is that man bothering you?"

I had hardly noticed my gaze lock on Loki, Steve's voice ringing in the headset. His breathing was too fast, fear too obvious in his expression...

"I'll be back," I excused myself, half forgetting the accent as I quickly approached Loki instead, gripping his face in my hands. His head burned.

"Beloved?"

"I don't feel well," he murmured, voice so weak your heart shattered.

"Let's get you home," you said quietly, barely a whisper, holding him, leading him out of the room so that you could teleport away. Steve roared commands and reproaches through the mics, so you removed Loki's before any guilt could set in.

"We cannot fulfill our part of the mission. Have someone else complete it," you spoke harshly, clicking off your device as well. "Beloved, what is wrong? Do not lie to me."

You were standing in your room in the tower, Loki collapsing onto the bed before you. "I'm tired," he muttered, and you believed him.

"And?"

"Head hurts. Everything hurts. Everything's so hot..."

You placed a hand on his forehead, suppressing a sigh, if not laugh, of relief. "Darling... you have the flu."

"What?" Loki snapped, as if this were insulting propaganda. "I don't get sick, and I'm quite happy to leave it to mortals and lesser beings to be-"

He coughed. This time, you allowed yourself a small chuckle. "That's too bad. C'mon, let's get you warm in bed-"

Loki sat up like lighting, sprinted away to the bathroom. You followed, feeling a little bad when you heard him retch.

"It's alright, this is all normal," you consoled, sitting down beside him where he hugged the bowl. "At least... for mortals and lesser beings." Your fingertips traced circles on his back while your other hand gathered his hair, holding it away from his face.

"This... is horrible," Loki managed, breathing heavily.

"It is. But it will pass," you answered gently, humming to him as he threw up again. His eyes closed briefly at the familiar tune of an Asgardian ballad, though rest was far from him.

You wondered whether gods, in exchange for the rarity of illness, were struck much stronger when the time came. But finally, after multiple hours of cool tiles digging into your knees and making him drink water, his wretched state ceased.

"Done?"

"I hope so. Thank you for... staying," he murmured, voice weakened.

"Of course." His fever had risen. "Let's clean you up, yes?"

The bath ran warm and you scented its comfort with various herbs Tony always eyed you suspiciously about. A little thyme, a little elderflower, some echinacea... all foes of the common flu.

You helped Loki into the tub, helped him clean himself and handed him a toothbrush to ease the remaining discomfort. He could have fallen asleep then and there.

By the evening he was in bed beneath copious blankets, wrapped in jumpers and thick pants, steaming stew on his lap as you laid beside him.

"Your fever's down a bit," you informed him, packing away the thermometer. "How do you feel?"

"Like my head's about to split in two and I shan't ever move again," Loki grinned at the look on your face, "but... very comfortable."

He studied you for a moment, taking careful sips from his spoon. "Is this how you feel? Every time you're sick?"

"Well, some times are worse than others," you replied sagely, warm hand slipping under his shirts to rub delicate circles over his abdomen.

"And who looks after you?"

"I don't need anyone to, I'm used to it. Not everyone is a god."

Loki only stared at you, almost shocked. His wide eyes lingered with only short interruptions to eat something.

"You're strong," he said finally. "Stronger than I give you credit."

"You have never doubted my strength, beloved. I have never felt weaker when it was inappropriate."

"But you deserve so much softness to avenge any hardship." His hands wandered to your face, bowl quickly stashed on the night table. His fingers grasped your outline, one set running through your hair, pulling your head back a little so that he could kiss you, facing upward.

Looking up to you.

"My love..." you murmured, barely committed. You wanted to remind him of his stew, of the covers that were slipping from him...

"Thank you," he whispered into your skin, lips pooling at the base of your neck, tongue licking at the damage of every kiss. "Thank you for everything."

"Darling, it is not I who needs consoling, though I do enjoy it," you managed, cupping his cheek so that he would look you in the eye. He looked divine - was divine - the way he looked up, baring his throat, lips slightly parted, eyes dark, hair tussled from the array of pillows behind him.

"Let me take care of you," you purred, throwing a leg onto his other side before dragging him into a kiss, pulling away after few seconds so that he leaned forward, wanting more. Your mouth ghosted down the side of his neck, teeth grazing his ear as you sucked on it. He moaned beneath you, eyes closing in submission.

Your hands ran under his clothes, one gripping his waist, the other running wild over his chest, reminding him you were there, always. Your tongue dipped beneath his collar, fought the fabric to lick down his front.

"Darling?" he breathed, barely a word, barely more than a sigh.

"Yes, love?"

"I think I'm working a fever again."

You both laughed, the vibrations of your voice sending shivers down his spine.

"Eat. I mean it."

Hesitantly, Loki resumed eating his stew, occasionally breathing heavily when you interrupted your conversation to suck or bite or kiss his abdomen.

"Has Rogers calmed down? Since we left, I mean," he continued daintily, hips tensing as you devoted yourself to his chest.

"I talked to him. The mission was inelegant without us, but they're all fine and they have the information, so he had no grounds on which to complain."

"I shouldn't have... I should have stuck to the plan," Loki whispered. At that, you lifted your head properly, lips shining red.

"Loki," you said, dangerously low, "don't you ever regret caring for yourself. Over all else."

"But the danger-"

"If the whole world were in danger, I would still stay at home until you recovered from a headache. The world could be burning, and I would tell you to care for yourself first if at all possible."

Loki stared. "I would burn the world for you." His tone was soft, child-like in its innocence, but just as saturated with honesty. He would destroy with love in his heart, should he need to.

"I know," you only said, pressing one last kiss to his stomach. "I do."

He pulled the covers up, trapping you where you wished to be. By his side.

"I can't believe I was scared earlier."

"It's not a thing of shame."

"If you say so."

"Thor would like to visit you, by the way. He asked me before - treated me like a nurse and went all polite."

Loki laughed. "Yes, well, he needs someone to answer to, doesn't he?"

You hummed. His head rested on your shoulder now, eyes drifting shut against his will.

"Sleep," you ordered, and he could not deny you long enough to protest. The pillows swallowed him into their dreamland, but your arms anchored him to a world he would never burn down. Never, not even for himself.

[plscallmeeren]

S E R V I N G Y O U

Ororo Imogen Munroe x Reader

Request: yes

Summary: your right side can do fire manipulation and your left side is ice (long live Shoto Todoroki).

Citation backstory: y/n was a unique case among mutant kind, you see he didn't have the mutant gene awakened in adolescence by chance, his power was guaranteed, his mother mother may have been human but his father was a mutant, y/n was presented the option to study at the Xavier institute but he felt he could blend into society preety easily because you wouldn't know he had a power unless he told you, or if you were smart enough to point out heterochromia, most importantly he didn't want to leave his parent so, so he remained in New York, fighting for mutant kind in his own way, working at coffee shop that served as a way for mutants to feel welcome and with a percentage of the money he makes going to mutants in need

Anyways Storm hears about this coffee shop and decides she simply must visit

Warnings: Swearing; discrimination

Word Count: 2.2K+

Ororo was easy to impress when it came to humans handling mutants well, which was a sad effect of a sadder story, of course. But nevertheless, her curiosity doubled when she heard the urban legends surrounding what she had considered, in passing, to be an extraordinarily normal coffee shop.

She walked quickly as she contemplated this idea. A simple place with no particular goal in mind, and yet somewhere mutants and humans could coexist. It sounded fanciful, almost, but from what she had heard it rather worked.

Ororo paused, looking up from her map. Yes, this was it.

She regarded the carefully crafted golden letters on the window panes, pushing open the door and exhaling at the sound of a melodious bell.

She had never seen such a wonderful coffee shop before.

To the right of the door, a bar weighed down by various coffee machines and kettles and glass-domed surfaces displaying cakes. Behind it, two waiters meandered to and fro, making surprisingly quick work of their orders considering their movements seemed so lazy.

To the left and ahead, gnarled wooden tables sunk their talons into the dents they had carved into the floor, no chair the same type, colour or material, even though every one was warmed by the fireplace, its stokers dusted with ash.

Beside the entry, a bar met by countless stools faced the enormous windows, ancient typewriters and other random but precious things placed in every corner there wasn't a ridiculously happy pot plant.

Behind, large bookshelves surrounded a secluded area of seating arrangements rearing more in the direction of couches and beanbags, books and magazines and art collections literally piled everywhere.

It felt like home, it smelt like the home of an enthusiast of coffee and tea and chocolate. Music ranging from punk to Kate Bush and back to The Doors hummed in the near background, a whisper over her shoulder.

But the best part were the customers: the people who looked "normal" and the ones with horns or wings or scaly skin - all this in a place barely hidden, unless you counted the vines traipsed comfortably around the grilles.

She sat down, opening the menu. She had just found the lunch section when the door slammed open, the bell chiming erratically as he stomped through conversations, slumping into a chair with an expression of plain disgust.

Ororo knew that look. Her appetite drained so fast she had to set the menu down.

A waiter - a handsome waiter, if she was honest - approached him apprehensively, politely asking what he wished to have. She noticed the colour of your eyes, the clash of blue and... red?

"I'm not giving you my service until these muties leave," the man spoke gruffly, eyeing the room suspiciously. Some talk had died down, and Ororo wanted to transform every fearful face she recognized all too well into what they had recently been.

You opened your mouth to reply, but the man beat you to it. "They don't belong here, in civilization, where real people are. If you want my money, get them out, with a few kicks if you have to! Maybe then this could be a proper shop..."

Ororo swore she could see the waiter gulp, eyes narrow, calm his voice in preparation. You closed your notebook determinately. "I'll ask you only once to take your business elsewhere. We do not want your money." Ororo's heart leaped.

The man blustered, demanding to see the manager among a variety of curses.

"I am the manager, sir," you said harshly, pointing at your chest. "As much as I am a waiter."

The angered man shoved his finger against your chest, applying a fair bit of force, but you didn't budge. Your gaze hardened. "Where's your shame, you damn mutant lover! Serving those fucking retards over your own mother's kind-"

Your hand shot forward, grasping his finger tightly. Ororo's eyes widened as she watched you bend it back, neglecting the cries of pain you elicited. "Everyone has a place here, maybe even you, if you ever learn to be better. But even so, I have the right to refuse service to anyone. Understand me? Now get the hell out of my damn shop before I actually hurt you."

Your voice was deadly and low, a growled threat that deserved nothing less than the wail in return as the man scrambled out of your place holding his finger like it might fall off.

You turned once, looking at guests calmly but deliberately, encouraging them to immerse themselves once again into conversation. You turned to a white-haired woman, dark skin illuminating the beauty of her brown eyes.

"Apologies for the wait - we're usually quicker to serve."

"It's fine, really. I'd take a cappuccino, though," she smiled, eyes alight. You were beautiful, and your eyes were like wild and calm all at once.

"It will be right out," you smiled back, bowing playfully. "I look forward to serving you." Ororo grinned despite herself.

A few minutes later you had returned with her cappuccino, accompanied by a piece of cake. "On the house," you added as she was about to remind you she hadn't ordered food. "For the wait. I dare say everyone likes chocolate cake."

She laughed, nodding. You started to walk away, but she called you back. "Sorry, I just- may I speak to you for a moment?"

"Sure, my break's coming up anyway," you agreed, oblivious to why she should ask you to talk. "How can I help you?"

"Please, sit, you'll make me nervous," Ororo offered, gesturing to the chair across from her. You obliged. "You're a mutant, aren't you?"

If you were surprised, she certainly couldn't tell. "What makes you say that?"

"When you were angry before, the it cooled down in here, as in the temperature shifted. Subtle - but detectable." She smiled proudly, glint above the darkness of her irises.

"Why would you care?" you replied, somewhat harshly, defensively. One anti-mutant a day was plenty, and here you were sacrificing your break...

Ororo's hand was firm as she placed it on yours comfortingly. "Don't worry, no blackmail. Why would I do that to one of my own?" Her eyes flashed white for a moment, and your muscles relaxed slightly.

"Well, you are right," you admitted sheepishly. "But forgive me for asking - why does it matter?"

"I swear I only wanted to talk. Maybe that's silly, but you must have an interesting story - hopefully not a too painful one. It's wonderful seeing a shop welcome mutants so openly."

You looked her right in the eye; saw the fire and light, but also the calm. Her gentle smile caressed her features, a silent 'don't worry, darling' that you wished wouldn't work as well as it did.

"I've always wanted a place everyone could coexist. Without needing to hide or blend in, that is. I had to pull a lot of strings legally for it to work. It's fucking ridiculous, actually. The owner of this place, Leblanc... well, he was a big part of it."

"If I may... when did you manifest?" You didn't miss how she leaned forward over the table, staring up at you in interest that bordered on awe.

"As long as I can remember, it's always been there."

"Not in puberty?"

You shook your head. "Apparently a mutant father can make that happen. Speeding up the process and all that."

"A mutant and a human fell in love?" she asked somberly, momentarily forgetting where she was at all. This could have been home. This could have been the place such a star-crossed romance would find its roots.

"Yes, although it wasn't easy, of course," you smiled, bittersweet. "My father was hunted for what he is and my mother's family disowned her. She doesn't regret it, though - at least not when she's around us. She always says that what she lost in that family she gained tenfold in her new one. My siblings and I in particular."

"I'm sure they're very proud of you, opening a place like this," she ventured, lost in ideas of a brighter future, of hope, of a kind of love that truly mattered.

You smiled. "I'm glad if I can make a difference. It's not that powerful, you know, not like one of those schools or an anything educational, but... I think this can be important, too. I'm really sorry, but I've got to return to my shift," you amended, standing and bowing again. "Maybe we can continue this talk sometime?"

Ororo hesitated, then decided if she had ever believed in romance as a cause, she had better listen to herself. "I have nowhere to be. I could wait for you..."

"Are you willing to wait an hour?" you smirked, already surprised, but impressed as she winked in confirmation.

"One hour, then. I'll pass the time just fine, I think."

You bit your lip as if that would do anything to stop the blush from reaching your cheeks. Instead, you turned around and continued your shift. Then again, your eyes never could stop wandering toward her as she sipped her coffee, ate her cake, searched the rows of carefully selected volumes and finally settled on Kafka's Contemplations.

An hour later you stood in front of her again, a loyal disciple whether you liked it or not. There was no turning back from such a picture of grace.

You left the cafe together, walking slowly as if to prolong the brief silence.

"What is your gift, (y/n)? Let me guess... something cold?"

You smirked, allowing a thin layer of ice to encompass your right hand, formation of a swan shaping itself from crystal water. "Half right." Fire erupted from your left arm, singing the edge of your shirt and setting a burnt smell into the air. She liked it.

"Two powers... fascinating. I assume your eyes are linked to that?"

"Good guess; not many notice. I assume your white hair has something to do with...?"

She straightened slightly, but did not fear the conversation. "You would think, but not quite. I come from a royal Kenyan bloodline, of which every member has white hair and magic. I had yet to learn that for me it was more than magic, but..."

Hey eyes grew luminous and the dark clouds ahead dispersed. You blinked.

"The weather... now that is fascinating," you awed, still looking up.

"Unfortunately, all the hair does is make me look older."

"Beautiful's a better word," you corrected her, eyes meeting once again.

"I..." Ororo only stared, baffled by such a rare compliment.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, looking away. "I didn't mean to overstep-"

"You did no such thing," she said firmly, refusing to escape to the sight of pavement as you had. "I meant to say thank you."

"Have you heard of the Xavier Institute?" she asked after a moment's pause, hesitant to ask.

"Can't think of a mutant who hasn't."

"Why didn't you join?"

"How do you know I didn't?"

"Just answer."

You sighed. "I guess there wasn't any need. I blend in well and didn't want to leave my family... why would I?"

“I don’t know. But… even if not for school, you know there is always room for mutants? For X-Men?”

She was staring at you, gaze piercing. You swore if you looked any longer, you’d be obliged to lean in, to go as close as possible-

Her phone rang violently, begging her to retrieve it from her pocket. The moment passed, though its gravity remained imprinted on your mind.

“Hello? Yeah. Okay. I’m coming.”

You watched her slip the phone back into her jacket, move her eyes mournfully to you own.

“I have to go.”

“I heard.”

“Can I have your phone?”

You hesitated, but handed it over nonetheless. She opened contacts, typing in her number and name at top speeds. “I look forward to seeing you again. Another day, maybe soon?”

“Soon sounds good.”

“Thank you.”

‘What for?’, you could have asked. But you both knew what for, and redundancy was a sin in its own right.

Your hand hovered near hers for a moment before she took it, gently, softly, so far from afraid. Your hand was warm against hers, a comfort. Hers was cool, invigorating.

She let go, and you watched as Ororo soared through the air, another cloud. An angel came to mind, though wings would have been gratuitous. The sky itself carried her, lent her a helping hand.

Ororo looked back once, and when she looked forward, she saw the very same.

[plscallmeeren]

P E R S O N A L P T 3

Jessica Jones x Reader

Request: yes

Summary: you're a natural born fighter (martial arts, fire manipulation) who fought for money and enlisted in SHIELD to avoid jail, then got kicked out again. You now reside in Hell's Kitchen yeah pt 3 with smut but it is marked so you can skip

Warnings: Swearing; rough piv; dirty talk, violence a la fire; mentions of stalking and fighting

Word Count: 2.3K+

Jessica was a highly strung sort of person. Normally. Normally, however, she was not faced with a stalker who was inside the victim's apartment, talking sweetly as to hide malicious intent. They stand close together - close enough for murder should a private investigator be standing by the door.

Now, far away from normal, she was panicking.

Her fingers slipped intuitively toward her pocket, reaching for her phone, just as she had been doing when she felt at all happy, sad, angry or anxious recently. Your number was only one click away, and more valuable than her pride. She didn't like involving you in her business, just like you didn't involve her in yours.

"Hello, love," your voice melted through the speaker, and she could feel some of her tension fade. You were obviously at home, calm, maybe still tired, about to sleep, already woken?

"Hey," she replied urgently, practically sending you pay closer attention on the other end of the line. "I need some help."

"Where are you?" you asked firmly, not messing around. She looked around, as if she didn't know the streets off by heart.

"59th Street."

"Coming. Stay safe."

She sent you the specific location, teetering on the threshold of the apartment corridor, trying to do so noiselessly. The stalker could be killing. Hurting. Anything, really. All she could see was his back through the window.

She waited a minute or five, growing more and more impatient, until she stopped, stunned, upon sight of a gun. A gun aimed at her client. She cursed herself for thinking that way.

Jessica couldn't wait any longer. She kicked the door down, risking a moment's blindness as she rounded the kitchen wall, she was finally there, she had to act fast-

The stalker cowered on the ground, left hand hovering an inch away from his right arm, that was now blistering and sizzling. He cried out in bursts of agony, staring up in fear at the man looking over him, disgust written on his face.

You looked up, holding Jessica's gaze. Only then did she notice the man you were supporting, her client's ashen face peering down in horror at his stalker.

"Hello, sir, I'm really sorry it took this long," she switched to her professional tone, approaching the debacle and leading the poor man away from the scene by his arm. He was shaking all over but seemed mainly relieved.

She called the police, not leaving the man's side until they were close, while you watched the perpetrator. You both left right before the cops arrived.

She glared at you, not saying a word as you walked up the road incredibly fast.

"...Are you okay?" you asked, unsure whether that was the right question. She whirled around, looking, by her standards, only mildly furious.

"What took you so long? It was close (y/n). He could have died. My client. I needed you," she almost choked on the last part, but didn't let it affect her expression. You noted it too, attempting not to be too honored.

"I'm sorry. I was working on another... issue," you answered sincerely, not looking away.

"Yeah. I can see the split lip." She paused. "Why burn him, not knock him out? Easier that way, isn't it?"

"C'mon, it's time. Give me some background on the whole fire thing. You know mine." Jessica batted her eyelashes in jest, running a hand down your arm.

"If you insist," you chuckled, staring at your knuckles, almost ashamed. "Since I was discharged from S.H.I.E.L.D... well, I should open with the fact that that's why I was taken in the first place. Little old me wasn't particularly interesting when fire wasn't raging all around me, out of control."

"I...," you started, unsure how to continue. The sun was just rising, pink rays peeking through neighborhood trees. "I guess it's quicker to... stop someone by burning them rather than beating them up. And it could look like an accident, so if Scotland Yard shows up, they'll probably just accept it and move on. I mean, everyone knew he was stalking every second person on 56th anyway, didn't they?"

"Yeah." Jessica smiled, enjoying the intimacy of simply standing close to you. "Thanks for picking up, y'know. You don't have to fake lying around at home, being all drowsy and sexy or something."

"Wouldn't want you to worry."

She leaned up, kissing you with a hand to your chin, suppressing a grin. "That's for answering."

"No need to thank me."

"There is. Really. I mean it." You blinked, saddened instantly because you knew how many times she had been let down. You refused to be yet another disappointment.

The two of you headed down to her office, talking and not talking and just generally enjoying each other's company. You couldn't help but smile at her wrecked door. It was a surprise, but you had organized a new glass and lock to arrive sometime the following week.

"You looked good doing that, y'know. Bet you look good in a fight," she teased, parrying with the doorknob.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Jessica," you said quietly, a prayer, when the door closed behind you. "I want to have you. May I?"

SMUT STARTS HERE

The world erupted. Surely, the earth shook as she dived towards you, frantic in an attempt to kiss you faster, faster, faster, faster, more, more, more. You moved against each other like waves crashing, too eager to calm for even a second.

You hardly noticed her rip your t-shirt off, your belt and pants unbuckled in record time. She broke away no more than a second to tear off every piece of clothing she was wearing, so that she melded against you bare.

Your hands roamed the pale expanse of her body, groping and kneading at every groove, curve, dip - mapping the plush parts of her so that your fingertips could bruise the hard. Her hair tossed around your heads wildly, trapping you just where you wanted to be.

She landed with her ass against the desk, her whiskey bottle crashing onto the floor with a gratifying ring. Her hips bucked towards you, desperate, and you could have drooled at the sight of Jessica desperate.

You tossed your boxers, crouching down in front of the desk and supporting her thighs on either side of your head as you sucked at her clit, eliciting a sinful moan from somewhere above.

You hummed against her, the vibrations driving her crazy as she twitched and writhed beneath you. You sacrificed one hand that had been digging into the soft meat of her thighs to push into her, three fingers stretching her pussy apart.

"God, (y/n), it feels so good, it feels so good, oh God-" She was a panting mess, digging herself deeper and deeper into your face to gain more friction.

"Easy, baby," you growled, and if she hadn't held back, she knew she would have screamed. Her hands searched for something to hold onto, landing almost every document on her desk somewhere else, scattered on the floor.

You stepped away, admiring your work for a moment before leaning over her, aligning yourself with her sex. Her lips formed an o-shape as she watched you hover there, then slowly push in.

"Wait," she managed, ripping a drawer brutally away from its hinges and pulling out a condom. "We forgot."

"Sorry," you muttered, quickly mending the damage. "Now?"

"Yes, please."

You entered her again, inching further very carefully so that she could stop you. You hissed at how tight she felt.

"Please, I can take it," she whined, and your hips snapped to hers. Jessica cried out in something you could only hope was pleasure, hands coming to rake down your back. Her nails dug into your flesh, but you didn't mind.

"Can I?"

"Yes, yes, God yes," she moaned. You pulled out halfway slowly, then rammed into her at a brutal pace. Her eyes rolled back, a singular, long-lasting moan powered by every thrust.

"Your cunt is so tight, Jessica, fuck," you groaned, not slowing your assault. The sound of skin slapping and Jessica's warbling filled the room and likely reached beyond it. The desk creaked.

"Call me a slut- Fuck!"

"Yeah? That's what it's come to? Alright," you purred, leaning even closer so that your chest touched hers. "You need this, don't you? Not many can satisfy your cunt, can they, slut?"

She mewled, throwing her head back, and with a deafening moan, you could feel her clenching, juices flowing freely out of her pussy.

"You really liked that, huh? You are a pretty little slut, aren't you?" You hauled her up, helping her stagger to the office wall. "Bed?"

"Do it here," she replied immediately. You couldn't tell if she was so desperate she couldn't reach the bed or if she liked the challenge of sex standing up, but you had no trouble at all complying.

She turned to face the wall, and you thrust into her yet again, gripping her ass firmly. Both of your hips bucked into each other at record speed, her palms pressed against the wall above her head. Your hands ventured instead to her breasts, squeezing and palming them while you drove into her cunt.

Her perked nipples rolled between your fingers, whines and screams that no neighbour could ignore falling irrevocably from Jessica's lips.

"Such a pretty slut for me, baby," you groaned, lifting and bending her right leg to reach even deeper inside her.

"Yes, daddy. Yes, yes, yes," she moaned, face pressed against the wall as you sucked and but at the nape of her neck, marking her. Yours. Yours. Yours.

"I'm gonna come," you managed, still drilling into her from behind. You could feel the tension in you rising, and then it released, a guttural sound deep within you.

Jessica turned around, panting. "Bed?"

"Bed."

Even though her legs were obviously weakened, she still swung her hips on the way to her bedroom, smiling cunningly over her shoulder. You smirked as she gestured you to lie down on the bed. She observed your body almost hungrily, fingertips traipsing over the hard muscles of your torso, then your arms, then biting her lip at the sight between your thighs.

"C'mon, Jessica," you teaser. "Be a good slut for me."

She smirked, hand encircling your cock as she leaned down to place her lips at the tip, looking up at you as she slid up and down your length. You groaned, bucking your hips up to her mouth, and you could feel the back of her throat when you reached far enough. She gagged slightly, never pausing her swift hand movements as you hardened anew.

She hollowed her cheeks a moment, then, deciding she had done enough, removed her head and sat down on your cock instead, face scrunching in painful ecstasy as you penetrated deeper than before.

"Fuck, Jessica," you groaned, wanting more, faster.

She started to bounce on your lap, placing your hands on her tits to fondle as she tried to do so as quickly as possible. You stuck to the pattern for a few minutes, until you couldn't bare to wait longer. You grabbed her hips at their highest point, hammering into her again as fast as you could. Her breasts shook with every thrust, mouth open, drooling slightly.

Your muscles were about to give out from the exertion, so you flipped her over nonchalantly, ramming into her from above as the mattress roared its disapproval.

"More, oh God, oh God, it feels so good, oh God-" Jessica was rambling between pornographic moans, a true scream tearing from her throat as you put all the power you possibly could into invading her cunt.

An ominous crack sounded, and the bed collapsed around you, breaking clean in two. You were so enraptured, however, that you still didn't stop, only more motivated.

Jessica couldn't even speak as she whined, cum gushing once again around your dick, inspiring your own orgasm. You practically fell on top of her for a moment, only now feeling the sting of where she had scratched you, the utter exhaustion in your legs.

SMUT ENDS HERE

"Let's do that again in a bit," she murmured, still panting heavily.

"Yeah. Sorry about the bed."

"It's alright, I wanted a new one, anyway."

You picked her up easily, even if she did have super-strength that meant she could endure what most couldn't, carrying her to the couch where she could watch the sun caress the rooftops, a blanket at her disposal. "I'll be right back," you promised, heading to the kitchen.

Jessica laughed, giddy with happiness. She decided two things that morning - things that would not have changed had it been any less glorious. Had the sun not shone upon her broken bedroom perfectly, had the breakfast you brought her to eat on her cushions been even a little overcooked, had your hair not fallen immaculately as you collapsed into the small space beside her, lips pressed to the base of her neck - still, she would have known this.

One, that this was the best sex she would probably ever have - a good argument for justifying the cost of a new bed.

Two, that she would try, and try again, if necessary, to be with you. Because for the first time in ages - perhaps in forever - she had a good feeling about this.

[plscallmeeren]

P E R S O N A L P T 2

Jessica Jones x Reader

Request: yes

Summary: you're a natural born fighter (martial arts, fire manipulation) who fought for money and enlisted in SHIELD to avoid jail, then got kicked out again. You now reside in Hell's Kitchen

Warnings: s mentions ig; unedited

Word Count: 1.3K+

Jessica stared at her phone. Your name was almost as daunting as the numbers beneath it. She didn't really need help. She never did, though. And somehow that would be worse.

(Y/n) (Y/l/n).

Her lips barely moved as she shaped your name once again. What a strange curve that one syllable was, what a sharp point, just like your tongue.

She groaned. This wasn't helping. Maybe she needed to remove you from her system? Entertain the possibility once, so that you could be forgotten forever?

Jessica dismissed the tempting theory, as she had so far. Too good to be true. Far too good.

But what else could she do? Her concentration wavered in every respect; she couldn't help but wonder whether you would judge her for her late-night drink, what sleeping habits you might have as she took notes of a case's.

(Y/n) (Y/l/n).

Damn it.

She picked up the phone.

•••

You stared at your phone. One missed call from Jessica Jones.

How could you have missed it? Such an important thing, such a reverent moment. And why had she called? Had she needed help? Had something happened, and it was your fault not to have shown up?

"If you're ever in a jam even you can't handle - or don't want to handle - give me a call."

You picked up the phone.

It rang.

It rang again.

And again.

You cursed; the majority unheard of. You picked up the keys you had just put down and headed for the door, not one glance back.

Her business card crumbled in your hand, though you hardly noticed.

•••

The door that advertised her agency was broken, clouded glass held together by stubborn duct tape. There were no signs of a fight from the outside, but who knew where she had even called from...

You pressed a palm against the lock, pushing with all your might so that the door spring open.

"Hello? Are you here?" you called, adamantly refusing your voice to waver. Where else would you look if she wasn't here? You had no idea where she went...

"How did you get in here?" a voice behind you asked, and before you knew what you were doing, you had spun around, hands outstretched as if to fight.

Jessica.

The name sounded so right, so fitting now that you knew it. Every inch of her screamed it - she was her name, nothing else.

"I- You called."

"Yeah, that doesn't answer my question."

"No, I- I called back, and you didn't pick up, and considering I told you to call me if you were having any problems... I guess I got worried." You stared at her, subconsciously checking to see if she was alright. Her cheeks flushed.

"Well, sorry, no need to save me," she said cruelly, inspecting the lock on her door for damage before turning back to you. "But I guess now that you're here..."

"Yeah?"

"Well. I don't know. I've been thinking about you," she whispered, trying to sound seductive and coming across far too needy. But surely, that would have you stripping in no time, right?

You didn't budge, and just like last time, it was her who did the familiar approaching, the brush of the hand against an inch of your body.

"I've been thinking, too," you said slowly. "It's quite the distraction."

"My thoughts exactly."

"What do you propose?" you husked, and a shiver ran down her spine when you placed a gentle row of digits against her hips, almost as if to keep her at bay.

"Get it out of our system, how does that sound?"

"It sounds good," you chuckled. "Too good."

She blinked slowly, then walked away. You were far too difficult to convince. And yet... and yet no one-night-stand made her feel the way she did when you came bursting in like some brute, just because she hadn't answered the phone. That was pretty nice.

You couldn't stop staring at her, feeling more and more ridiculous at having broken in as you did. Her shiny black hair curved around her shoulders, face pale but shining beside those dark eyes.

"I should go," you said steadily, though it seemed suspiciously close to a question, that traitorous intonation.

"You should," she agreed, and you told yourself five lies so that your feet would move. One, you would see her again. Two, she didn't like you. Three, she was playing, and you refused to be played. Four, there were others like her. Five, (the biggest one,) you didn't care either.

She waited only until the door closed behind you to pull the liquor bottle closest to her even closer. She stared at it. Maybe you would come back, bursting in again. She stared a little longer, then put it away. Not today, she thought, never wondering how long today could be.

•••

Thursday night.

You wondered whether she would be there. You didn't care, though. Yes, she was beautiful and clever and mysterious, but those were just words. Nothing that couldn't be projected into nearly anyone.

She wasn't there. You couldn't hide the disappointment from yourself. You sat down, shoulders slumped and height stolen, beer for once not just for fun.

You closed your eyes. There she was again, Jessica. Jessica. Jessica. Not like you knew her. Maybe someone else did. Here, behind your lids, in a private theatre, she wore a summer dress and a big hat, and she was smiling. Laughing. Laughing like there was nothing else to do. Occasionally, the image shifted, and she would once again be wearing her leather jacket and grey pants, but always she was laughing.

She was laughing even, when your mind undressed her, at first not sensually, only exposing some cherished vulnerability. Not for long, however, as you imagined waves of her body, the mould of your palms holding her...

"Didn't see you there," her voice erupted nearby, and it took you a moment to understand you were not dreaming it. "Didn't take you for a daydreamer."

"Only when there's something worth daydreaming about," you replied easily, opening your eyes. She licked her lips, unsure whether you meant what she hoped.

"What's that? Your man-cave?"

"Oh, so I strike you not as a dreamer, but as someone who has a man-cave? How flattering."

"I give you only the truth."

"Now that, I believe." You held each other's gazes, for a moment, until you couldn't stand it. "Okay, admit then, that you secretly enjoy watching Next Top-model or whatever and listening to Fleetwood Mac."

"I'm not ashamed of Fleetwood Mac."

"I'd hope so, but thought I'd give you an easy one. What about the other."

She glared at you, proceeded to mockingly play with her nails. "Well, at times, I enjoy trash talking..."

"Knew it." She laughed. It was better than you imagined.

Beers came and went, and all the while conversation was good, fun. You didn't spare too many thoughts on what had happened last week.

"I'll be right back," she said eventually, taking off to the barely existing bathroom.

You sat silently for a minute. It was unbearable, knowing she was nearby, and yet not near enough. You sprang up, headed to the bathroom yourself with no eligible reasoning.

You opened the door, and there she stood, yet again. Surprised, slightly, but not really, just drying her hands.

You were practically cornering her in the tiny space, looking down at her; the dim light from the old glove highlighting only the accents of her features. You could have swooned for the first time in your life. Your hands found her waist - a lifeline, you told yourself.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," she whispered, the smile audible in her voice, even if you couldn't see it.

"Yeah, we've got to."

Your lips were on hers and her hands were in your hair and every part was better and still.

Still it wasn't personal enough.

[plscallmeeren]

C A U S E F O R A H O W L E R

Hermione Jean Granger x Reader

Request: yes @JulzLovDraco4Eva

Summary: you've been friends with the trio since first year (You, being Draco's twin sister, sorted into Gryffindor...... ouch) and obvs ur parents don't approve. You've been hiding the fact that you've been dating Hermione for two years now. It's the day before battling Voldemort lol

Warnings: Swearing; allusions to sex; family disowns child

Word Count: 1.9K+

You stared at Draco, groaning when he wouldn't back down. "Oh, come on!"

"Father said I should keep an eye on you, so I will."

"Well, since you like taking his words literally so much - he said an eye. Not both, at all times, relentlessly and to the point of murder with motive."

"You're so dramatic," he scoffed, crossing his legs formerly on the bench opposite you. Beside him, Blaise snickered, nibbling absently on his jacket potato.

"Priss," you spat back. "Don't know why father thinks your 'keeping an eye on me' will do any good, anyway..."

"I don't know, to protect you?" he deadpanned, as if this were blatantly obvious.

"You're a pussy, Draco. And I'm three times as good as you at Charms and DADA."

"That, my dear friend, is definitely true," Blaise added helpfully, smiling at Draco as he glared.

"Okay, well, on that note, I'm off," you announced, standing up briskly.

"Well, I suppose that means I'm off, too," your twin replied, trying to stuff as many beans down his throat as possible before he had to go.

"Don't be stupid. You're not finished, and I need to go to the bathroom, anyway."

"Yeah, but-"

"What are you gonna do? Guard the door? Or are you going to join me? We can go to the haunted one, if you want. I know Myrtle loves you-"

"Fine! Okay! I'll meet you at the courtyard after, alright?" he retracted quickly, throwing up his hands.

You only grinned, taking even prouder strides when you heard him mutter 'I'm never finding her again, am I?' to Blaise.

Walking the corridors, you could feel your shoulders sagging, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your robe. It had been a long week. A long month. Maybe a long year. You felt like crashing into bed, Hermione in your arms, doing nothing for days and only really getting up to cook something for her.

You could picture it perfectly: A bed the size of a small room, the two of you surrounded by books that you'd read to each other as the record player lazily hums 'San Tropez' by Pink Floyd. A week spent fucking, eating home-cooked, Mediterranean food, reading, talking, fucking again.

But that was a dream for another life. Maybe there was still hope for it sometime else - a time far removed from war, from exams, from your goddamn father.

"Password?" the fat lady asked coldly.

"Flobberworm," you murmured, stepping through the round door immediately after she swung open.

"There you are!" Harry's voice surprised you inside. "We were wondering whether you had relocated to the dungeons for good now, given Malfoy's insistence on-"

"Oh, shut up," Ron interrupted, slapping his shoulder. "She's tryna get away from him, not meet his fan club."

"Right. Glad to have you back."

"I've missed you," Hermione said sweetly, throwing a leg over your own as soon as you sat down.

"Get a room," Ron complained, grimacing. He had dealt a deck of Exploding Snap and was looking very unhappy about his own cards.

"And here I was thinking you'd turned over a new leaf of empathy," you sighed, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

"Yeah, right. Ever since Hermione called me a teaspoon, I thought I'd give up."

"Room for improvement is no reason to forgo emotion entirely. In fact, I'd argue the fact that it bothers you shows that you already have."

He scowled, making a ridiculously bad move to top things off. Harry grinned, giving you a thumbs up.

"Hey, you okay?" your girlfriend asked after a moment, in which your sprightly face must have slacked. "You look a bit... worse for wear."

"I'm fine. Just tired of my bodyguard, that's all. Pretty sure he has less muscle mass than me, though, so I should probably come up with a new title."

"'Tis true," she agreed. "But still... you wanna go for a walk? Just the two of us? We can steal Harry's cloak until we're out of your brother's way?"

"You can what?" Harry piped up, failing glaring at you because of how miserable he was making Ron.

"Well, can't we?" Hermione asked testily, looking unimpressed.

"Of course, I just wish you'd ask first."

"Well, here I am, asking."

"Yes, you're welcome to take the sole material inheritance I have received from my father, also my insurance for survival should one Dark Lord choose to search for me this fine afternoon-"

"In that case," Hermione smiled, "I'll be glad to take it off your hands." The two friends stared at each other momentarily before she took your hand, dragging you up to the boys' dormitories.

Twenty minutes later you were walking by the lake, feet dangerously close to the dark water.

"So, what is it?"

"What's what?"

"Whatever is ruining your mood."

"Oh, so you're saying I'm not delightful? Uncalled for, that is."

"Oh, come on, just tell me," she said impatiently, glaring at you.

You smiled, swinging your arms restlessly. "Well, as I said, I'm not too chuffed my brother is following me around everywhere, making me live in fear."

Hermione only stared at you, unimpressed, waiting.

"Yeah, I guess I just feel guilty still, in a weird way. Not that there's anything remotely wrong with dating you, it's just... it's our two-year anniversary and all I could think about while planning was how to celebrate incognito. It's kinda... tiring, I suppose." You looked back at her, chewing on your tongue. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"No, I understand. And there's nothing to feel guilty about. If my family were so district, if they would disown me if I told them who I loved, I know I would... well, I don't know what I'd do, but I know it would be hard to handle." She smiled at you, the kind that made the skin around her eyes crinkle and her freckles catch a different ray of sunlight. "Let's just make today special."

"I wholeheartedly agree," you said firmly, placing a hand on her waist and stopping her. "Which is why I'd like to give you this."

You pulled out a small, indeterminate box with a ribbon around it. The size and shape didn't hint at what was within, so that you could watch as Hermione's brow furrowed, clever eyes searching for clues.

"Can I open it?" she asked timidly, quickly untying the ribbon when you nodded. Inside lay a multitude of things: A necklace with 'Hermione' spelt in Japanese characters (へみおね), a small line drawing you had created of the two of you, and a folded list of book recommendations, each addressed to a certain aspect of her. (For example, to her expression when she is in 'survival mode': The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. To her fast-paced wit and love of puzzles: The Collected Stories of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.)

"(Y/n), I-"

Before she could thank you, you slid off one of your rings from your index finger, one that you wore every day, placing it on her middle finger instead. She stared at it, as if it were a legendary artifact that might still surprise her.

Hermione looked around then, but there was no one. No one to stop her kissing you like her life depended on it.

"Hermione," you murmured, detaching herself from her mouth, ignoring the surprising turn, "you sure you wanna do this here..."

"Thank you," she whispered instead, slinging herself against you. "Thank you so, so, so much."

"I'm glad you like it, darling," you managed between kisses, lips colliding in waves. Your other hand leaped to her waist, holding her impossibly close to your body. Hers travelled the muscles of your back, reaching for the plane of your nape where her fingers surpassed your hairline.

"'Mione," you groaned, hardly gaining her attention.

"Dorm?" she managed.

"Yeah," you panted, reluctantly breaking away.

"Right."

The way up to and through the castle under the cloak was hard, even while walking past your brother. Hermione kept whispering 'thank you's and 'you're perfect's and kissing you, anywhere, everywhere, and it took a ridiculous amount of willpower not to rail her next to the Hogswatch team.

Your shared dorm was mercifully empty, and the cloak was quickly discarded. You pulled her down onto the bed by her hips, groaning as she grinded against your lap, face connected to yours.

She slipped off her jacket with the box inside the front pocket, followed by her jumper, the heat within you now deafening.

"Are you sure?" she asked, pained to have jeopardized the mood. "I know we haven't done anything since your brother's been following you around and I understand if you're worried he'll find out somehow-"

"I'm sure. I have you, don't I?"

Hermione's lips were on yours again, hungry, insatiable, moaning your name-

A sharp cry emanated from the door, some sort of terrified surprise.

You jumped up, one hand still on your girlfriend's thigh, but Draco was already leaving, running away - his job was done, and it had not been to protect. You loved your brother, but you knew just as well that he would do anything to feel more secure in his own home.

You knew that that home would no longer be yours.

"I can see him in the Owlery right now, trying to understand how this could've happened under his watch," You laughed dryly, staring at the open door. Hermione stepped before you, closing it.

"I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

And yet, mere hours later your father's owl arrived - a grey one, shivers of green down the spines of his feathers. The letter was easy to remove from his leg and you knew before opening it that it would be loud. Hermione cast a silencing charm on the room wordlessly, because even she knew.

And the letter lived up to its namesake, a howling cacophony of your father's disappointment. It tore itself apart with the knowledge that it had forbidden you from returning to your childhood home. You did not move to clean the remnants away. You didn't dare look at Hermione, who you could picture with a hand over her mouth and a look of pity in her eyes that made you want to disappear completely.

"You have me," Hermione said eventually, meekly, as if she wasn't sure how much that was worth. "You can stay with me and my family. You know you'll never be alone. I mean, if you want to. I know so far I've already been cause for a howler."

"Yeah," you whispered. You didn't know whether you could manage more in that moment.

"Yes?" she asked, seeking confirmation, but you didn't miss the hint of betrayal in her voice.

"Yeah, that would be great," you stuttered, trying to sound sure of yourself. "Merlyn knows I'll need a new bodyguard with less muscle than me."

She smiled, even though it was watery, and gently leaned in for another kiss.

You knew you had chosen right. You knew this might someday lead to heaven on earth. You knew Hermione was forever for you.

[plscallmeeren]

S A F E W I T H M E

Severus Snape x Reader

Request: yep @NurYgmmr

Summary: yandere snape (established relationship) but also u r a death eater living at Malfoy Manor. Just a Drabble, hope u enjoy :) btw apologize for the text being in weird placed my phone's fucked up at the moment

Warnings: Swearing; possessiveness; cruciatus curse; mentions of Death Eater activity lol

Word Count: 1.3K+

Severus Snape was not a bad man. He was not cruel, generally, or sadistic, mostly, nor was he prone to abuse, unless it was expected of him.

In other words - he could be a bad man.

But that wasn't what you liked to think. Really, you were very reluctant to accept the gravity of his propensity for mistreatment. Not that you were innocent.

It seemed Malfoy Manor was a haunted house - a building, not a home - that encouraged the very worst in every inhabitant, temporary or rooted. You extended your excuses to your topical residence.

There were other monsters living there. But there were also the candid, even there.

•••

Severus Snape tapped his fingers against his thigh to no apparent rhythm. His concentration had never been so hard to keep on a meeting, especially with Nagini hissing every now and then.

But you were still on your mission.

"It was you, wasn't it, Snape? Who said the boy would be moving at that time?" Dolohov called out loudly from the other end of the table. "Where'd you pick it up?"

"It was the original plan," he seethed, glaring.

"Right. Was it the original plan to become the ministry's own little spy-"

"You know I have had no contact since I murdered Dumbledore-"

"Enough!" Narcissa yelled, looking startled at her own outburst. "We all trust in the Dark Lord. Accusations and mistrust are his privilege, only. If we must discuss, why not concerning you, Dolohov? Why have you not been invited to accompany the Lord on his mission to kill the boy? Surely you wanted to?"

Severus could think of nothing but the fight you had had before you left. It was stupid, he knew, but everything felt ten times as intense when he was around you. Even when he wasn't, if he was being honest.

Dolohov sneered. Everyone had heard his pathetic begging in the halls. "Well?" Severus pushed, at least directing his general irritation at someone who was set on troubling him.

"The Dark Lord believes...," he murmured, "that I have been behaving rashly lately."

"I can't believe you, Sev'. We were talking. What about that could possibly make you jealous?"

"I'm not jealous! It's just that when two people who are fundamentally attractive are in a room together, 'talking'-"

"For fuck's sake! I'm about to go on a mission and this is what you wanna talk about? This? It's ridiculous, honey!" The pet name is obviously mocking, which makes it sting even more. He just wanted to... what did he want...? He didn't really believe you'd betray him, but maybe the other guy... Lucius..."

"He's a married man! He's married and I'm not interested and he's kinda my friend! That bloke's not interested in me, and I'd be careful, because your interest in becoming obsessive!"

You stormed out, slamming the door. He fell to his knees, head in his hands. What had he done?

"Really? What did you-"

Severus could hear the heavy doors swinging open from afar and jumped up, abandoning every thought of rash Death Eaters. He almost tripped twice running down stairs and over elaborate carpets, but eventually he made it to the door, where Bellatrix was groaning theatrically.

"The Potter boy?" he asked breathlessly, though his eyes didn't stop scanning the entry for you and he really couldn't care at that moment. All those years he had waisted looking after Harry, just for Lily Evans! Of course he had loved her, probably he still did, but what nonsense had the old man tricked him with, saying that it mattered what she had died for? She was gone, she was gone, she was gone.

He had learned to live with that, as long as you weren't.

Just as he could feel the last ounce of calm diverge from his brain, just as the Dark Lord said Potter had survived but some of theirs hadn't...

There you were. Disheveled and tired, but still, there you were.

"Sev," you whispered, wrapping an arm around him as half a hug. "We failed. But just the battle, not the war, I hope." You seemed to have forgotten about the fight, and he couldn't be more glad.

"Go to bed," he pleaded, though he knew you wouldn't. He tried to inconspicuously place his hands on some parts of your body, trying to see if you were hurt.

"I'm fine," you said curtly, answering both his worries. "You're probably more brought up about this than I am."

"Hurry up, bloody lovebirds," Bellatrix hissed from ahead, only turning when you nodded at her wearily. Severus had never understood how you could be so close to such a maniac. Then again, how far from a maniac was he?

"C'mon."

The Dark Lord seethed at the head of the table, scaring everyone into silence with his own. "We lost, today," he said finally, keeping a dangerously firm grip on Nagini. "We did not capture, or hurt, or kill the boy. Harry..."

Severus looked at you. "Kill anybody?" he murmured, hoping for the insurance that you were 'helpful'.

"No, but I did blast one of the Weasley boys' ears off... your curse, actually, that Sectumsempra one..."

"And you!" Voldemort cried, pointing his wand - or Lucius', rather - at you. "You had an opening! You saw the owl, you knew it was him, you were so close... could have knocked him off his broom..."

"I didn't want to accidentally kill him," you replied honestly, but before you could finish speaking, you toppled over the back of your chair, writhing in agony.

Severus sprang up, casting desperate glanced from you to the Dark Lord and back again. You were in pain, pain, pain, he had to do something, something...

You groaned through clenched teeth, rolling and tossing on the ground. Everything hurt. Everything hurt so badly. Why was this happening? Where were you...?

"For Merlyn's sake!" Severus cried, and the curse stopped.

He paused as you lay there, limp. What would the Dark Lord do now? Torture him instead? Torture you more?

"Take her to her room," he commanded, and in seconds Severus had scooped you up, carrying you away as fast as he could.

"Put me down," you muttered halfway up the steps, determined to regain some dignity.

"No."

"Sev," you growled, and he reluctantly obeyed, only lending you some support. He pushed open the door to your room, shutting it hastily.

You collapsed on the bed, gesturing for him to join you. "Relax, darling. He wouldn't let us go just to tease. I don't think. C'mon, lie down."

He did, slowly melting into the dark covers as you ran your fingers along his side. "I'm so scared," he admitted quietly, and you listened.

"Every time you're on a mission or he talks to you alone, anything... I just imagine life without you and I can't-"

"I'm not going to die," you stated, "but if I did - I won't - then you would be fine, anyway. There is no one I trust as much as you to find something to hold onto, okay? But it doesn't matter, because I'm here. I've survived plenty of torture already. I've survived countless missions already. We're on the mighty side of history. I'm here. I'm yours. Okay? Just like you're not allowed to die for me, okay?"

"Right," he breathed, hands still shaking. "Right."

"C'm'ere. You're safe with me. We're both safe, okay? For now, at least. Come on." He leaned into your touch, feeling warmth spread throughout his body. This is what he fought for, everyday.

"I forgive you," you said quietly. He felt like crying.

"I love you," he said for the first time, and though he didn't miss the way you tensed beneath him, he smiled.

"I love you, too, Sev'."

[plscallmeeren]

D I F F E R E N T

Hermione Jean Granger x Lavender Brown x Reader

Request: sorta

Summary: Lavender, your girlfriend, is very affectionate and jealous of Hermione, who is obviously interested in you. You have no complaints as they slowly compete for your attention (not smut, but one kinda steamy scene)

Warnings: Swearing; semi-public stim; if you comment make it make sense I will agree

Word Count: 1.1K+

You laughed at Lavender kindly as she systematically evicted your roommate and her best friend Parvati from the room, closing the door behind her. You set your book down, welcoming her into your bed. It was almost time for your next Transfiguration class, but you didn't particularly mind.

She cuddled up to you, entangling her legs with yours under the covers. "I miss you, (y/n/n). All those classes you're taking..."

"Hey, I'll always make time for you," you whispered, holding her a little tighter.

Lavender hummed, planting her palms firmly on either side of your head before kissing you, her entire body moving in tune with her lips as she leaned impossibly closer to you. You tangled your own hands at the base of her hairline, deepening something that already felt as close as yourself.

She rolled onto you, straddling your hips, making you groan. "Skip your next class for me?"

"Sorry, baby, I've already missed too much," you apologized, hands wandering down her back to cup her ass. "But I'd be happy to go to the Prefects' bathroom with you this evening?"

She murmured something incoherent but definitely unimpressed, shifting restlessly so that your fists clenched.

"Fine." She lay back down beside you, expression sour. "But I'm expecting a minimum of three times. And I want to spend more time with you in general. I feel like everywhere I look, there's just that Granger girl..."

Your thumb caressed her cheekbone, passing over constellations of mild freckles, pointing towards the streaking gold of her hair. "It doesn't matter. It's all you. Hermione is my friend. Okay?"

"I guess."

"No, really. It is all you, because you are beautiful and kind and passionate - don't bother thinking about anyone else. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good." You cuddled a little longer but soon you had to make your way through the maze of moving stairs, the talking armor and the drinking portraits. She stayed behind, feeling ready for your return already.

The class was mostly dull; a monotone repetition of something that obviously appeared bland to Professor McGonnagle also, because she seemed just as close to falling off her chair as half the class.

Unlike Hermione, of course.

"So," she turned to you, both your fabrics transformed into little doll's dresses, "you think your dress would suit me?"

You eyed the skimpy cut (you had accidentally lost some of it in transformation), then looked back at Hermione. "I'm sure. Not many wouldn't." You smiled sincerely, hoping she wouldn't take it as you flirting. It was just a compliment - that was all.

She blushed furiously. "Well, I have some dresses I could show you sometime... I'm free tonight-"

"I have a girlfriend," you reminded her curtly, brows raised. Her brown curls wisped before her large eyes, lips slightly parted as her hands fidgeted in her lap.

"Right. I didn't mean- I mean- I thought-" McGonnagle cleared her throat at the front of the class, and Hermione seemed all too glad to avert her attention.

You sighed, unable to pay attention to the class. Hermione was certainly very attractive and from what you had seen, kind and clever, too. She would never be on the same level as Lavendar, your girl, who you knew and loved, but...

Your eyes wandered over her back, the studious hunch of her shoulders and the wild mass of hair...

Before you knew it, forty minutes had passed and you hadn't taken a single note.

•••

You had Herbology with Lavender, which turned out to be the most interesting theory lesson you'd ever had in the subject.

She had moved your right hand to her thighs, grinning at you when you had pressed your finger into her clit through her pants. Throughout the lesson you irregularly stroked her - either with a digit or two, or the side of your hand, or your palm - and she would always grip her seat like her life depended on it, pressing her lips together forcefully as to not make a sound.

There was Charms and Care of Magical Creatures, and finally there was only you and the night.

You skipped up two stairs at a time on your way to the bathroom, making sure to flash your prefect's badge particularly loudly, not that anyone was around.

You swung the door open, beaming already, finally her dark silhouette was framed against the light-

Except it wasn't Lavender.

"Hermione?" you asked carefully, purposefully avoiding eye contact with her towel-wrapped bosom.

"(Y/n)! I, uh- I didn't realize- I was just finishing up-"

"No, don't," you stopped her flustered state, wincing at how it sounded. "I mean, don't hurry for me. I'll wait outside, it's fine."

"You could also stay, you know-"

"I've had enough of you!" A loud voice followed a loud bang. "Why can't you just let me have something? But no, you always have to take them-"

"I haven't taken anybody! McLaggen never fancied you, and I certainly didn't want to be with him. Ron left because of you, nothing ever happened between us. And (y/n) isn't leaving you even though I'd like it because for once someone does love you properly!"

Both girls were silent, breathing heavily, while you watched, brows raised, feeling slightly unwell.

Before you could tell what was happening, however, they embraced, a mass of waves and curls that emanated quiet snivels. You blinked, unsure what was going on. How did it happen? One second they were fighting, the next...

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, they obviously weren't right for you anyway...," Hermione cried into her shoulder, clenching her fists around the purple fabric of Lav's shirt tighter.

"I know it wasn't your fault, and I'm so sorry about Krum, that must've been really hard," your girlfriend replied, holding your friend like her life depended on it.

"We're just so different, I guess I found it easy to blame things on you."

"I get it, I did it, too. And you know- I mean- if (y/n) would have us, I could share. I think there's enough love there for both of us... I don't know if we... but I don't want to take anything away from you again, Hermione..."

You blinked again, more aggressively this time. What were they deciding without you? Of course you liked both of them, but wouldn't that cause tension? Would you be able to pay them both enough attention? How...

"What do you say?" Hermione asked, now turning to you. Her towel slipped slightly, making you gulp.

"I honestly have no idea what's going on, but I think so, yeah."

————

—> my exact words after writing this bcs it's two am I have to go to school tomorrow why am I doing this to myself nothing makes sense and I don't know why my type like bold italic left right middle stuff isn't working I'm so tired you can literally feel the quality declining as it goes on

[plscallmeeren]

P E R S O N A L

Jessica Jones x Reader

Request: Dragonsw

Summary: you're a natural born fighter (martial arts, fire manipulation) who fought for money and enlisted in SHIELD to avoid jail, then got kicked out again. You now reside in Hell's Kitchen and meet Jessica by chance in a bar... where certain individuals are looking to cause trouble

Warnings: Swearing; violence; intentions of sexual assault but nothing happens; insinuations; unedited

Word Count: 2K+

Jessica Jones sat in her usual spot. Her usual bar. Her usual bartender. Her usual silence, peace, quiet. Her usual white noise, if you will.

Of course, a variation of elements was rendered unrecognizable from one visit to the next, let alone the customers who hadn't been visiting the same place for at least thirty years. Or since their wife made them move because their old place 'just wasn't a good family area'. They had been raised there just fine, thank you very much. Born and raised and intending to stay, but unfortunately some people loved their wives or had simply made the mistake of exchanging favor for acquiescence.

The mournful bell over the door chimed, its stained glass triangles dipping away to reveal you, handsome you, to someone too preoccupied with why the locals were local to realise she was staring.

How couldn't she? Jessica knew what looks were. She'd seen them around. Easy on the eyes. Lean muscle, humble anatomy that curved like a coy smile under dark long sleeves. But pretty wasn't perfect - she knew that as well as anyone. Pretty, if anything, was often arrogant, and arrogant raised bad kids. They too tended to stay, unless forced to be otherwise.

But you didn't come. You didn't sit down next to her and prop up a carefully calculated arm and smirk like you knew where this would end and so should she - no, you barely glanced in her direction.

One beer, one booth, and you were seated, sipping sporadically. Watching, closed eyes, not waiting, not wallowing in the void of a phone. Just sitting. Enjoying your spot, your silence, peace, white noise.

She couldn't look away.

She couldn't stay silent.

She couldn't be at peace.

"Out of everything on the menu - beer?" she inquired loudly, catching your attention immediately. After all, she only had Old Timmy's rambling murmurs to compete with.

"What can I say, they were out of orange juice," you replied, not opening your eyes. She decided that if only one thing could happen tonight, it would be that you look at her. Properly. Fully at peace.

Jessica chuckled. "What, can't handle the hard shit?"

"Sure, just - I don't know if you've tried it recently, but it tastes fucking disgusting."

"Doesn't matter if you want the full effect," she quipped, leaning back in her adjacent booth with an unexplained smile.

"I only hope I'm not someone who needs the full effect so desperately." You looked at her with eyes that dragged the weak in.

"What, like me?"

A moment of silence she spontaneously regretted.

"I dunno. Guess it's fair to need a little support once in a while. Timmy wouldn't last long without dear barkeep, I expect," you nodded at the elderly man at the counter.

"You know Timmy? If you come so often, why don't I know you?"

"What, you'd notice me?" you teased, and she felt like slapping the blush off her face.

"Answer the goddamn question."

"Well, first of all, you don't need to be around much to know Old Timmy," you paused to make sure that point had come across before continuing, "and I come every Thursday. That not suit your schedule?"

"It's true. I have violin practice that day." You laughed loudly. She wanted you to do it again.

The bell over the door rang loudly, announcing the five newcomers at the top of its lungs.

"Hey, man, why don't you get me and my friends some drinks?" one of the men yelled across the counter. The barman only shook his head, pulling out whatever he assumed people wanted when they didn't specify.

"I'd take any screeching violin over this," you said snidely as the guys continued to yell ideas and comments at each other.

"Where'd ya go, Mark? Still scared of a little vodka after ol' Fanny?" The group guffawed at whatever inside joke the broad man with uneven stubble had mentioned.

Jessica nodded at you, meeting some mutual understanding that it wasn't worth trying to talk over them.

A couple of them staggered over to a booth once they had downed their respective shots, another two still leaning against the bar.

One, apparently Mark, approached Jessica's booth instead. She didn't miss the way your eyes remained on the obviously drunken youth.

"Hey pretty lady," he drawled, "you wanna get outta here? I know a nice place downtown..."

"Not if you paid me," she cut him off curtly, sipping at her tequila.

"I could pay you, y'know. Pretty thing like you'd be worth a pretty sum." He grinned, displaying murky teeth, looking plainly proud of himself.

"You're getting repetitive," Jessica laughed, but now the attention of almost everyone in the place was on the interaction. Mark noticed, it seemed, for where he may have otherwise walked away, he couldn't let this happen under carefully watchful eyes. The barkeeper had disappeared into a backroom, and Timmy was slowly teetering over the threshold with a little encouragement.

Mark's eyes darkened as he looked at Jessica. "Get out," he said simply, looking at you for a moment.

You didn't move, didn't even look at him as you sipped further at your beer.

"You got a hearing problem, Bruce Lee? Get out!"

Still, nothing.

Jessica couldn't help but be irritated. She could take all of those guys out easily - why couldn't you just go? Of course you didn't know, but any normal person would just... "Just do what he says," she exclaims out loud, scoffing at the insinuations the men make through hands and laughs.

"I'm not done with my beer," you said simply. Her annoyance grew.

Mark huffed loudly, and Jessica could have sworn she saw the glint of metal as he approached you, but just as realization set in, he was next to you, it was too late-

You grabbed his wrist before he could stab you with the knife, twisting it so that he would let go. In his moment of confusion, you rammed the blade into his hand, kicking him away for good measure.

Jessica stared at you in awe and bewilderment, but not for long. Commotion broke out all around as Mark started shouting and whining about his hand.

She took advantage of their joint panic, kicking the guy approaching her now with so much force that he slammed against the opposite wall of the room.

She tackled another, struggling to ignore your own fighting skills. It would have been hard to track your hands, feet as they whirled around your opponents' heads gracefully, pressing the heel of your palm into the right places just after... was that fire...?

The barkeeper emerged frantically from the back upon hearing the excitement, though by the time he was in your midst all five guys were already lying on the ground.

You pulled a loose 20-dollar note out of your pocket, handing it to the man. "For the mess and the beer," you said simply, walking away. The barkeeper only stared at his hand, however, apparently undecided as to whether he should call the police or just haul the men outside after the unnerving experience.

"Hey!" Jessica called, running out after you. She should have known something was off about you. How hadn't she noticed?

You turned around, almost making her stop in her tracks. There was something so refined, maybe dignified, in the way you moved...

"What was that?"

You only looked at her, eyebrows raised, in need of elaboration.

"I had that handled, why did you escalate?" she yelled, still pulling on her leather jacket.

"I wanted a drink, I had a drink."

"So you don't think it's reckless to put everything on the line for half a glass of beer?"

She could feel herself drowning if she looked you in the eye much longer, tried to concentrate or grasp onto any other part of your face, but they were only the outer rim of the vortex.

"Of course it's reckless, but in case you hadn't noticed, I can take care of myself. I know now I had nothing to worry about, but forgive me for doubting a single person I just met could take on five big guys," you countered, not raising your voice even as your tone changed.

You were struggling to be irritated as well. Her expression was hard, but you could still see the fine lines that, when tweaked just a little, would gaze softly like before. She was guarded, yes, but you had no trouble discerning that there was definitely something there worth guarding.

You hadn't realised you were still walking side by side until she stopped you, fingers around your arm, and you never wanted to be free of those five prints of warmth on your skin, even divided by your sleeve.

"What if there had been guns?"

"Result would have been the same."

Who are you?, she thought desperately, trying to remember some fire-weaponizing fighter who lived in the area and was free on Thursday evenings.

"How did you burn that guy?"

"How did you throw a guy across the room?"

"Personal," she answered defensively.

"Personal," you agreed.

Jessica could respect that, but it still didn't explain...

"Were you trying to impress me? Is that it? A quick way to get in bed with me?" Ironically, she was leaning closer and closer towards you, a mere breath away from your body as she glared.

She had met plenty of that kind; who wanted a hookup, and so did she, and nothing ever came of it because it had only been inspired by one accidental glance at a pretty woman in a club. That was fine. But if that was all you were, she would find it intolerably frustrating.

But she accepted it; she leaned in further, on her toes, her lips at the perfect point to indulge the slant of your neck-

You backed away gently, looking mildly insulted but otherwise unaffected. "No, some assholes came into a bar and forced my hand. That's all." You walked on, but this time she didn't follow.

"I didn't need your help!" she cried, hating that she sounded so childish.

"Just because you can take something on, doesn't mean you have to. Also, I think that's the first thing you've said to me tonight that wasn't a question." You smirked, turning and stopping after all. Before she knew it a business card was flung in her direction, which she caught with ease. "If you're ever in a jam even you can't handle - or don't want to handle - give me a call. Always looking to keep my skills sharp."

You walked again, but again she stormed up to you, fiery determination mirrored in the glint of her eyes. She handed you a card also. "I'm a private investigator. Always happy to make some money."

You chuckled, a rumbling sound that emanated from deep within your chest. "Thank you, Miss Jones," you read from the card. "Have a good night."

You turned for the last time that night, striding along the sidewalk as if you had all the time in the world. She stared. There hadn't been many occasions where she was the one chasing after someone time and time again.

She had liked your voice.

She held onto that specific thing, because if she let herself contemplate beyond, she would be sucked in yet again. Just your voice.

Maybe she should have picked something else, however, because during sleepless nights or when among distant thoughts, nothing carries as clearly as a familiar voice.

Perhaps she would see you again. Probably not, but perhaps.

And with that thought, she wandered along her own streets, away from where things had almost become personal.