#hyper femme reader

[training4theapocalypse]

Sweet (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 15.5k

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, friends to lovers, mutual pining, confessions, GOOEY ROMANCE, Christmas 🎄

Summary: You try to ignore your feelings for your best friend, Cormac McLaggen. Reader and Cormac are both 18+.

A/N: A Christmas fic! The Sabrina Carpenter-fication of Gryffindor Common Room. I know everyone hates Cormac but my full-time job is actually fixing him (lets not look into what that says about me okay thanks). I wrote this for @cinderellasmissingshoes but it's been so long she's deactivated (RIP girl). Also, it turns out, anything can be a one-shot if you just post it all at once!!!! And nobody can stop you!!!!!

Masterlist

Chapter text:

The Gryffindor Common Room is a riot of gold and red, as laughter and music fill the room. Even though Quidditch has never been your thing, a team win is always a good excuse to get swept up in the celebration. You’re dressed the part, of course, with a red bow in your hair and wearing a borrowed, oversized Gryffindor training jumper that by a happy coincidence makes the gloss on your lips pop.

The victory has everyone riding high, but as much as you’re enjoying the party, you can't help feeling a little tug of concern for one person. You’re at Katie Bell’s side, amongst the throng of her teammates happily celebrating as the rest of the party-goers chant Ron Weasley’s name but your eyes search the crowd for a certain someone. You excuse yourself - Katie will be fine without you for a few minutes. 

Cormac McLaggen hasn’t been at all himself lately. And while Katie is adamant that she considers this to be an improvement, his newfound reservation is just plain weird. Katie told you to stop worrying about Cormac, that he was probably just sulking over not being chosen as Keeper for the Quidditch team this year and that he should just lighten up. And you’d probably agree if the change hadn’t been so drastic - usually so confident, even arrogant at times, he’s been acting almost shy lately.

Cormac’s tall, broad figure and golden halo of curly hair are easy to spot from the other side of the room. He’s half-heartedly chatting with Dean Thomas, who, like Cormac, is still nursing the sting of not making the team. 

“Cheer up, boys!” you call. Dean still looks sullen but Cormac's entire demeanour shifts when he grins at you skillfully weaving through the crowd towards them without spilling the two butterbeers in your hands. “Anyone would think we’d lost to Slytherin if they saw your faces,” you joke, slipping into the tight space next to him. 

"Well, we wouldn't have let so many in if I'd -" starts Cormac.

"If you'd have been chosen as Keeper," you finish. His many complaints about Harry Potter's chosen team are easy to memorise and rhyme off back to him. "I know. I know. But we won, right?"

“Since when did you refer to the team as ‘we’?” teases Cormac, accepting the bottle you thrust into his hands. “Big Quidditch fan now are you?”

You smooth down the jumper you’re wearing, so oversized that the hem of it sits just above your skirt. “Well, if I’d known I’d look this cute in the team merch, I might have taken an interest sooner.”

“I don’t care how cute you look, I want it back.” 

He flashes a smile and you can’t ignore the flurry of butterflies you feel. 

“Oh, come on. We both know it looks better on me,” you shoot back, enjoying the fun of prying a compliment from him. 

Cormac presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, considering you, before finally concluding, “Debatable.”

You both laugh and you feel a warm sense of satisfaction that your attempt to take his mind off his exclusion from the team is working.

“Oldest trick in the book, mate. Don’t fall for it,” Dean interjects with a knowing smile, snapping Cormac’s attention away from you. You almost forgot Dean was there. 

“What’s the oldest trick in the book?” asks Cormac.

“Everyone knows if you give your girlfriend your clothes, they’re hers for good. You’re never getting them back.”

You and Cormac look at each other awkwardly. The flirtatious banter suddenly feels much more complicated by Dean’s assumption. 

Because Cormac is not your boyfriend. 

In fact, in the run-up to Yule Ball several years ago, he made it crystal clear that he wasn’t into you like that. 

Cormac opens his mouth to reply but you spare him the necessity of correcting Dean and hurting your feelings. 

“Oh, we’re not going out,” you blurt before he can. “I was cold when we were watching the game and Cormac was just being nice.” Dean’s sceptical eyebrow rises, flicking between you and Cormac. Attributing the sudden flush in your cheeks to the heat of the room, rather than embarrassment, you say, “Actually, I don’t need this anymore now that we’re inside - here hold this.” You hand Cormac your butterbeer and start pulling off the jumper.

“No, look, you don’t have to -” Cormac starts, but you’re already tugging the woollen fabric off over your head. The scent of him - clean, with just a hint of his woody aftershave - floods your senses, making your heart twist painfully in your chest at its sudden absence. 

You toss your hair back and hastily fix yourself.

“Here -” you say, taking the butterbeer back and replacing it with his jumper. 

“Thanks,” Cormac mutters, but there’s a hint of annoyance as he does. He takes the jumper before throwing a look at Dean.

“Katie’s probably looking for me,” you announce, needing to put some distance between you and this now-too-complicated situation. You turn on your heel, attempting to slip back into the midst of things with your usual grace, but there’s a slight stumble in your step - barely noticeable, but enough to rattle you.

As you make your way over to Katie, you’re distracted by a sudden onslaught of whooping and cheering. Through a gap in the crowd, you see Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown unreservedly snogging.

That’s odd, you think. You could have sworn he was going out with - 

The portrait hole opens and you spot a flash of bushy brown hair exiting the Common Room. 

A hand grabs your arm. “Sweet!” The familiar nickname that you’ve never quite been able to shake off - not that you mind it - there are certainly worse things to be called. “There you are!” says Katie, her eyes sparkling with post-victory excitement.

“Did you just see -?”

Katie rolls her eyes. “The giant squid impression in the middle of the room? Yup.”

“Do you think we should see if Hermione is alright?” you ask, looking back over to the portrait hole.

“Harry’s already on it,” Katie says, nodding toward the door where Harry disappears after Hermione. “C’mon, I need another butterbeer.”

As you follow her, it’s not long before Katie brings up her favourite subject of late - Professor Slughorn’s Christmas party in a few weeks. Neither of you made Slughorn’s elite list of attendees so the only way you’ll get invited is if someone asks you. As much as you’d love the opportunity to get dressed to the nines, you could do without the drama. If the Yule Ball taught you anything, school dances inevitably lead to heartbreak. 

“I don’t even want to go, anyway,” you insist. “See - this is a party. Slughorn’s will be so dry. I mean, there’ll be more teachers and Ministry bigwigs than students.”

“You know, if Cormac weren’t going, I’d suggest throwing our own party on the same night. But we couldn’t do that to him...” A mischievous smile dawns on her face. “Or could we?” 

You hesitate but Katie presses on.

“I bet he’d forget all about Slughorn if you told him we were having a party.”

“You really think Cormac would miss a chance to cosy up to old Sluggy?”

When the two of you make it to the drinks table, she leans in conspiratorially close, lowering her voice just enough to be heard over the noise. “What I mean is, maybe he’d ditch Slughorn’s Party if you asked him to.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” you dismiss the idea quickly, not quite meeting her eyes. “If Cormac was interested in going to a party with me, he’d have asked me to Slughorn’s. I shouldn’t have to plan my own just to - ”

To what? 

Go out with him?

You cut yourself off, but Katie’s sharp eyes catch yours. The noise of the party swells around you, enough to disguise her prying.

“What’s going on with you two, anyway?”

The question catches you off guard. Truthfully, nothing is going on between you and Cormac McLaggen. 

Well, not nothing on your part.

Even if you disregarded the way your eyes sought out Cormac’s reaction whenever you styled your hair differently, or how you sometimes overanalysed his extra-tight friendly hugs that lingered a bit too long, there was no denying you were - at the very least - best friends.

And that was the problem. You were friends. Nothing more. No matter how much you wanted it to be otherwise.

In the run-up to the Yule Ball two years ago, you overheard Cormac firmly assuring Oliver Wood that he did not find you attractive. Like, at all. 

You remember you were waiting on Katie finishing Quidditch practice in the courtyard, sitting behind the fountain in your usual meeting spot when you heard Oliver and Cormac at the other side of the fountain talking about the Gryffindor Team. You didn’t even lift your head from doodling on some parchment - the last thing you wanted to do was be dragged into a conversation about Quidditch.

Then the conversation drifted, from tactics to Quidditch team succession planning when Oliver left Hogwarts the following year and then, your ears pricked up when they started talking about the Yule Ball.

“I can put in a good word with Angelina about making you Keeper next year if you do me a solid,” Oliver said before lowering his voice. “Think you could ask if your mate is interested in going to the Yule Ball with me?” Oliver had asked. Your peacock feather quill paused as you sat up straight and held your breath.

There was a pause. 

“Yeah, I’m sure Katie would be up for that,” Cormac said eventually, his voice steady in reply.

“Not Katie. Team dynamics would get messy,” he said seriously. “The other one. Sweetie or something.”

The other one. Cormac had two best friends. 

That could only mean you.

“Oh,” Another pause, shorter this time, like Cormac was searching for the right words. “Are you sure you want to go with Sweet?”

The way Cormac said your nickname so incredulously made your stomach drop. 

“I’m not stepping on your toes, am I?” laughed Oliver.

You leaned forward discreetly, peering around the side of the fountain to see Cormac shifting uncomfortably as he deliberated on his next words.

“No, nothing like that. She’s… alright, I guess. Decent looking. But, not really my type. She’s kind of annoying, y’know? Pretty full of herself. A bit of an airhead, actually.”

You remember feeling a sting of embarrassment, sharp enough to make your eyes water as Cormac listed off all your supposed shortcomings. But you blinked it away, hurriedly gathering your things and forgetting your plans to meet Katie before they could notice you had been there the whole time.

At the time it hurt so badly. Because back then you had such a thing for him. How couldn’t you? Cormac McLaggen was the quintessential golden boy - tall, handsome, athletic - exactly your type on paper. Even if you weren’t his, apparently. And not only did he not want to date you, but he actually found the idea so repulsive that he was trying to put Oliver off you too.

In the end, Cormac’s disapproval didn’t deter Oliver. Even though Cormac reneged on his promise and never mentioned that Oliver was interested in you, Oliver still asked you to the Yule Ball without Cormac’s intervention. And you said yes, relieved that at least Cormac’s poor recommendation hadn’t dissuaded him. In fact, you got on so well at the Yule Ball, that you dated for a few months. Until he dumped you when he left school. But, you supposed, that was boys for you.

And it affected you. Between Cormac McLaggen’s lukewarm feelings towards you and Oliver Wood dumping you, you swore off the idea of dating anyone. 

It was easy to forget about Oliver when he left school. You gradually became friendly with Cormac again - you might even call him your best friend, aside from Katie, of course.

But you always kept your guard up around boys, never quite forgetting the sting of either incident.

“So, you wouldn’t go to Slughorn’s Christmas Party if he asked you?” Katie probes, bringing you back to the present.

Even though you trust Katie more than anyone, you’ve never told her about your feelings for Cormac or the utterly humiliating reason that you’ve never pursued them.

He’s just not into you. 

“We’re friends. That’s all. And that’s the end of this conversation.”

Katie sighs. “Okay, okay, I get it.” She spins around to the empty drinks table. “How have we gone through six crates of butterbeer already?” She groans. “Do you wanna come to the kitchens and get more?”

“I’ll go, you stay here,” you say and she immediately begins protesting but you ignore her. “Listen, this is a party for your team. You should stay.”

She hesitates before spotting Cormac across the room.

“Why don’t you go to the kitchens with -”

“If you mention Cormac one more time, I’ll lose my mind,” you warn her. “I can handle a trip to the kitchens alone. I won’t be long.”

Katie laughs, holding her hands up in mock surrender. 

“Okay, Sweet. I don’t know what’s got you so sour.”

You roll your eyes and ignore her comment. As you walk towards the portrait hole, you glance at Cormac and realise he’s already looking at you. You pretend not to notice like you’re scanning the room for someone else, before disappearing through the door. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, as you walk back up towards Gryffindor tower, a few crates of butterbeer (that the house elves were extremely eager to bestow upon you) clink behind as they follow you, levitating in the air.

The cool, empty castle offers little comfort. You left the Common Room to clear your head, but all you’ve found since you left the kitchens are your own thoughts, swirling endlessly as you walk.

If Cormac wanted to ask you to Slughorn’s party, he would have done it by now. You’re not getting your hopes up again. And besides, why would he need to wait for a party to ask you out? If his feelings for you had changed since the Yule Ball, he could have told you at any point. 

She’s kind of annoying, y’know? Pretty full of herself. A bit of an airhead, actually.

Harsh criticism. Not entirely untrue. It’s not like you’re clever. And sure, you take pride in your appearance, but until you heard him say that, you didn’t think it bothered anyone. Especially not him. If you had to criticise Cormac, you’d probably say he was full of himself too. And as far as intelligence goes, it’s not like he’s the quickest broom in the shed either.

As you turn it over, replaying scenarios in your head that you haven’t revisited in a long time  - most notably, ones where Cormac didn’t talk badly about you behind your back - you walk straight into someone hunched over their knees at the bottom of the spiral staircase.

“Oh, sorry! Wait - Hermione?” you ask. The bushy-haired sixth-year looks up and hastily wipes her eyes. “Are you okay? Where’s Harry?”

Hermione swallows hard and nods, though her red-rimmed eyes betray her. “I told him to go back to the party. There’s no reason for both of us to miss it. I’m fine. Really. It’s silly.”

“You don’t look fine,” you say gently, sitting down beside her on the cold stone steps. After a pause, you add, “I saw Ron and Lavender.”

Hermione’s breath hitches, and she quickly looks away, blinking back tears. “I—I feel so ridiculous. I already asked him to Slughorn’s party, and now he’s… I should have known.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re not the ridiculous one here. Honestly, I think these stupid formal events should be banned.”

Hermione lets out a half-laugh, half-sob - a wet, spluttering sound - but you catch the faintest glimmer of a smile, and you feel a small surge of relief. At least you’ve distracted her for a moment.

“I’m serious,” you insist, leaning back against the wall. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

Hermione sniffles, wiping at her eyes again. “Maybe. But it doesn’t make me feel any less foolish.”

“It’s not foolish,” you say firmly, the butterbeer crates you were levitating now drifting to the ground beside you. “And to tell you the truth, I know exactly how it feels to have your heart broken at one of these things.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide with surprise. “You do?”

You nod slowly, thinking back to your own past. “Yep. And besides, Hermione, you’ve handled worse than this. You stared down Umbridge, for Merlin’s sake. This? This is nothing compared to her.”

Hermione lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “It doesn’t feel like nothing,” she says quietly. “In fact, it feels… it feels worse.”

“I know,” you admit softly. “And I know it probably feels like you’ll never get over it. Like it’ll never stop hurting. But trust me - if I can get through it, you can too.”

She looks at you earnestly, her brow furrowing. “How?” she asks, her voice small but full of curiosity. “How did you get over it?”

The answer isn’t easy, and the truth is harder still. Convincing others - and yourself - that you’re perfectly fine, even when you’re not, is something you unfortunately have experience with.

You push yourself to your feet, brushing off your skirt and forcing a small smile. “By acting completely unbothered,” you say, trying to sound casual, even though the irony stings. After all, here you are, still trying to bury your feelings for Cormac McLaggen.

“We’re gonna go back to the Common Room and make it look like you don’t have a care in the world,” you say as you extend a hand to help her to her feet which she accepts. “And tomorrow we’ll find someone else for you to go to Slughorn’s party with. Someone better than Ron Weasley.”

“Who?”

Perhaps this is your chance to help Hermione and bury your feelings for Cormac in one fell swoop. Maybe, just maybe, if she went to Slughorn’s party with him, it’d help you finally put Cormac - and the lingering ‘what could have been’ - behind you too. 

If he was going out with someone else, you could draw a line under all this and move on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following Monday, Hogwarts students arrive in the Great Hall to find a winter wonderland. A whirlwind of snowflakes dances over the enchanted ceiling past icicle-adorned rafters. Enormous Christmas trees - decked in baubles the size of bludgers - flank the room. The usual breakfast smells of toast, bacon, and pumpkin juice mix with the scent of pine and cinnamon, giving everything a festive buzz.

But Cormac barely notices any of it.

Sitting at the Gryffindor table, Cormac stabs the fried egg on his plate, watching it ooze onto the rest of his breakfast like it might help him decide how to do what he was about to do next. Oliver Wood used to joke that Cormac had the appetite of a Graphorn, but lately, he hasn’t been feeling hungry. His mind is completely elsewhere.

He’s going to ask you. To Slughorn’s Party. Today.

You and Cormac have History of Magic classes together on Monday afternoons, just the two of you away from the rest of your friends. A rare moment alone. You’re always surrounded by people - constantly laughing, flipping your hair in a way that makes his insides flip, and you seem completely oblivious to how nervous he’s become around you lately.

“Can you stop murdering that egg?” asks Katie, jolting him out of his daze and glancing at his half-destroyed breakfast. “It’s making me queasy. That’s the last thing I need before we feed raw meat to Thestrals.”

“Sorry,” mutters Cormac, setting his fork down, though the uneasy knot in his stomach isn’t going anywhere.

Katie studies him for a second. “What’s up with you? You’ve usually asked me if Ron’s playing worse than you at least three times before the bell rings.” She’s grinning, but Cormac just shrugs.

“It’s not that,” he mumbles.

Katie raises an eyebrow. “Then what?”

Before he can answer, you appear, slipping onto the bench beside him with Hermione Granger in tow. You’re wearing a bright red and gold bow with your hair in that half-up, half-down style that he knows takes you forever to do. It’s probably why you’re late - as usual.

“Morning!” you chirp, grabbing a piece of toast off his plate without asking, your fingers brushing his for a second. The contact sends a jolt through him, but you’re completely unaware. “What’s with you two?” you ask, noticing the odd expressions on their faces. “You look like you’ve seen a Dementor.”

“Not Dementors,” blurts Cormac, the excuse coming easily, thanks to Katie’s reminder. “Thestrals.”

“Ugh,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “Rather you than me. Are you doing the N.E.W.T. in Care of Magical Creatures, Hermione?”

Hermione shakes her head. “I’d have loved to but I had too many other subjects this year.”

“Yeah, right. You’re only saying that because you’re friends with Hagrid.” Hermione smiles sheepishly. “It wouldn’t be too bad if we got to learn about nice creatures -” you start but Katie cuts you off.

“Well, life isn’t all Puffskeins and Unicorns,” she says, pointing forked sausage at you. “The creatures we’re dealing with are much more interesting.”

“That’s just another way of saying ‘ugly’,” you laugh, tossing your hair over your shoulder. In the process, the bow at the crown of your head slips off and drops to the floor. You don’t even notice.

Cormac does.

“And it’s dangerous too,” you continue. “Remember when your poor arm was burned by those Blast-Ended Skrewts, Cormac?”

“Sweet, you dropped this,” he says, quickly leaning down to retrieve the bow before anyone else can.

You reach up, feeling the spot where the bow was. “Oh, thanks.”

“Let me,” Cormac offers, his heart pounding as he tries not to mess this up. He leans in close, and the noise of the Great Hall fades into white noise. It’s just the two of you, and all he can think about is how soft your hair feels between his fingers.

“It’s kind of tricky,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

“I’ve got it.”

“You sure?” you ask, looking up at him in a way that makes his stomach lurch again.

“Easy,” he says, more confidently now as he finishes clipping it into place. “Like putting an angel on top of a Christmas Tree.”

You laugh, and the sound makes his heart race all over again. He quickly turns back to the table, trying to pretend that wasn’t at all nerve-wracking. But Katie’s already watching, her shrewd look making it clear she hasn’t missed a thing.

“So,” Cormac says quickly, desperate to change the subject, “What’s everyone doing for the holidays? Assuming no one’s mad enough to stay here?”

“Nope,” says Hermione brightly. “I’m going home to visit my parents.”

“Yeah, same here,” says Katie. “If you ask me it can’t come soon enough.”

“Tell me about it. I can’t wait to go home. My Uncle’s been invited to Minister’s house for Christmas lunch and -”

“You’re going so you can suck up to Rufus Scrimgeor?” asks Katie.

“Well, it has its perks. But mostly it’s because I haven’t seen my Uncle in ages. Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” says Cormac. And, he thinks, maybe his Uncle won’t tease him for being single again this year if he can convince you to go to Slughorn’s party with him.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. We’ve got more pressing things going on before Christmas, Cormac,” you say. “Or have you forgotten about Slughorn’s party?”

The fork he’s holding clatters onto his plate. “I… er, no, I haven’t forgotten,” he stammers, his face burning as he tries to sound casual.

“So… have you asked anyone yet?” 

Your voice is light, casual, but Cormac’s pulse quickens. Is this… actually happening? Well, it certainly makes things easier. He swallows, trying to steady himself. 

“Not yet,” he starts, the words feel unfamiliarly shaky. He’s normally so self-assured that he hardly recognises his own voice. But you’re already cutting him off, oblivious to his growing panic. 

“Well, I was thinking, if you’re not already going with someone…” You shift slightly, glancing between Hermione and Katie before landing back on him. His heart leaps. Are you about to ask him? But when you finish, your words douse his hopes like ice water. “...maybe you and Hermione could go together?”

“Yeah, I’d - wait - what?” Cormac’s voice cracks, the sound of his own disbelief ringing in his ears. He glances at you, searching for any hint of a joke, any sign that you’re teasing him - but you’re smiling, unaware of the storm you’ve just unleashed in his chest. Didn’t you realise how much nerve he had built up, how many times he had rehearsed this in his mind? 

You don’t even realise you’re wrecking him - it’s just another Monday morning to you. Meanwhile, he feels like he’s accidentally tumbled down one of the castle’s trick steps.

“Oh,” Hermione says, clearly flustered. “I don’t - er - I mean, that’s really not necessary,” she adds, casting an awkward glance at Cormac, her cheeks reddening slightly.

“No, listen,” you insist in a low voice, glancing at the end of the table where Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown are engaged in some more intense snogging. “It’s perfect. Neither of you is going with anyone, right?”

The bell rings and everyone in the hall starts moving, getting ready to leave for the first class of the day.

“It’s win-win. This would annoy Ron the most,” you say.

“What’s he got to do with this?” asks Cormac.

“Long story short, Ron’s ditched Hermione for Lavender. And since you were so clearly better than him at Quidditch tryouts, I thought if she went with you it would piss him off.”

Cormac pauses, momentarily stunned. “...You thought I was better than him?”

“Well, yeah. Obviously. The only reason you weren’t picked is because of that last penalty. It was like you were confunded or something”

There’s a thud as Hermione unexpectedly knocks her bag from her seat and it spills open.

“Really?” asks Cormac as you both get off the bench to crouch on the floor and help Hermione pick up her things. 

“Yeah, everyone knows that you’re much more talented at - wait, Hermione are you okay?”

The two of you look at Hermione when you notice she’s turned white as a sheet.

“I’m fine,” she squeaks. 

“You sure?” you ask and reach out to grab a fallen book. You accidentally touch Cormac’s hand as he reaches for it too and the touch sends another jolt through him. “And it works out for you too, Cormac,” you continue. “Maybe if Ron is distracted by the two of you going out, he’ll play badly enough to get kicked off the team.”

Katie tuts but Cormac has to admit that you’ve got a point. But he can’t put his feelings for you aside because of Quidditch. Not again. Not after the Yule Ball fiasco.

You press the book into Hermione’s hands. “Look, just think about it, alright? I’ve got to go - I’m gonna be late for Muggle Studies.”

“I’m going that way too,” says Hermione quickly, stuffing her book into her bag and not looking at Cormac. 

And so, with a swish of red and gold, you and Hermione leave Cormac feeling like he’s just been hit by a bludger,

It wasn’t as if Hermione wasn’t good-looking. Everyone knew she was smart, pretty - she even used to date Viktor Krum. But she wasn’t… well, you. 

So why couldn’t he just say it? 

He walks beside Katie, silently replaying what he should have said in his head, so clearly as if watching it through omnioculars.

“Cormac, do you have a date for Slughorn’s party?”

“Well, actually, I was thinking about asking you.”

He avoids Katie’s gaze, instead busying himself with pulling on a scarf and hat, bracing himself for the freezing cold of the castle grounds. 

Feeding Thestrals feels like a much less daunting endeavour than unpicking this mess he’s gotten himself into. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night, the Gryffindor Common Room is almost deserted. It’s well past midnight, and the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of turning pages. As Seventh Year N.E.W.T. students, you, Cormac, and Katie have become accustomed to being the last ones awake, studying long after everyone else has gone to bed. When the clock chimes one, even Hermione bids you all goodnight before heading upstairs to her dormitory.

“So… any thoughts about my idea earlier?” you ask, trying to sound suitably impartial, and not at all conscious of the way you and Cormac keep sinking towards each other on the plush sofa and brushing arms. “You know, going to Slughorn’s with Hermione on Saturday?”

Cormac glances at the staircase leading up to the girl’s dormitory. “I dunno…”

Katie says nothing as the grandfather clock ticks ominously. Instead, she and Cormac exchange a look - one that you can’t quite decipher.

“Well, I think you’d be a good match,” you say, just to break the awkward silence.

“Yeah, well, Hermione’s not really who you want to go with, is she Cormac?” 

Your eyes fly up, looking between them.

Cormac shifts in his seat, eyes on his copy of A History of Magic. "She’s nice enough."

"That’s not what I asked," Katie presses.

Cormac looks at her seriously. “Stop.”

Katie shrugs, leans back in her armchair and flips through her book.

So, Cormac has someone else in mind for Slughorn’s Party. And he feels comfortable enough to make Katie privy to it. But not you. 

Great. 

So not only does he not fancy you, he doesn’t even trust you enough to confide in. And you thought you were best friends.

For some reason, that hurts almost as much as when you overheard him telling Oliver Wood that he wasn’t interested in you.

You don’t know what to say anymore, so you look down at your book again. 

It doesn’t take long for the words in A History of Magic to blur together on the page, as you read and reread the same passage, trying to remember the names of the loyalists from the 19th-century goblin rebellion. The plush velvet of the sofa feels impossibly soft and warm, and the heat from the fire seeps into your bones, lulling you into a deep, drowsy comfort. Your eyes droop heavily as you sink deeper into the cushions, your body slowly surrendering to exhaustion.

You lazily glance at Cormac’s open textbook, hoping he’s made better progress. He’s supposed to be reading the same chapter, but instead, he and Katie are talking softly about their holiday plans. Katie is debating asking her parents for a new pair of gloves after snagging hers during Care of Magical Creatures. Cormac is once again trying to brag about his Uncle taking him to the Minister for Magic’s house on Christmas Eve without sounding like he’s bragging. 

The sounds of your two best friends in quiet earnestness make you feel safe and comfortable - so comfortable that you don’t even realise you’ve dozed off, leaning on Cormac’s shoulder. 

That is until Katie closes her book with a loud snap.

“Right, this is useless. I’m heading to bed,” she declares.

Her voice startles you slightly, but you’re too tired to fully wake. You consider opening your eyes and lifting your head but it feels like too much effort. 

Five more minutes, you think. Just five more minutes in this comfortable position and you’ll make the long journey up the winding staircase to bed.

“I’ll go to bed soon,” Cormac says, his voice lower now, quieter. “I’m still reading. And I don’t want to wake Sweet”

You’re not entirely asleep, but not fully awake either - just hovering in that cosy in-between. His voice rumbles softly in his chest and the warmth of his shoulder feels solid, familiar. You could stay like this forever.

Your eyes remain closed, and you feel yourself falling asleep again listening to the sound of the merrily cracking fireplace and Katie’s footsteps retreating up the carpeted stairs. 

And then you feel a small shift. 

Cormac turns his head, pressing his lips against the top of your head and inhaling deeply, somewhere between kissing you gently and breathing you in. 

Your eyes flutter open, the haze of sleep fading as you realise what’s just happened. 

Did he just… kiss you? 

You look up. Cormac freezes as your tired eyes meet his alarmed, green ones. He opens his mouth - maybe to apologise - but whatever he was about to say disapparates when you look from his eyes, to his parted lips then back to his eyes again. 

He just stares at you, his breath held, searching your face for some kind of response.

You don’t say anything. 

For a second you’re not sure what to do. 

But then you just give the tiniest nod as your heart thuds in your chest.

He leans in, his breath is warm on your face. The clean, woody scent of his aftershave tingles your senses - it’s even better than when it lingered on his borrowed jumper. You close your eyes as he moves tentatively towards you. 

Then the thundering of footsteps as Katie runs back downstairs makes the two of you break apart hastily.

“Forgot my quill,” she announces. “Oh, are you coming up to bed, then?”

You swallow, your heart hammering. “Yeah,” you say, fixing your skirt and getting to your feet. “Sorry, must’ve dozed off.” You hastily grab your book,

“Yeah, same,” Cormac says, his voice strained. He clears his throat, gathering his things in a flurry of movement. “I think I must have too. For a couple of seconds.”

You glance at him but he doesn’t look at you as he gathers his things, his focus entirely on shoving them into his bag. 

You follow Katie up the stairs, your heart still racing as you try to make sense of what just happened. But did it happen? Or were you (like you’ve done more times than you’d ever admit) dreaming about Cormac?

Soon after, you lie in the dark, staring at the hangings of your four-poster bed.

Cormac said he thought he had fallen asleep. You had been so drowsy that now you couldn’t be sure if he had actually kissed the top of your head. Maybe he just rested his head on yours? Or maybe you dreamt it, woke up and immediately tried to kiss him. 

It’s a mortifying thought - that one minute Cormac had been asleep and the next he had woken up to find you practically ready to pounce on him. 

No wonder he looked like a deer caught in the wandlight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the boy’s dormitory, Cormac has similar thoughts.

You were asleep. And you caught him smelling your hair. Kissing the top of your head. Now that he’s removed from the situation, he cringes - hard, realising that it was extremely weird. 

Together with Katie’s obnoxious hinting that he really wanted to go to Slughorn’s party with you must have made you uncomfortable. Because you didn’t even look at him. So either your feelings towards him are so platonic that you hadn’t realised he was interested in you or you were choosing to ignore Katie’s comments altogether.

But he swears there had been a moment. A split second downstairs when your eyes met his, and he really thought you wanted him to kiss you. He can still feel your fingers brushing his chest, how you looked at him like you were waiting for him to close the gap between you.

And he almost had. 

Almost.

Then Katie had barged in, and you’d jumped away like you couldn’t get far enough, fast enough. Like you’d realised how ridiculous it was - how ridiculous he was.

He clenches his jaw, turning over in bed. You were probably horrified. 

He groans, burying his face in his pillow.

There was a moment, wasn’t there? 

Maybe he’d imagined how you looked at him. Maybe the exhaustion from studying had gotten to him, and now, his mind was just playing tricks on him.

But then again… maybe it hadn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You spent the majority of the rest of the week avoiding Cormac. 

You’ve even been staying in the library with Hermione every night just to avoid Katie after she kept asking pointed questions about what happened after she left the Gryffindor Common Room the other night. Hermione is glad of the company - over the past few days, you’ve been talking a lot. Mostly to keep her mind off of Ron Weasley. And without her realising it, it’s been a great help in stopping your mind wandering to Cormac McLaggen.

Being surrounded by dusty books and writing an essay about plug sockets for Muggle Studies, isn’t exactly conducive to imagining yourself back in the Gryffindor Common Room, cuddled up with Cormac, seeing his face inches from yours, wondering whether or not he was about to kiss you.

But now it’s Saturday morning and tonight is the night you’ve been trying not to think about: Slughorn’s Party. 

You’re going to go to Hogsmeade to take your mind off of things. It’s one of your favourite places in the world - especially this time of year. Steamy pub windows, cobblestone streets dusted in white, smugly ordering Firewhisky in front of younger pupils. 

It’s just what you need to distract you from Cormac.

At least he’s not coming with you. Studying, he said. Although you think he might just be as keen to avoid you as you are to avoid him

But there’s no avoiding Katie forever, you think, as you and Hermione walk into the Great Hall for breakfast. As if reading your mind, Katie, who is already almost finished breakfast, waves you over and you have no choice but to sit with her and a few of the sixth years.

“Wait - are you sure you want to sit here?” you ask Hermione under your breath, spotting Ron and Lavender enthusiastically entwined just a few spaces away.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve got a plan. Just like you said.”

Well, at least your advice is working for someone.

“Morning!” you say brightly, sitting on Katie’s left-hand side, across from Harry Potter and Parvati Patil. At least in front of a group, you should be safe from her interrogations about Cormac.

"Hi, Parvati!" says Hermione, ignoring Ron and Lavender completely. "Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?"

You help yourself to some cornflakes and as Parvati passes you the milk, she frowns.

"No invite," says Parvati, gloomily. "I'd love to go, though, it sounds like it's going to be really good... You're going, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm meeting Cormac at eight, and we're -"

The jug slips from your hand, milk spilling everywhere. It splashes onto the table, drenching your skirt and soaking your tights. There’s a loud, wet sound as Ron, startled, pulls away from Lavender for a moment. 

"- we're going up to the party together."

Throughout all your nights studying together this week, Hermione had not shared that detail with you. 

You stare down at the mess, your heart pounding as if someone just pulled the rug out from under you.

"Oh, flipping heck,” you mutter, feeling the cold, wet fabric cling to your legs. 

Katie quickly vanishes the milk with a flick of her wand and hands you a napkin.

“No need to start throwing f-bombs - it’s only spilled milk” she jokes, taking the heat off of you but her expression is unusually careful as she watches you. You force a tight smile, but your heart is still thudding too fast, a mix of shock and something else twisting in your chest.

"Cormac?" asks Parvati. "Cormac McLaggen, you mean?"

Even though this was your plan all along, you never expected that just hearing his name would sting.

"That's right," says Hermione happily. "The one who almost” - she puts a great deal of emphasis on the word - "became Gryffindor Keeper."

"Are you going out with him, then?" says Parvati, wide-eyed.

Hermione giggles - a sound that cuts right through you. "Oh - yes - didn't you know?" 

A lead weight sinks to the pit of your stomach.

"No!" says Parvati, looking positively agog at this piece of gossip. "Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don't you? First Krum, then McLaggen..."

"I like really good Quidditch players," Hermione corrects her, still smiling. 

It’s too much. You think of Cormac and his stupid Quidditch jumper. Hermione wearing it at the game instead of you. Then you feel bad for feeling bad about them being together when it was your idea in the first place. Guilt makes the knot in your stomach tighten painfully, and you push your cereal away, the sight of food suddenly nauseating. 

“You alright?” asks Katie quietly, leaning towards you.

You nod stiffly, though your throat feels tight. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’d just better change before we go,” you sigh. “I’ll meet you outside.”

“You’re definitely still coming, right?” Katie asks, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she can sense you’re having second thoughts about going to Hogsmeade.

You hesitate. The idea of going upstairs, burying your face in a pillow, and screaming into it for the next several hours suddenly seems more appealing than pretending you’re okay in Hogsmeade. "I don’t know..."

“No, please, you have to come,” implores Hermione, not realising it’s her declaration that has you wanting to retreat upstairs until the end of term.

“Where are you going?” asks Harry, glancing at Ron and Lavender who have once again resumed their public display of affection, as if he’d rather be anywhere else but in their presence.

“We’re going to Hogsmeade. The three of us. Oh, and Cormac, obviously,” says Hermione loudly and for a split second you see the back of Ron’s head pausing.

Harry gets to his feet quickly. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“The more the merrier,” Katie tells him before adding to you in a low voice, “We’ll wait in the courtyard - I think my breakfast might make another appearance if I stay around Ron and Lavender much longer.”

This is good, you tell yourself, getting up from the table and following them a few steps behind. This is what you wanted. You told yourself you had to get over Cormac. And now he’s going out with Hermione. Just like you suggested. Your plan is working. This is good.

But it doesn’t feel good. It feels awful.

As you trudge up the stairs to the common room, you find yourself repeating the same mantra. 

This is good. This is what you wanted.

But the more you repeat it, the hollower it sounds.

By the time you come back downstairs to the courtyard, Harry, Hermione and Katie are having a snowball fight. It’s in full swing. And in the midst of it all, Cormac is there. Of course, Cormac is there. Hermione said he would be, didn’t she? And she should know. She’s his girlfriend, now. Apparently.

Harry fires a well-aimed snowball at Cormac but he dodges it.

“I told you, Potter - lightning quick reflexes!” Cormac shouts, his voice brimming with exhilaration. There’s something about the way his laughter fills the air that stirs something inside you that you’ve been trying to bury all week.

Harry launches another snowball, and Cormac, in an obnoxious display of skill, catches it mid-air and flings it back, hitting Harry squarely in the face.

“And the crowd goes wild!” cheers Cormac before chanting his own name. “McLaggen! McLaggen! McLaggen! McLagg - oh. Hi.”

He stops when he sees you. Like he wasn’t expecting to see you here either. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” you say, putting on a brave face. 

He grins at you “You joining in for once, then? I’ve never seen you throw a snowball in your life.”

“Well, maybe you’re about to,” you say, more threateningly than you intended, thinking that you’d quite like to smack him in the face for not telling you that he was going out with Hermione.

He takes a step toward you, misreading the challenge in your voice. “I’d love to see that,” he teases, scooping up a handful of snow and launching himself at you.

Before you can react, Cormac’s arm is around your waist, lifting you off the ground in one quick motion. The world spins as snow flurries around you, your shriek of protest escaping in the form of a half-laugh.

“Cormac!” you say, breathless. But your laughter dies almost instantly when reality sets in - Hermione is bent down, scooping up snow just a few feet away. His girlfriend is right there.

“Put me down,” you say, seriously this time, the joy draining from the moment. Your voice is firm, but not loud.

He stops immediately, setting you down gently, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s up?”

You step back, brushing the snow off your coat, swallowing the tight feeling in your chest. “I think you know.”

“Oh… sorry,” he says, now embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to cross a line or anything the other night -”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Don’t worry about it.” You give him a tight smile as laughter rings behind you, the others clearly not noticing or caring about your hushed conversation as their snowball fight continues. You turn away from him and call out to Katie and the others, “Are we going, then?”

The walk to Hogsmeade feels longer than usual. The others chat happily but the conversation is distant, and you keep your eyes on the snow-covered path. By the time you reach the village, the promise of a hot butterbeer should lift your spirits but it doesn’t. You feel disconnected like you’re watching everything through a fog.

“So,” Katie says, as you approach the The Three Broomsticks. “What made you come along, Cormac? I thought you were studying today?”

Cormac shrugs, but there’s a slight defensiveness in his voice. “Just something I had to do before the holidays.”

You wonder if it’s picking up a gift for Hermione. 

Katie raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips as her mind defaults to shopping too. “Determined to impress Scrimgeour, then?”

Cormac stiffens. “It’s not for Scrimgeour, Katie,” he says, his voice edged with frustration. “I just needed to pick something up.”

You don’t say anything, keeping your eyes on the ground as they continue their back-and-forth. All you can think about is how wrong everything feels.

When you reach The Three Broomsticks, Hermione opens the door, letting the warmth and chatter from inside spill out into the cold air as you go to file in behind her, Harry and Katie.

“Wait,” says Cormac, catching your arm before you can go in. “Can I have a word with you first?”

You hesitate, glancing down at his hand on your arm, then up at his face. There’s something in his expression - something hesitant, almost apologetic - that makes you pause. You really don’t want to talk but as usual, Katie butts in.

“We’ll meet you inside,” she says firmly, pulling the door closed in your face with a slam.

You have no choice but to follow him away from the door. Snow crunches beneath your boots as you walk, and the cold air stings your cheeks.

When you stop, Cormac turns to face you, running a hand through his hair, looking unsure of himself. “Look, I… I wanted to see if we were okay. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You’ve been avoiding me too,” you challenge back.

Your breath fogs up in the cold air as you glance down at the snow, trying to collect yourself. It takes a moment for you to find the words, but they come out before you can stop them.

"I'm just... hurt, Cormac," you say, quieter than you'd planned. "You didn't even tell me you were going out with Hermione."

There’s a beat of silence as Cormac stares at you, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What? I’m not going out with Hermione.”

You meet his eyes, frowning. “I heard her say it. You're going to Slughorn’s party together.”

“I - yeah, I asked her last night because you told me to. But just as friends.” Cormac runs a hand through his hair again, exasperated. “But I’m not going out with Hermione - are you sure she told you that?”

“She told everyone at breakfast, loud and clear that -” 

“Everyone? Including Ron Weasley, you mean?” he asks, trying not to smirk.

Oh.

“She was… trying to make him jealous. Like I told her to.” You blink, trying to process what he's saying. “So… you’re not - I mean - she’s not your girlfriend?”

“No.”

You let out a shaky breath and he steps closer, closing the gap between you. His voice drops to barely a whisper, but it carries with it the force of something that’s been buried far too long.

“Do you really not see it? Do you really not know?” he says, his tone almost desperate now. “I’ll go with Hermione to Slughorn’s if you want me to. Hell, I’d go with Filch if it would make you happy. Because that’s all I want. To make you happy.”

“...Really?” You can hardly believe what you’re hearing. 

“Yeah.” He smiles sheepishly. “I thought you’d have worked out that’s why I asked her - since it was your idea.”

“Well… maybe you were right when you said I was an airhead,” you challenge. If you’re getting all of your confessions off of your chest, you might as well tell him you overheard this too.

“When did I ever say that?” Cormac asks, taken aback.

You hesitate, the memory is painful but clear. “You told Oliver that I was an airhead. And full of myself. And annoying. It was right before -”

Cormac groans in realisation and finishes the sentence for you. “- Before the Yule Ball.”

“Yep.” You nod, the hurt still lingering after all this time.

“So he told you all that, did he?”

“No… I overheard you. In the courtyard.”

“I -” he groans, looking so painfully guilty that you almost feel bad for calling him out. “I promise I didn’t mean it.”

“Cormac, you don’t have to make excuses -”

“It’s not an excuse.” He shakes his head. “Wood promised that Angelina would make me Keeper after he left school if I set the two of you up. And I wanted to make the team more than anything. Well - I thought I wanted to make the team more than anything.” He pauses, his green eyes locking onto yours. “But I was already planning on asking you to the Yule Ball. So I tried to have it both ways. I said that horrible stuff about you to put him off. And I never told you he was interested because… I was afraid you’d be interested back.”

“But none of it worked,” he continues, the regret in his voice cutting through the quiet. “He asked you anyway, and you said yes. And I never made the team in the end, so… it was all for nothing.”

You don’t really know what to say. How much time was wasted.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice steady but filled with regret. “For saying that about you. You didn’t deserve it. I was so focused on trying to have everything - I didn’t stop to think about what was most important.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” you say, your heart pounding. “And, for the record, I would have gone with you. To the Yule Ball. To Slughorn’s… any of it.” You look up at him, your gaze meeting his, and for the first time, it feels like you're both finally on the same page. 

Gently falling snow lands across your nose and cheeks as you look up at him. The space between you is almost nothing now. His hand reaches up and cups your face, his touch achingly gentle, almost reverent, as he brushes a wet snowflake from your cheekbone -

But then the door to The Three Broomsticks bangs open behind him, and Katie storms out, her face flushed and her hands gripping a package close to her chest.

“Katie?” you say, taken aback by her sudden appearance. “What’s going on?”

The door of the Three Broomsticks bursts open again. Harry and Hermione spill out looking frantic but Katie is already disappearing along the snow-covered street, the package clutched tightly in her arms.

“All she said was that she needs to deliver a package,” says Hermione, looking worried.

You and Cormac look at each other in alarm before you both sprint to catch up with her. You grab her arm. “Katie, what’s wrong?”

“Leave me alone!” she snaps, twisting to wrench herself free from your grip.

“Katie! What’s going on?” asks Cormac, running to her other side.

“Can you both just fuck off?”

“Woah, woah - what’s with you? And what is that? Who gave you it?”

“None of your business!”

You try to grab it. “Give it to me!”

The two of you struggle, you try to take the package from her and Cormac tries to restrain her.

Then all of a sudden, Katie lets out a scream so loud and so high that it almost pierces your eardrums.

Everything turns black as the snow-covered ground rushes up to meet you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You open your eyes a split second later in a sterile but comfortable room. Have you… apparated?

You try to sit up, but the world spins violently, your vision blurring as an antiseptic smell floods your senses.

“Woah - hold on, let me get Madam Pomfrey,” comes a familiar voice, soft but urgent.

Madam Pomfrey? 

You’re in the Hospital Wing. 

You blink hard, trying to focus, and slowly, Cormac’s face swims into view. He’s sitting at the edge of your bed, worry etched into every line of his features. His eyes, which normally gleam with a casual confidence, are shadowed with exhaustion.

Cormac.

He’s looking down the length of the hospital wing, scanning the empty beds for the matron, but when you touch his hand lightly, he turns back to you, his face softening with relief.

“Cormac, what happened?” You panic as you look at the empty bed next to you. “Where’s Katie? Is she here too? And that package? What was that thing?”

His brow furrows as he tries to find the right way to explain it all. "I promised I’d get Madam Pomfrey when you woke up," he says, glancing toward the door. “It was her only condition -”

“She can wait. Just tell me. Please.”

He studies your face for a moment, clearly weighing whether or not to tell you, but eventually, he sighs and moves closer, his voice low. “Katie... that package she was carrying - it was a cursed necklace. McGonagall thinks she was put under the Imperius Curse when she went to the bathroom. She wasn’t herself. You noticed it too.”

You swallow hard, the memory of Katie’s vacant eyes and her erratic behaviour flashing through your mind. “And when I tried to stop her?”

Cormac’s face darkens, his eyes flickering with something that looks dangerously close to fear. “The package split open. The necklace - it should have killed her. The curse was lethal.”

Your eyes widen, bile rising in your throat. “Lethal…”

He nods grimly. “The only reason she’s still alive is that it touched her through a tiny hole in her glove. Barely made contact with her skin, but even that was enough to put her in a bad way.”

Your blood turns cold, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy stone. “Where is she?” you whisper, dreading the answer. “Is she… is she alright?”

Cormac’s jaw clenches, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s at St. Mungo’s. They don’t know when she’ll wake up. But she’s alive.”

The room spins, this time from the sickening realisation of how close you were to losing her. Your mind races, fear wrapping its cold fingers around your heart.

“That curse was dark magic - whoever planted it knew exactly what they were doing.”

“Katie…” Your voice cracks as you press your palm to your forehead, struggling to process it. “If I hadn’t tried to take the package -”

“Hey - no.” Cormac’s voice is sharp but softens immediately. He moves closer, his hand squeezing yours. “This isn’t your fault. None of it. If anything it’s my fault -”

“Cormac…”

“No, listen. If I hadn’t asked to speak to you outside - I mean, when do you or Katie ever go to the bathroom alone? The person who put her under the Imperius Curse might not have tried if there were two of you there.”

“It’s not your fault either, Cormac. The only person to blame is whoever gave her that necklace.” You don’t even remember seeing the package split open. “But… I didn’t touch the necklace, did I? How come I’m in here?”

“Katie, er… punched you. Knocked you out cold.”

You hadn’t expected that. You find yourself lost for words, not quite able to believe what you’re hearing.

“She was under the Imperius Curse… not in her right state of mind,” continues Cormac, watching you carefully and you give him a small nod.

Silence stretches between you. The hospital wing feels eerily quiet - no bustling, no holiday cheer, just the faint sound of the fire crackling somewhere in the distance. No usual sounds of excitement of the last night of term. 

The last night of term.

You glance at the snowflakes drifting down, a sense of dread creeping over you. “Cormac… what time is it? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for Slughorn’s Party?” you ask, knowing that he’d hate to miss the opportunity to network with all the people Slughorn would want to introduce him to.

Cormac shifts a little closer. “Slughorn’s party was two nights ago.”

“Two?!”

“Yeah,” he says, sounding more casual than you’d have expected.

The realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

“It’s… it’s Christmas Day, then?” you whisper, your voice hollow, the words barely registering as they leave your mouth. “We’ve missed the train.”

Cormac shrugs again, but the weariness in his eyes betrays him. “Yeah.” His tone is light, but you can see the exhaustion etched into his features, the slight slump of his usually easy posture. He’s trying to downplay it like it’s no big deal.

But then it hits you. You stare at him, your thoughts slowly clicking into place. “Did you end up going to -” You stop yourself, feeling like it’d be incredibly selfish to ask if he and Hermione went after all, considering everything that happened.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking away like he’s embarrassed. “Slughorn’s Party? Yeah… I didn’t go. I’ve been here.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be… I - I don’t know if you remember what we talked about in Hogsmeade but -”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as soon as you recall what he said to you. “I remember.”

“Well, I didn’t really want to go without you anyway.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. You don’t know what to say. How do you thank someone for missing something like that because of you? For staying here over the holidays, for caring, for... everything.

Just as you’re about to say something - anything - the doors to the Hospital Wing swing open.

Professor McGonagall strides in, her expression as serious as ever, but there’s a flicker of relief in her eyes when she sees you sitting up. 

Behind her, Madam Pomfrey hurries in and starts checking you over, pouring a large bottle of bright golden Invigoration Draught into a cup for you. At her instance, you drink it in one gulp - it’s sharp and spicy, and less gruesome than you’d braced yourself for. As the heat spreads through your chest, you feel a bit less confused. 

“Well, it’s good to see you awake,” McGonagall says briskly. “Miss Bell is receiving the best care at St. Mungo’s. The Healers are doing everything they can.”

Everything they can. It doesn’t feel like enough.

“Have we missed dinner, Professor?” asks Cormac, hopefully.

“I'm afraid so, Mr McLaggen,” says McGonagall, less sharply than you're used to her addressing him as she looks from his tired demeanour to his hand holding yours. She waves her wand and a tray of sandwiches is summoned on the table beside you. “I’ll notify your parents that you’re awake and both of you can take the Knight Bus home from Hogsmeade tonight.”

“Not tonight,” says Madam Pomfrey. “Another Invigoration Draught tomorrow morning. Then you can go home.” 

Your heart twists painfully, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Katie’s in St. Mungo’s, fighting for her life. Christmas has come and gone, and the world outside feels like it’s moving without you.

“Do I have to stay in the Hospital Wing tonight?” you ask, thinking you’d like nothing more than to sink into your four-poster bed upstairs.

Madam Pomfrey hesitates.

“Oh, please, Madam Pomfrey. It’s Christmas,” you pout. “I’ll come back here after breakfast tomorrow.”

“Before breakfast,” she says sternly. And once you agree, she and Professor McGonagall leave.

Cormac is still here, beside you, his hand lingering on yours, his presence steady and comforting despite everything. 

“When was the last time you slept?” you ask.

“I -” He pauses. “Not for a few days.”

You insist that he go back to Gryffindor Tower and he eventually agrees. Cormac grabs a couple of sandwiches, flashing you a tired but grateful smile. 

“See you at breakfast,” he says softly, and with a quick wave, he slips out of the Hospital Wing, leaving the room quiet and still.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dormitory is dark and eerily silent. Too silent. You’re used to the comforting background noise of sharing a room with four other girls - the soft rustle of sheets, the occasional sleepy murmur, the muffled creak of bedsprings. Tonight, without them, the emptiness feels vast and oppressive, as though the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You had expected Cormac to be in the Gryffindor Common Room when you got dressed and came upstairs. But he wasn’t there. He was in bed - no doubt shattered after sitting by your side in the hospital wing for two days straight. Two long, harrowing days where you were unconscious and he was busy worrying about both you and Katie.

Katie. The thought of her pulls at your chest like a lead weight. She’s at St Mungo’s. Alive but unresponsive. The cursed necklace nearly killed her. And while Madam Pomfrey has done her best to reassure you that she’s receiving the finest care, the image of Katie in St Mungo’s is enough to keep you awake.

It doesn't help that the Invigoration Draught has worked too well. You’re frustratingly alert. You’ve never noticed the grandfather clock much before but its ticking serves as a reminder of how much time is passing without you being able to sleep.

You wonder if Cormac is in the same predicament. He was tired but maybe everything that’s happened is keeping him up too. Cormac - of all people - stayed with you through it all. Missed Slughorn’s Party. Didn’t go home for Christmas - 

He didn’t go home for Christmas.

You sit bolt-upright in bed.

That means he didn’t go to the Minister for Magic’s Christmas lunch with his Uncle today. He missed it. It’s all he’s been talking about since November and he missed it.

All so he could stay here at Hogwarts. 

With you.

Something swells in your chest. A little guilt mixed with, well… overwhelming affection. Did you even thank him properly? You can’t remember - everything after the cursed necklace feels like a blur. You swing your legs out of bed, wincing at the icy chill of the stone floor against your bare feet.

You walk quietly towards the boy’s dormitory. The stone floor is freezing on your bare feet as you tiptoe. Though you’re not sure why you’re being quiet - you didn’t see anyone when you walked through the Common Room earlier. You think that you and Cormac might be the only two people in the whole of Gryffindor house that are here for the holidays.

The door to the Seventh-Year boys’ dormitory creaks faintly as you push it open. “Cormac?” you whisper into the darkness.

There’s a faint stir, followed by a groggy, half-asleep voice. “Hm?”

You cross the empty room, the cold gnawing at your skin, and perch on the edge of his bed. “Are you awake?”

“Wha?” he asks, blearily. 

The cold air makes goosebumps rise on your skin. “It’s me,” you say as you sit on the edge of the bed. 

Cormac sits up slightly, blinking at you in confusion, his hair sticking up in every direction. “What are you doing? This is the boys’ dormitory.” He pulls the duvet to his chest. You try not to notice that he’s not wearing a t-shirt. “Are - are you okay?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Cormac rubs his face, his tired brain catching up. “Katie is going to be fine,” he reassures you. “We’ll visit her as soon as we’re allowed.”

“I know,” you say. She’s getting the best care possible. And it’s not like either of you can do anything about it. “It’s not just Katie. Well, that’s part of it. But it’s that I realised… you missed Christmas lunch with your Uncle - and the Minister.”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not fine. It’s all you’ve been talking about for weeks,” you insist, making a conscious effort to stop your teeth from chattering. “Missing your Uncle. Seeing Scrimgeour again. The fact you stayed here with me instead… that’s like, the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” 

Cormac fumbles for his wand on the bedside table, muttering “Lumos.” It lights the nearest lamp. You scoot closer to him on the edge of his bed. The soft glow of the lamp bathes the room in warm light, and he turns to look at you properly, his eyes - greener than you’d ever realised - serious and searching. 

“It was nothing. I told you already.”

“Well… I just wanted to say thank you -” you take a steadying breath, moving closer to him again. “- And… do this.”

Without thinking, you lean in, your heart racing. You close the distance between you and press your lips to his before you can second-guess it or get interrupted again.

Cormac pauses, completely caught off guard. You can feel the surprise in his stillness, but it lasts for barely a second before he responds with a surge of enthusiasm that almost takes your breath away. 

He shrugs his bedsheets aside, sitting up so he can deepen the kiss, his lips warm and eager against yours. There’s no hesitation now, just the full force of his want, crashing into you like a tidal wave.

It’s everything you wanted it to be. He’s a good kisser. Really good.

You try to put a lot of meaning into the kiss. That you’re grateful for him staying here at Hogwarts with you. That you forgive him for his stupid, blundering mistakes before the Yule Ball. 

But mostly, you try to tell him that you’ve been in love with him forever. Ever since you sat beside him on the Hogwarts Express on the first day of school.

You intended to give him a quick goodnight kiss and go back to your dormitory but the thought of leaving quickly leaves your mind when he parts his lips, tender and soft as Honeydukes caramel, as he explores the taste of your tongue. His hands wrap around your back, encouraging you closer, pulling you onto his lap so you’re straddling him. 

You were freezing a minute ago but his bare chest and shoulders are warm and he doesn’t seem to mind your cold hands traversing over his body. 

You need him. This is new territory. This is… you’ve never felt like this before. Well, maybe alone in your bed, but not with other people. You haven’t done anything more than kissing before.

But this is already more than just kissing, you think, as your tongue meets his again as he licks into your mouth. This is hot and heavy. You’re already starting to feel like you’re not close enough to him. 

And so does he. 

You feel a firm bulge pressing into your open legs and with a jolt of excitement, you realise he’s only wearing boxers. Everything below your waist throbs hot and sticky as his hips subtly twitch upwards, pressing against your pyjama shorts.

The ache between your legs is too unbearable to ignore. You adjust your hips and the friction against your bundle of nerves is white hot, almost dizzying. He responds to your movements by gripping onto your hips, his cock twitching against your pussy, just two thin pieces of material between you. You’re positively burning up now as he lets out a low groan into your mouth as you kiss him, before pulling back to suck on his bottom lip.

“Fuck…” you murmur, as you wriggle your hips impatiently. But when you say that he pulls back to look at you, his eyebrow raised. “What?” you ask.  

You don’t want him to stop - not now.

“I’ve just never heard you swear before,” he grins and your cheeks burn.

You bite your lip. “It just… slipped out.”

“I like it…” he says, eyes glancing over your chest as it rises and falls rapidly in time with your breathing. 

His fingers hook around the straps of your tank top, pausing just before they drop over your shoulders. The touch is featherlight like he’s waiting for something. Then his voice, low and careful, breaks through the charged silence.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, his eyes meeting yours.

You nod and then, realising what he’s just said, you blink. “You’re... asking?”

Cormac tilts his head slightly, frowning just a little like something about your surprise bothers him. “Of course I’m asking,” he says, his voice quieter now, but insistent, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

You swallow, looking away for a moment, feeling still warmed by the way he’s watching you. Nobody’s bothered to ask you if they could touch you before. It’s…. well, it’s classic him. Considerate. Sure enough of himself that he genuinely would respect whatever answer you gave him. 

It makes you want him even more.

“You can - you can touch me. Wherever you want.”

You place your hands on top of his and help him slip your straps down, pulling your top down over your breasts.

“Fuck…” Cormac takes a deep, steadying breath. He tilts his head up and looks at the hangings above the bed.

“...Cormac?” you ask, uncertainly. “Are you -?”

“Yep,” he tells the hangings. “It’s just - I mean, I’ve just - thought about this moment a lot. And in no version did it involve me - y’know - making a mess of myself just from seeing your tits.”

A mischievous smile creeps across your lips. “Are you about to?”

“I’ll be fine - wha - oh, that is not helping.”

You slowly grind your hips against his and place his hands over your breasts. The underside of his cock twitches again against your now soaked pyjama shorts.

“I’ve thought about it a lot too,” you whisper, pressing your lips against his ear. “You can cum like this. If you want.” 

“That would be - ah, fuck - completely fucking embarrassing,” he says, his eyebrows knitting together.

“I think it’s hot.”

As soon as you say that, his shoulders relax and he buries his face between your tits with an agonised groan. Your hands tangle in his hair as you rock restlessly against him, moving your hips in search of the gnawing need between your legs. 

Cormac swirls his tongue, open-mouthed and panting against your skin. He pushes your tits together, toying with your nipples, pinching the hardened buds between his fingertips in a way that makes you let out an involuntary squeal.

“Too hard?” he asks, concerned, and you shake your head fervently.

“Do it again,” you whimper.

You grind yourself along his rock-hard bulge, feeling exceptionally greedy as Cormac toys with your tits. Pleasure swells in your abdomen. God, this feels good. He drinks up every noise you accidentally release, as you hover on the edge - wasn’t he the one who was supposed to be close?

Suddenly, Cormac grabs your hips, stopping you from moving and you almost cry out in protest. He breathes shakily, adjusting himself.

“Did you just…”

“Not yet,” he says, and before you know it he’s manoeuvring on top of you, flipping you on your back and splaying you out on his bedsheets. “I need to find out just how sweet you taste first.”

This is more like the Cormac you know. He’s been so reserved, so unlike himself around you for the past several weeks that you almost forgot how cocky he could get.

And wow, do you like it.

“Cormac,” you whisper, feeling yourself turn crimson now under his touch. 

He plants a trail of kisses along your collarbone, down your torso and pauses just below your navel. Cormac hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pyjama shorts and you arch your back so he can remove them and toss them onto the floor in a pathetic heap.

Cormac drags the pads of his fingertips across your flushed, slick pussy. “Is this… for me?” He gives you the widest, most gleeful grin you’ve ever seen plastered on his face as he laughs once, under his breath. “You’re so wet.”

“Don’t laugh,” you pout - although from the way he’s lighting up, you can tell he likes the effect he’s having on you.

“You’ve got to admit, it is kind of funny. How everyone calls you Sweet because you’ve got this ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ thing going on but here you are… sneaking into my bed in the middle of the night.”

Your hips buck as he slides his fingers through your folds, dragging your arousal across your clit. An uncontrollable whine leaves your mouth as his fingers glide up and down, up and down. He rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek thoughtfully as he looks you over. “I wonder what other swear words you know…”

“I - ah - I told you it just slipped out -” you stammer. Goosebumps break out along your arms - this time it’s nothing to do with the cold - you’re burning up, hearing him talk to you like this. But the more you blush, the more it spurs him on. 

Cormac gives you a lop-sided smirk as he drags gentle, lazy circles around your clit. “So… that kind of talk is just for me, right?” he asks. You wriggle again, opening yourself up wider, silently willing him to put his fingers inside you. 

“Yes,” you whimper. He’s got you wrapped around his finger - almost literally. You’ll say anything he wants to hear. Do anything - everything that he wants. Give him anything he asks. As long as he keeps touching you like this.

You make a soft, vulnerable sound in bliss, feeling yourself slowly falling apart at how he’s circling over that little bundle of nerves that makes your eyes fucking roll back. He hisses an inhale through his teeth, watching your reaction. 

And then suddenly, he’s pushing in and curling two thick fingers inside your eager, soaking wet pussy and hooking them tight against your g-spot.

“Oh.” Your hand flies blindly down to touch his face - just for something to feel - and his expression changes from a smug smile to stern concentration. 

Your thumb brushes along his cheekbone, grazing the rough stubble of his jaw. He tilts his head just enough to kiss your palm, the warmth of his lips lingering against your skin, sending a spark racing up your arm. 

Then his eyes find yours - those green eyes, darker now, pupils blown out with a burning intensity that knocks the breath from your lungs. The way he looks at you, unflinching, unrestrained, sends a rush of heat through you, making your heart pound and your pulse quicken. 

You almost cry out when Cormac lowers his head and his soft lips envelope your clit. You clench around his fingers and tense your stomach when his tongue swirls even hotter and more dextrous than his fingers.

“Mhmm,” he says, pressing a kiss against your inner thigh before looking up with a wicked grin. His chin is wet. “You are sweet.”

You bite your lip and let your head roll back as he resumes his gentle licking. You can hardly believe this is happening. You’re trembling as you try to suppress another squeal but it’s like he can read your mind - 

“It’s okay to make noise. Nobody’s here. You don’t need to hold back,” he says between sloppy sucking. You remind yourself, that you’ve been best friends for so long he can probably read the nuances of your body language.

“Ah - okay, okay. Fuck - Cormac,” is all you can manage.

“That’s my girl.”

Oh, fuck. Why did he have to call you that? Your pussy clenches tight, neediness swelling in waves in your abdomen.

And then you don’t expect the way his whole arm moves as he picks up pace. At first, you feel jostled, almost manhandled when his fingers don’t go in and out but instead curl into you with such intense pressure that you feel like you can’t keep up. It’s too fast. Too much. 

Until it suddenly isn’t. 

The flat of his tongue rubs against your clit in time with his fingers pressing against your g-spot. Blazing, white-hot heat twists tightly in your pelvic floor muscles. Your hand slides down to the juncture of muscle between his neck and his shoulder as you grip helplessly, feeling the relentless pressure of him stimulating that perfect spot deep inside you.

“Cormac,” you pant, as your walls twitch and tighten around those two fingers. “I’m - ha - that’s - yeah, there.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, sending vibrations across your clit. His eyes move back to your face. You convulse around your best friend’s fingers as he pulls you closer and closer to the edge. You’ve stopped wriggling, chasing your release - you don’t need to. Your whole body goes limp as you just let him drill inside you.

“Yes,” you say, biting your lip, your eyebrows knitting together, losing yourself in the mindless sensation. “Fuck, yesyesyesyes -”

He looks into your eyes while you plead for him as he pulls the orgasm from you. You clutch on his shoulder, feeling his hand working between your legs, pulling you higher and higher and - 

Fuck.

Everything plummets. 

White noise rings in your ears as your insides twist and release, sending agonising pleasure rippling through your whole body, more bright and explosive than anything you’ve felt before.

His hand slows down, dragging out the boiling hot aftershock, massaging your pussy until you’re a trembling mess.

At last, he slowly slips his fingers out from inside of you and lies next to you. 

Cormac can’t tear his eyes from you, watching the way your head falls back onto the pillow - his pillow - as you catch your breath, looking up at the velvet hangings above and raking your hands through your hair. 

You think you must lie there in stunned silence for a full minute before you realise he’s waiting on you to say something.

“What -” you swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “What time is the Knight Bus tomorrow?”

Cormac tilts his head, concerned. “After breakfast, I think. But, I mean… if you need space or something, then that’s fine -”

“No,” you turn your head on the pillow quickly. “No, nothing like that.”

You roll on top of him so that you’re straddling him again and lean down. Your hair tickles his cheek as you lean in close enough to see every detail of his face - the faint freckles across his nose, the shadow of stubble on his jaw, even the flutter of his lashes. Every inch of him feels so present.

“I’m trying to figure out how many times we can do that before McGonagall sends us home,” you smirk and relief crosses his face.

“I thought you were trying to see if there was any way you could leave earlier,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sincerity. 

You shake your head. “I want to stay here forever. I want -” You plant a kiss on his cheek and slip your hand between your bodies, your curious fingers lightly dancing over his hard cock through his boxers. “- I want you. So badly. You have no idea.”

“Pretty sure I have some idea how that feels.” Cormac reaches down to catch the waistband of his boxers with his thumbs and lets you pull out his cock. It’s just as gorgeous as the rest of him. You wrap your palm around him, feeling how warm and thick he is, and slowly jerk your wrist. His jaw tightens and he jerks his hips upwards to meet your soft, clenched fist. 

“That’s - fuck, that’s good -” he says, closing his eyes, his lips slightly parted. He looks so good like this, you think, as you watch him swallow thickly, neck muscles contracting.

You adjust yourself higher up his body so that you can kiss his exposed neck. As you keep working your wrist between your bodies the tip of his cock rests against your wet folds.

“Cormac,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly, “do you want to…?”

His eyes open, searching yours with quiet intensity. “Yeah,” he says softly like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Your hand pauses stroking him, caught off guard by the steadiness of his answer. “You didn’t even let me finish the question.”

“I don’t need to,” he says, his voice gentle but certain. “If it’s you, the answer’s always yes.”

You can’t help it - the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite the nervous flutter in your chest and the fact that the tip of his leaking cock is pressing against your soaked entrance.

“Does it… do you know if it hurts?” you ask, your voice quieter now - hesitant.

Cormac tilts his head slightly, studying you, his brow furrowing - not in judgment, but in thought. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice honest but calm. “I’ve never - ” He pauses for a beat, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. “I haven’t done this before either.”

Your eyes widen. “You haven’t?”

He shakes his head, his expression softening into something almost self-conscious. “Nope.”

“Really?” The word comes out before you can stop it, your voice tinged with disbelief. Somehow, you’d always imagined him as… well, more experienced. The fact that he isn’t, that this is just as new for him, feels oddly grounding.

“Yeah, really,” he says, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. His gaze remains fixed on yours, unwavering. “It’s not like I’ve never had the chance or anything… just none of them felt right.” 

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “And… this does?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah.” His lips twitch into a faint smile. “It’s always been you, Sweet. And if you want this too, then -”

“I do. Cormac.” You swallow, the truth spilling out before you can second-guess it. “Of course, I do. I’ve been in love with you since I was eleven years old.”

“So have I,” he says, his voice low but certain. “So there’s nothing to worry about,” he says softly, like a promise. “I’ve got you.”

For once, you don’t think, don’t question. You lift your hips back slightly, just enough for the head of his cock to part your folds. Cormac holds the base of his length, positioning himself so that you can balance your weight, one hand on his chest, the other on the bed.

You sink down, feeling pressure as his cock pushes through your entrance. You shut your eyes tight, expecting pain but you open them again when you feel two large hands caressing your hips.

“Still got you, baby.”

A deep heat blooms within you, sweeping through your body like a tide and leaving your thoughts in a hazy, breathless blur. You slide down further - so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch of him filling you up. As you lower yourself, his reassurance becomes a dark, lustful groan and his thumbs press on your hipbones.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Fuck - that’s - yeah -”

The back of your thighs meet his hips as you bottom out and the sensation is all-consuming, a wildfire of longing that burns away reason. 

His cock presses up against every part of your insides in a way that your body has craved for so long while you tried to ignore it. Every smile he flashed you from across the room, every time you brushed past him as he held a door open - it always made something in your core lurch. And now as you feel those same muscles tighten you realise the extent of your primal want for him.

“It’s… it’s in,” you whisper and it feels almost redundant to say it when it’s so patently obvious but you’re trying to tell him and yourself that you’re okay. It hurts a little - but in a good way - like when your legs ache from climbing a long flight of stairs. Except you never feel fire igniting in your belly like this when you ascend the staircase of the Astronomy Tower.

“Yeah, I’m inside you,” he says breathlessly. Then his expression changes, something flickering in his eyes - an intense, unspoken longing that unfurls in the space between you. “I’m fucking inside you,” he says again, the words low and rough, tumbling from his lips like he’s surrendering to a need he can no longer contain. He thrusts upwards and you gasp breathlessly, it’s as though the world tilts on its axis. 

“You good?” he asks, grabbing firm fistfuls of your hips. You nod, your thoughts disapparating around the edges when his cock twitches inside you. “You feel perfect.”

You melt so fiercely under his compliment that you need to look away. But when you look down between your bodies and see him buried to the hilt inside you, you can see why he had to repeat himself. 

This is happening - it’s real and it’s actually happening and it’s everything you ever hoped. 

You lift your hips in slow, stuttered little jumps, experimenting with the way he feels inside you. Is this right? Are you good at this? Should you move more like this? But Cormac helps, his hands on your tentative hips aid your momentum as he decisively guides you forward and back and - oh. 

Now, this is right. 

You know for certain now, as his thick cock glides in and out of your sopping wet folds, your arousal dripping all over him, and you can’t tear your eyes away in an almost enchanted haze. You know you must feel right for him too because in almost rhythmic agreement, his cock pushes against that deep sensitive spot you need as you convulse around him.

“Oh, shit -” breathes Cormac. “Look at me, look at me.” 

With difficulty, your eyes pull up weakly, looking away from his cock driving into you and meeting his gaze. He’s so present and focused - like he’s searching for something. 

Cormac’s hand slides from your hip and his thumb finds your swollen clit. You gasp, realising only now how close you are to the edge. You curse and Cormac grins. This is the answer to the silent question he’d been searching for.

“Fuck -” you whine, your pussy clamping down hard around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck -”

“That’s it, baby. Tell me how good it is.”

“Mhm,” you huff as you pick up pace, bouncing against his lap, chasing every bit of friction he has to offer you. It all melds together, the way his cock fills you up, his wet thumb rubbing against your clit, his other hand roughly guiding you up and down on him. 

“Fuck - it’s good - s’good -” you try and keep focused on his gorgeous look of concentration as your floor muscles clamp down. “You’re so fucking good.” 

He closes his eyes and an agonised groan tumbles from his lips when you say that. 

“Yeah? You like that?”

“Yesyesyesyes,” you whimper, every syllable punctuated with you riding him. Your eyes roll back as everything winds tighter and tighter, your nerve endings alight and sparking pleasure through your body. 

“Fuck, say it again,” he growls, his hips jutting up to slap against the back of your thighs. 

You don’t even know when you say next. All you know is that whatever filthy words spill out, make Cormac laugh triumphantly through gritted teeth as your world shatters. 

He murmurs your name - your real name, not that nickname everyone calls you - as he rubs your clit and fucks you exactly where you need him to, throwing you towards raw pleasure. 

“Are you cumming again, baby?”

“Ah - uh-huh,” you choke and even that little moan in the affirmative is a struggle. 

Every unbridled bounce of your hips sends your mind reeling as your orgasm crashes down over you. Your pussy throbs and twitches around him, squeezing him hard as you ride out the beautiful wave.

Fuck.

It’s messy, it’s aching, it’s blurry, it’s debilitating. You can barely see straight.

You twitch from oversensitivity as Cormac fucks himself up and into you in search of his own high. His hips thrust erratically and his face contorts in pleasure and then suddenly he’s forcing your hips down onto him, and with a guttural moan, he’s cumming deep inside you, holding you in place even as you squirm and shake through the aftershock of your own ecstasy. 

Everything goes dark - you see actual stars behind your eyelids. Vaguely, you’re aware of Cormac tenderly manoeuvring you with strong, safe arms so that you’re lying at his side, your head resting on his chest. He pulls his duvet over you - it's cosy and smells like him. It's wonderful.

“You’re shaking - are you warm enough?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, feeling your eyes grow heavy as you try to keep them open. “Just tingly. It’s… it’s nice.”

Cormac tilts your chin up and he leans down to kiss you, slow and lazy. He’s soft and warm. You’re safe and pliant. His fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and sweetly brush the curve of your jaw.

“Are you tired?” he asks.

“A little,” you say. It's an understatement. You're barely able to lift your eyelids to look at him. There’s something about being nestled here on his shoulder - like you were in front of the common room fire a few weeks ago - that just signals to your body that it’s secure and that you can relax fully. “You?”

“Yeah… I just don’t wanna fall asleep in case I’m already dreaming. I can’t believe this is real.”

“It’s real,” you sigh pleasantly, feeling his very real heartbeat in his chest as you snuggle in closer. The way he’s looking at you - like he’s seeing something precious - makes your chest ache. 

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he lies back on his pillow. “Because I don’t want this to end.”

You don’t want it to end either.

“I know you probably want to catch the Knight Bus tomorrow and see your family but -” he starts, hesitating slightly.

You cut him off gently. “We could stay here. For the holidays. If you want to.”

He closes his eyes, the softest smile curling his lips as his thumb brushes your shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, his voice steady now. “I want that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Gryffindor Common Room is a blazing display of gold and red. Laughter and cheering fill the room so loudly that you can barely hear yourself think as you weave through the crowd with two butterbeers in hand.

“Cheer up, Cormac,” you say, finding him on a plump armchair in the corner of the room. You hand him a butterbeer and sit on his lap. He pulls you close, his hand resting on the back of your thigh. “We won the cup, didn’t we?”

“I really thought this was going to be my year,” he grumbles. “I might just have to face it - maybe I’m not cut out to play Quidditch.”

“I think you’re brilliant,” you say, although your words are probably meaningless - you don’t know the first thing about Quidditch.

“Oh, come on. You were there - you watched me knock Potter out with a bludger in the last game.”

“Well, Katie was still in St Mungo’s, wasn’t she? You had other things on your mind.”

Cormac tuts, as if he’s annoyed at himself for being distracted by one of his best friends being in mortal peril.

“Besides,” you say, leaning in and pressing your mouth to his ear. “You have plenty of other talents. Ones that are more… useful than Quidditch.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, turning to give you a lopsided grin. His tone is low, teasing, but the heat in his eyes makes your pulse quicken. “Care to elaborate?” 

You don’t bother answering. Instead, you press your lips to his, letting the butterbeer bottle tilt precariously in your grip as his arms tighten around your waist. His hand slides a little higher up your thigh, the warmth of it sending sparks skittering down your spine. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, and suddenly it feels like the whole room could catch fire from how hot your skin feels against his.

“Alright, that’s enough of the Devil’s Snare impression” Katie’s voice interrupts, dry and sharp as she drops into the armchair beside yours, looking equal parts amused and exasperated.

You pull back, flustered, trying to regain a sliver of composure. Cormac shifts slightly, but his arm stays around your waist, not bothering to hide the grin on his face.

“Do you have to keep doing that where I can see? I’ve had enough trauma this year without adding that to the list,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry,” you grin sheepishly. 

“Don’t be,” Katie snorts. “Honestly, I prefer this to whatever you were doing before. It was unbearable. I mean, the pining - ” she shudders theatrically “- disgusting.” 

You laugh, but Cormac just raises his butterbeer in mock toast. “Thanks for your support. Truly heartwarming.”

Katie waves a hand dismissively, clearly unbothered. “Just get me my next butterbeer so I don’t need to fight through that crowd again, and we’ll call it even.”

Cormac reaches over without missing a beat, handing her his unopened bottle. “Here. You’ve earned it.”

She raises an eyebrow, suspicious. “Why, because I nearly got cursed to death and inadvertently set the two of you up?”

“No,” Cormac says dryly, though his lips twitch. “Because you’ve basically just won us the bloody Quidditch Cup.”

You raise your butterbeer in solidarity. “To Katie.”

“To me,” she says smugly, clinking her bottle with yours before taking a long sip.

The three of you settle into easy conversation, as easy and as natural as it’s always been.

Sitting here in the glow of victory, with Katie healthy and whole, and Cormac’s arm around your waist, you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

Things are pretty sweet. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list (let me know if you want removed/changed at any point or for any reason - if you just do not want notifications or if your hyperfixation has changed - anything! I'll remove you no questions asked) @aweidlich @xxvelvetxxxx @Dinom @Mgurl @all-by-myself98 @navs-bhat @ivebeentrashsince2001 @intense-sneezing @countlambula @chiaraanatra @daisydark @stainedpomegranatelips @doodlebook14 @il0vebeingdelulu @evabellasworld @xyzstar @lolitstiana @senassn @marmie-noir @lipstickandloveletters

[vxsellie]

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG AND THEN WITH THE AMOUNT OF MAKEUP READER SPENT HOURS CHOOSING SHE DOES ELLIE'S MAKEUP :3333

Iloveyawritingdidisaidthat

summary. ellie williams x hyper-femme!reader headcannons notes. ok so i may or may not have lost your initial req???? dont ask how that happened bc i literally have no idea. tumblr fucking disintegrates my asks sometimes & now ur first one is fucking gone?? i have some good news tho! i took a ss so i can still write exactly what u wanted, but i just can't reply to it normally & have to instead respond to this one :((( warnings. foul language, kissing, idk?? there's basically no warnings, this is literally tooth-rotting fluff

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆despite your opposing tastes, ellie fucking adores you. she literally couldn't care less for what clothes you wear or how you present yourself. she loves you and thats that, nothing else matters.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆what she can't stand, however, is fucking shopping.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆the crowds of people, the smell of perfumes, the sound of crinkling bags, the feel of so many eyes. oh how she hates it.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆but the moment you enter the mall and she watches you face light up, her own personal misery is made worth it. every ounce of loathing in her body vanishes, leaving her with only adoration and love for the excited girl beside her.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you're unafraid to spend hours in one store, making sure to sift through each and every article of clothing the store has to offer. your eyes are bright, your hands moving fluidly. it's almost alluring to simply watch you in your natural habitat.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆ellie stands over your shoulder, arms crossed as she watches you. as you sidestep to another rack of clothes, your mouth is moving at a shocking speed, speaking about something completely fucking random. and if ellie's being completely honest, she hasn't processed a single word.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"how d'you think this would look?" you ask, spinning on your heel to face ellie. you're holding a top in front of your torso, peering down at yourself as you struggle to envision yourself wearing it.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"uh, i dunno," she replies, giving a nonchalant shrug as she averts her eyes.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you groan at her lack of interest, tossing the shirt over your folded arm and mentally reminding yourself to try it on before you leave.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆as you two continue to float about the shop, you take notice to ellie's misery. you've been talking about cheese for the past ten minutes just to see if she'd say something. and, just as you'd suspected, she didn't. she simply nodded and hummed along just as she'd been doing all day.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆suddenly, your gaze lands on something that you're sure will get her attention. in an attempt at subtlty, you direct her over there, moving around as casually as possible as to prevent her noticing what you're heading toward.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"what about this then?" you ask, grabbing another shirt. you hold it in front of yourself. she hums, raising a brow as she looks you up and down. her eyes suddenly widen at the sight.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"please buy it." she begs. her wide eyes are still pinned to the shirt in your hands as she utters a second, "please?"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you giggle at her desperation, "okay. i'll buy the shirt if you promise me something."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"anything."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"i want you to promise me that you'll be less boring." you tell her with a pointed expression. "for the rest of the day."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"what? i haven't been boring!" she's quick to defend herself, face controrted with offence, showing her sincerity in her belief of innocence.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"yes you have! you haven't been listening to me at all!" you exclaim before crossing your arms with a pout. "you look confounded."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆see, you and ellie have been together for four years. you know her and she knows you. and you both know that this isn't an actual argument. it's just a small moment of bickering between you. however, despite the lack of seriousity to the discussion, your emotions are still just as real as they would be if you were actually arguing.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆ellies face drops. she didn't mean to make you feel unheard or anything of that sort. she grabs you hand, tracing gentle circles along the hills of your knuckles. she gives you an apologetic glance. "i'm sorry baby, it's—" she frowns, "i don't enjoy this the way you do."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"i know," you sigh. you adjust your hands so that the pad of your thumb is fumbling with her forefinger. you trace the small scar there, a tiny cut in the bed of her nail that you've memorized the placement of. "i just love shopping, and i love you. and i love being with you. i just— i wish you liked it as much as i do because i have tons of fun shopping with you, even if you hate it. simply being in your company makes me happy, els."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆she frowns, brows furrowing as she thinks. when an idea strikes her, she gives you a mischevious smirk. "how about this." she points at the bundled shirt on your arm. the one she begged you to buy only moments prior to this. "i'll buy that dinosaur shirt for you. but you have to wear it for the rest of the day. if you do that, i promise to do whatever you want me to. i'll even go in the perfume store."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you glance down at the shirt. it's black and frayed and absolutely not your style. it looks like something you'd find in a dumpster — hence the reason ellie had begged you to buy it. she knew it wasn't something you'd never wear. and, on top of that, there's a design in the center depicting a skeleton of a dinosaur smoking a cigarette with sunglasses.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆ellie watches you with an amused expression, interested to hear your reply. finally, you look up at her with a smirk, "deal."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆the rest of the day is spent in mirth. you tried on your clothes and ellie accompanied you in the dressing room, zipping your shirt for you and commenting on which ones she liked. then, when you put on the dinosaur shirt, she had to cover her mouth to stop herself from bursting out with laughter.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆your usually bright and feminine style was now tainted by ellie's stupid dino shirt. but the sight of her wide smile was enough to make you leave the dressing room with it under your arm.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆then, as promised, ellie paid. you thanked her endlessly, swinging her hand as you two exited the store. with your hands still intertwined, she dragged you off into the bathroom and made you put on the dinosaur shirt. you egressed the girls' bathroom with a pout on your lips; an amused smirk on ellie's.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆after that, you went to the food court and got smoothies. this time, you refused to let ellie pay (she ended up doing it anyway behind your back).

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆smoothies in hand, you made your way toward the perfume store — ellie's least favorite.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆all week, you'd been complaining about how you'd ran out of yor favorite perfume and had to use your backup. ellie reassured you that you still smelt great, but you felt no consolation from her words. so, when you dragged her to the mall, she knew you were bound to drag her to the perfume store as well. she's been (very verbally) dreading it all day.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"oh my gosh!" you squealed upon entering the store. ellie wrinkled her nose at the scent, her expression instantly turning sour. you rolled your eyes, grabbing her hand and dragging her over to a specific shelf. "ellie, look! they have my favorite!"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"perfect. grab it and we can leave." she grumbled.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆at the sound of her complaining, an idea popped into your head. a cruel one, yes, but an idea nonetheless. ellie quickly noticed the look on your face, her entire demeanor sagging with trepidation for what you're about to say.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"actually, els, i heard they just revieced a ton of new autumn scents." you said, running your hand down her arm innocently. "would you be the best girlfriend ever and help me choose a second perfume?"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆she glared at you, "a second? you already have fifty!"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"what was our deal, baby?" you remind her, tugging down at the hem of your shirt to draw her attention to the hippie dino she forced you into.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆with a frown, she agrees to your conditions. you nearly jump with excitement, grabbing her hand as you pull her over to the newly-stocked autumn shelves. you take time to sniff every single one, shoving the bottle into ellie's nose right after. she coughs and hacks dramatically each time, causing some other shoppers to glance in your direction.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆eventually, the you narrow the choices down to two scents that you like the most. ellie gave you her opinion a few times, but mostly prefers to just smile and nod befrore choking back a gag at the strong smell of the store,

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"damn it, i don't know which one to pick. this one is more sweet and isn't as strong. but that one is more tangy and stronger." you mutter to yourself, holding a bottle in each hand as you glance between the both of them alternately. ellie watches with an unreadable expression as you struggle to pick. with a pitiful frown, you turn to ellie for help. she roll her eyes, but ends up pointing to the one in your left hand. you scowl at her "oh you're just saying that because it's less strong."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"well, yes, that plays a factor." she admits. "but i also like that scent more, eucalyptus is nice at this time of year. plus, the sweetness suits you better than the tang."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you stare at her with a soft smile, pupils blown. you stand on your tip toes and press a kiss to her lips. "thanks, els. it means a lot to me that you put effort into your decision."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆she kisses you back, pulling you flush against her. she's needy and passionate. you giggle against her, having to pry yourself from her arms to get away from her personified desire. she frowns but lets you go, once again insisting to pay when the two of you reach the counter. this time you manage to pay without her tricking you.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆the next store is the makeup shop. she helps you pick out the right foundation, having memorized everything about you down to your exact skin tone. she picks out the correct one within seconds — something that would have taken you half an hour to find. she then picks out your lipstick, begging you to buy the brightest red imaginable as she claims it'd be funny.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆after that, you go to the jewlery store, purchasing a new pair of earrings and a few bracelets. the lady who worked there was super sweet, aiding you with your pick when you were trying to decide between two options.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"got you something," ellie whispers into her ear as the two of you exit the shop. you give her a curious look, wondering what she's gotten up to this time. ellie reaches behind her back to reveal a bag from the jewlery store. you raise a brow at this. she pulls a necklace from inside, a pink diamond pendant at the center. you've been dying for a necklace like this for weeks. you hadn't even realized ellie knew about your yearning for one. "d'you like it?"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"like it?" you ask. "baby, i love it!"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you turn around and she clasps it on for you, her fingers grazing your the skin on the back of your neck. your hairs stand on end at the feel of her touch, suddenly longing for more of her.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆the rest of the day, you can't peel your eyes away from your new necklace. you toy with it while shopping and you admire it whenever you pass a window or mirror or literally anything reflective. ellie smiles to herself every time she catches you doing this, proud of herself for having picked it out for you.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆she had bribed that worker lady into talking to you while she picked it out and bought it, distracting you from ellie for a few minutes. you were so caught up in the stranger's kindness that you hadn't even realized.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆when you two get home, ellie collapses down onto the couch, her eyes instantly sinking shut at the feel of the cushion swallowing her whole.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you allow her a few minutes to relax, rushing about your shared apartment as you add your newly purchased belongings to your closet, bathroom, jewlery box, and makeup bag. all the while, you can't help but find yourself enjoying the stupid dino shirt. it's comfy and reminds you of ellie's love for you.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"els!" you call out from the bathroom while you're adding your new tube of mascara to your bag. in a matter of seconds ellie is in the bathroom with you, asking what's wrong. you peck her cheek before pushing her down onto the closed toilet seat.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆she's confused at first, eyes wide. but then you turn to face her with your makeup in your hands and she instantly grimaces. "oh god no."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"please, baby?" you plead, giving her your best puppy dog eyes.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆she rolls her own, deciding to just give in. after the long day she's had, why not just continue to give you what you want? plus, after all she's been through, she ought to admit shopping isn't that bad. you were right. it's fun to simply be in the company of someone you love.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you kneel in front of her, wide smile on your face. you decide to only do a few small things — eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, and a bit of blush.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆the eyeliner takes for fucking ever because ellie has no idea how to stop moving. not to mention, she squeezes her eyes every time you get too close for comfort, which causes the eyeliner to smudge and rub away. after a horrifyingly long amount of time spent on perfecting the liner, you finally move on to mascara.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you order her to open her eye and look up while you cake the makeup on. she does as she's told, opening them as you instruct. she's almost proud of herself until she ends up blinking every time the mascara touches her lashes.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"oh my god, ellie," you say through laughter, on the verge of giving up.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"don't laugh at me!" she exclaims. "i feel stupid enough as is."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"no you look beautiful, baby." you assure her, lenaing forward to give her a tiny kiss on her lips. "it's just funny because i know how strong you are. to watch someone so utterly fearless flinching at a mascara brush is fucking hilarious."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"okay yeah, that's pretty funny."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆when you finally manage to get the mascara on her (yes it's all around her eyes and on her eyelids), you move on to add lipstick. the moment you pop open the lid, she's grinning at you.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"what're you so giddy about?" you ask her with an amused expression.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"what? nothing." she says, turning away from you with a genuine frown.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆when the realization hits you that ellie is actually excited to put on lipstick, you decide not to tease her. you know how much ellie struggles with femininity, uncomfortable in dresses and therefore feeling inferior in her own body.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆she doesn't want to wear dresses. not necessarily. it's just the fact that she'd grown up wearing baggy clothes and being bullied for looking like a boy. sometimes she doesn't feel like she could ever fit in with girls or relate to them on any level despite being one herself.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆it's a dauntingly complex relationship she has with her girlhood, but you're always sure to be sensitive around the topic.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆she opens her mouth and you rub the lipstick along her lips. she blinks a few times, her eyes still feeling uncomfy with the feel of the heavy mascara and restricting eyeliner.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆you stare at her mouth for longer than you'd care to admit, admiring the plush pink to the skin. the moment you finish, she's rubbing her lips together the way she'd watched you do so many times in the mornings when getting ready. you watch her with a small smile, enamored by everything to do with her.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"you're so pretty, ellie." you say. "i'm really lucky to have you, y'know that?"

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪┆"i'm luckier."

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist. @luvsturniolo @xlovla @kasqnxx @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @elliessweetheart

[fawningflowered]

i know caitlin loves to mess hyper femme reader’s make up 🤭😏

the girl stood behind you watching as you applied your makeup. her eyes kept meeting yours in the mirror.

"cait, would you like to help?" you asked, offering the girl a tube of lipstick. she nodded, taking the small golden tube into her hand and applying it onto you. you knew she was done when her big smile and dimples appeared, looking in the mirror and inspecting the job she'd just done (which was perfect) you went to give her a hug. pulling back from the hug, she pressed her lips onto yours, removing half of the still wet product from your lips onto hers.

"caitlin!" you began to scold before she interrupted you, "we're both pretty princesses now?" she asked sarcastically.

"fine.." you said, trying to sound annoyed. moments later you littered little pink kisses all over the girl's face.

or...

it wasn't intentional, but the sight was just so pretty. the lipgloss that was once on your lips was smudged and could be found more on caitlin's lips than your own.

her fingers had been pumping in and out of you for the past thirty minutes, every time she felt you were close, she'd mutter a "hold it". you couldn't help it, tears streamed down your face from the constant pleasure. you simply couldnt take it anymore, and sadly came without the permission of the brunette, which resulted in more teasing and torture :((

[dear-mimii]

older!sevika headcanons x reader headcanons

an: ik this is short but ive been super busy with school, and i just wanted to write a little something to please yall! also i haven’t watched arcane in a while (literally can’t put myself through all the sad parts) so it may be just the tiniest bit inaccurate, but i think it’s pretty good!

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ super duper protective, in public and in private. you kept bumping your hips on the sharp edges of the kitchen counter? the next to when you came in there'd be little silicone covers on every corner. maybe your at a bar or maybe just grocery shopping, she will definitely hold your hand or wrap her arm around your waist so you can be as close as PHYSICALLY possible.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ acts like a total grandma on her phone. holds it a good 2 feet away from her face and turns her nose up as she plays sudoku.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ anytime you show here a trend she'll squint at it for a single second and then tells you “i don't get it.”

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ BIG people watcher. anytime you're out in public she'll look at people walking by and just let's anything she thinks about fly out of her mouth.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ she will endure every girly thing you want her to, whether it's going to a pink, overpriced cafe or walking through Miniso carrying everything you picked up.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ at this point in her life, sevika stopped getting her menstrual cycle. still, she'll cuddle you, rub your back, your feet, wherever you needed it. whenever you doubled over in pain from the cramps, she’d spoon you, letting the heat of her body seep into yours.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ 110% needs glasses. blind as a bat without them. and then when she tries to prove her point that she’s still young and can see and takes off her glasses, once again she’s proven wrong. sometimes you tease her when in the mornings she has to grope around the bedside table and she knocks them off. you’d roll out the bed and teasingly call her “grandma glasses” as you pick up her glasses and handed them to her.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ loves the idea of you being her sweet little housewife like it was 50’s. keeps trying to convince you to quit your job, and she buys you cute pink aprons with ruffles that say “kiss the cook”, and she does every time.

i love older sevika so much😚 don’t know why ppl write her like such a meanie she’s a big cuddle bug to me!

[gaymilfbrainrot]

I've noticed there is a distinct lack of vi x butch!reader and it's actually a bit upsetting. just bc vi is into women doesn't necessarily mean she's only into one type of women. cait has masc traits and yet I've noticed an alarming trend of those being glossed over. It feels like a different form of gender expectation but lesbian flavored. I'm a nerdy butch myself and it has the unintentional vibe of making me feel like vi is only attracted to hyper feminine women. it just. It hurts.

[v1rtualv4mp]

୨ৎ Daryl's hyperfem girl ⋆₊˚⊹♡

[angelicsvlt111]

[wordpress-blaze-243800539]

A Deep Dive into Some Deep Thoughts

A Deep Dive into Some Deep Thoughts

In preparation for sharing this post with you, I read an abundance of powerful quotes, interpreted, researched, and included ways to implement their value into your life, or at least that was my intent. It is my hope that you are able to draw your own interpretations and meaning, and most importantly, apply what serves you to improve your mindset, your circumstances, and the quality of your life.

“Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time.” – Thomas A. Edison

Interpretation: It is quite easy to quit once resistance or obstacles present themselves, and move on to another endeavor, to most assuredly repeat the same process. Think about how different your life would be if you gave up when things got hard. If you are blessed with the ability to walk, I can assure you that you did not accomplish that on your first try. You are reading or listening to this post right now, which means you endured the undoubtedly challenging process of learning a language. Sure, you might take for granted talking and walking, but what if you applied the same tenacity to learning and mastering anything you choose to spend your time doing?

Implementation: Go into any experience, with the mindset that you are ready to learn, ready to fail, and most importantly, ready to move forwards and keep trying no matter what you face. Anything less than your best effort, is a squandering of your time, and time is your most valuable resource in life. If you are going to do something, do it well and with a sense of pride, no matter how small or big the task is.

Deeper Dive: Check out the article below to see how individuals like Thomas Edison embodied the power of second chances, and an unquenchable desire to succeed. How different our world would be if Thomas Edison gave up on his ambitions and ideas?

12 Successful People Who Faced Extreme Hardship But Never Gave Up

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"It is far better to be alone than in bad company." George Washington

Interpretation: The people you choose to surround yourself with, greatly determine the quality and direction of your life. Choose wisely, and learn when it is best to disengage, and walk your own path. There is a powerful sense of peace that comes with enjoying your own company. Once you are able to do so, you will not seek validation or approval from others, and will appreciate your time with those who actually deserve it.

Implementation: Think about the relationships in your life, especially the ones you have chosen to invest your time and heart into. Do they reciprocate your efforts within the relationship? Do they inspire you to grow? Do they bring peace and comfort into your life? Does the relationship consistently provide a meaningful and mutually positive experience for both sides? Take the time to ask yourself these questions and evaluate who you spend your time with accordingly.

Deeper Dive: Check out the article below for some great insight on navigating friendships and making good, informed choices in your life.

https://brainwavetrail.com/importance-of-choosing-good-friends

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"The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change: the realist adjusts the sails." William Arthur Ward

Interpretation: Think about the last time you complained about something. While spending your time and energy on complaining, did a solution emerge? It is far more likely that clarity came when you decided to stop complaining and began thinking about a solution or reframed your perspective on the situation. The pessimist has a negative, fixed mindset regarding the wind which serves little purpose. The optimist's perspective, although positive, lacks action which will often not get them to where they aspire to be. The realist evaluates the situation, identifies what they can control, and adjusts their actions accordingly.

Implementation: Next time you are faced with a challenge, or uncomfortable situation, remember that wasting your time and thoughts on playing victim, or complaining about the circumstances, will not get you very far. Instead, believe there is a solution that you simply have not found yet, and focus on your energy on determining a first, logical, step you can take to improve your situation.

Deeper Dive: Check out the article below for interesting insight on pessimism, optimism, realism, and the importance of a balanced mindset in life.

https://www.happiesthealth.com/articles/mental-health/difference-between-optimism-pessimism-and-realism

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‌"Don't be distracted by criticism. Remember, the only taste of success some people get is to take a bite out of you." Zig Zagler

Interpretation: Do not let other people's opinions of you determine your sense of personal value or impede your path to success. As part of my journey to becoming a life coach, I have posted my work on social media, knowing that I am opening myself up to potential criticism. Unsurprisingly, I have received some negative comments that provide no value or constructive feedback, and were written to just take away from what I am trying to accomplish. I paid them little thought and kept moving forwards. To clarify, you should be open to feedback as that will help you to make progress and refine your product, but you should evaluate the source and intent behind such input. The moment you stop trying to impress others and act out of a need of validation and approval; is the moment you learn that true strength and growth comes from within.

Implementation: Surround yourself with people you trust, you respect, and who will help you to learn and grow. Disregard intentionally harmful criticism and a need for validation, do your best to be your best, and be open minded to who and what you can learn from to assist with this process. Do not let negative people, or circumstances, keep you from getting to where you want to be.

Deeper Dive: You cannot avoid criticism, but you can learn to handle it in a positive and productive way. Check out the article below to do just that.

https://thearisesociety.com/how-to-handle-criticism/

_________________________________________________________________

‌"It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." J.K. Rowling

Interpretation: Life is full of so many different things that are out of our control, however, it is what we choose to do with what we do have control over, that ultimately determines our quality of life. When you choose to continuously seek knowledge and ability, through education, practice, and experience, you are making an investment in yourself that can only help your cause. It is the hard working and resilient individuals that often find success over the naturally gifted. You are not determined by your current abilities and circumstances; you are determined by the decisions you make to change them. Remember that.

Implementation: Your thoughts determine your emotions, and consequently, the actions you ultimately choose to take. The key to changing your life, is changing your thoughts. Learn to think rationally and make sound decisions and choices that are most likely to result in positive change in your life.

Deeper Dive: Check out the article below to see how even the smallest, seemingly insignificant choices, and have a profound effect on your life.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/meditation-for-modern-life/202410/the-butterfly-effect-of-choices?msockid=1a66d616c43c66c825eec3d5c594672b

I hope you enjoyed the post. I truly value your feedback and would love to hear in the comments below if you enjoyed the content, and if you have any suggestions for improvement or additional content in the future. Most importantly, take care, God bless, and be well.

Written By: Man with a plan aka Jeffrey Kalinoski

Citations:

Emma. (2018, October 8). 12 Successful People Who Faced Extreme Hardship But Never Gave Up. Fearless Motivation - Motivational Videos & Music. https://www.fearlessmotivation.com/2018/10/08/successful-people-who-faced-extreme-hardships/

Evans, P. (2023, September 15). Choosing the Right Friends: A Key to Good Well-being. BrainWaveTrail.com. https://brainwavetrail.com/importance-of-choosing-good-friends/

Half full, half empty or…? Understanding optimism, pessimism and realism. (2023, August 26). Happiest Health. https://www.happiesthealth.com/articles/mental-health/difference-between-optimism-pessimism-and-realism

Heath, V. (2021, February 10). How to Handle Criticism in a Healthy Way. The Arise Society. https://thearisesociety.com/how-to-handle-criticism/

The Butterfly Effect of Choices. (2024). Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/meditation-for-modern-life/202410/the-butterfly-effect-of-choices?msockid=1a66d616c43c66c825eec3d5c594672b

Source: A Deep Dive into Some Deep Thoughts

[lipstainwhat]

i’m like if a literary it girl wasn’t hot & never published writing

[angelicsvlt111]

me😭🙏🏻

do you like femmes who climb into your lap when they want something? buttering you up by trailing their nails along your arms, giving little squeezes as they tell you how much bigger and stronger you are, while they look up at you with those big eyes and long fluttering lashes.

[leighbaye]

— TRANCE

written by mina leigh 𝜗᭪ , nate jacobs 𝔁 f! reader | wc 2500

summary. nate realizes he is the luckiest guy ever. fuck maddy, fuck cassie, he was plotting for you. you’re the most perfect girl that he could’ve ever asked for.

labels. y/n is used , she her pronouns used. nate fantasizes about you innocently and quite naughty, hyper feminine reader, pet names used, mentions of obsession, praise, & stalking, VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED.

‧₊˚ ୨୧ mina speaks. i really recommend reading @annwrites multi - part fic ❝ exactly what he needs ,❞ paired with, yours truly, nate jacobs. as it was inspired by the masterpiece.

nate is in bed, staring blankly at the glow of his phone. it was some mindless scroll through his socials, yet it all felt dull. nothing grabbed his attention the way it used to. not the countless selfies of maddy’s perfectly angled poses, or cassie’s desperate attempts to catch his eye with the glossy smiles she plastered all over the screen.

he let out a breath, locking his phone and placing it face down on the bedside table. his hand trailed absentmindedly toward the blanket, pulling it up a bit to tuck you in, careful not to disturb you.

you were fast asleep beside him, your soft breaths falling into a steady rhythm. nate’s gaze lingered on you longer than it probably should’ve, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of your face. fuck, you were perfect. it was almost criminal how effortlessly beautiful you looked, even now. no makeup, no posing, no pretending. just you.

he leaned his head back into the pillow, the warmth of your presence next to him soothing yet electrifying at the same time. it wasn’t like when he was with maddy or cassie. there wasn’t that constant tension, that need to control, to manipulate. well, maybe a little. but with you, it felt… different. not better, but more intoxicating.

❝ fuck ,❞ nate muttered under his breath, staring up at the ceiling, the faint glow from the moon seeping through the curtains.

he didn’t know how he’d gotten this lucky. not that it was entirely luck. it took planning, scheming. nate wasn’t a man who left things to chance. no, if he wanted something, he took it. he figured out how to make it his, even if it meant crushing a few people along the way.

and you? you were the one thing he hadn’t let slip through his fingers.

the day nate first really noticed you, like really noticed you, something shifted in him. it wasn’t like with cassie, where she was a fleeting obsession, someone he could toy with to get under maddy’s skin. no, you were something else. something more.

it had been a regular day, or at least it was supposed to be. cassie had brushed past him in the hall, giving him a sad, hopeful glance after their situationship had gone up in flames. she didn’t matter anymore, not really. nate had already set his sights elsewhere.

and then, there you were.

you didn’t even notice him at first, just standing there with a few friends, laughing at something dumb, probably something insignificant, but to nate, it was like the world had tilted. your hair caught the light just right, that glossy sheen making him want to reach out, run his fingers through it. and your face —fuck, your face was everything. perfect lips, perfect eyes, the kind of face nate could stare at for hours and never get bored. you had that thing about you, that girl - next - door vibe mixed with something else, something unattainable.

you weren’t loud, weren’t trying to get attention like maddy or cassie always did. you didn’t need to. you had a natural confidence, something soft but undeniable. your style was all femme, skirts and cute tops, nails always done, everything just ... neat. clean. controlled. nate liked that. he loved that.

it was like the universe had handed him exactly what he’d been looking for.

but getting you? that was going to take work. although not that he ever had any difficulty getting what he desired.

nate spent weeks figuring you out. watching. waiting. it wasn’t stalking, not really, he told himself. he was just making sure he knew everything he needed to. where you liked to hang out, who your friends were, what kind of guys caught your eye. every detail mattered.

he’d show up where you’d be, casually at first, nothing too obvious. he made sure to talk to the right people, make himself seem approachable, even charming, though that part came naturally. girls liked nate. it wasn’t hard to use that to his advantage.

he noticed how your eyes would flick toward him sometimes, just a quick glance before you looked away, trying not to let it linger. it was subtle, but nate knew what it meant. you were interested. maybe you didn’t realize it yet, but you were. and he was going to make sure you realized it soon enough.

a few weeks in, he made his move. a simple conversation, nothing too forward. just enough to get you thinking. he complimented your shoes, your nails, shit like that. small things, things other guys wouldn’t notice but nate did. he saw everything about you.

he could tell you liked the attention. your smile was shy, a little flustered even, and that’s how he knew he had you. it was only a matter of time now.

the days passed, and nate played his cards perfectly. you’d started to trust him, let your guard down around him. you laughed at his jokes, blushed when he teased you, and nate reveled in it. every little thing you did only made him want you more.

he liked how soft you were. how feminine. it wasn’t just your looks, though those were enough to drive him crazy on their own. it was the way you carried yourself, the way you made him feel needed, wanted, like he was the only guy who could make you happy.

he’d make sure you never wanted anyone else.

nate was careful, though. he didn’t rush things. he let the tension build, let you get used to the idea of him being around. he didn’t want to scare you off, not like he’d done with cassie. this time, it had to be perfect.

and it worked.

the night he finally confessed, nate couldn’t hold back anymore. it had been driving him insane, keeping it all bottled up, the way he felt about you. it wasn’t just lust, though that was a big part of it. it was deeper than that, more intense. he wanted you in every way, needed you.

he cornered you after a party, pulling you aside when no one was looking. your eyes widened in surprise, but there was a hint of excitement there too. nate could see it.

❝ i can’t keep pretending, y/n, ❞ he started, his voice low, controlled. ❝ i’ve been thinking about you, about us. for weeks. ❞

you blinked, a soft flush spreading across your cheeks. ❝ nate ... ❞

❝ no, let me finish, ❞ he interrupted, stepping closer, his body just inches from yours. ❝ you’re perfect. everything about you. i can’t stop thinking about you, wanting you. ❞ his hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and he smirked when you shivered at his touch. ❝ you deserve someone who sees that. who sees you. ❞

you stared up at him, your breathing shallow, and nate knew he had you right where he wanted.

❝ i hope you understand what i am getting at, i’m that guy, y/n, ❞ he murmured, leaning in, his lips just barely brushing your ear. ❝ i’m the guy who’s going to make sure you’re happy. no one else. ❞

your eyes sparkled, a mix of excitement and disbelief.

❝ nate... i didn’t know you felt that way, ❞ you whispered, biting your lip. ❝ i always thought... ❞

❝ what? ❞ he asked, his voice dripping with possessiveness. ❝ you thought you weren’t good enough? ❞ he let out a dark chuckle, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. ❝ you’re more than good enough. you’re mine. ❞

you stared at him, wide-eyed, but then you smiled —this soft, sweet smile that made his chest tighten.

❝ i didn’t think i’d be good enough for you, ❞ you admitted softly, looking down for a moment.

nate’s grip tightened around your waist, his hand firm as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing your temple. ❝ fuck that, y/n, ❞ he whispered, his voice thick with a mixture of desire and triumph. ❝ you’re everything i’ve ever wanted. ❞

your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him, pressing your face into his chest, and nate let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

he buried his face into the curve of your neck, breathing you in, his hands gripping your waist as he smirked against your skin. you were his now. completely his.

and nate wasn’t letting you go. not ever.

© MINA LEIGH 2023 - 2024

[fawningflowered]

HYPER FEMININE READER —

ᥫ᭡ … definitely a sonny angel collector. when you had first brought one home, caitlin didn’t see the point. as you bought more and more, cait had to say something, “what do you need more creepy ass babies for?” cue the pouting :c

ᥫ᭡ … im addition to collecting sonny angels (angel is DEFFFF one of her million nicknames from cait) she also collects tattoos. instead of larger tattoos, or sleeves, she prefers getting tattoos as if they were little stickers placed randomly on her body. song lyrics, bows, flowers, whatever honestly. cait LOVES it.

ᥫ᭡ … fiona apple, mazzy star, lana del rey, kali uchis, karol g, mitski, and kate bush enjoyer.

ᥫ᭡ … cait consistently buys her flowers.. the second a petal seems to wilt, a new bouquet seems to arrive at your door step. definitely a babies breath and pink roses kind of girl !!! loves greenery too !

[dear-mimii]

collegeroommate!vi comforting you pt.2

pairing! collegeroommate!vi x reader

about! morning after you got stood up for a date, vi came to wake you up and check on you

cw! mentions of crying, red eyes, besides that just fluff

word count! 673

you woke up in your bed, blanketed by used tissues all over. you rolled over on your stomach, groaning into the pillow as you tried to come to terms with actually having to do stuff today. images of that stupid, backstabber Maddie Nolan flashed through your mind. her short ginger hair, her warm smile, but to you it all just seemed fake. how come every girl you meet doesn’t like you back? even the nice ones? you had to be cursed or something, like that stupid demon lord from the Nana manga. that’s when you heard a soft knock on your door, followed by the creaking of the door being opened.

“hey… you awake?” vi’s voice cut through the silence of the room, her hushed tone already starting to soothe you.

not moving your face from being pressed in the pillow, you lazily raised your thumb at her. vi chucked at your gesture before taking a small step into the room, taking in all the tissues on your bed. it wasn’t fair that stupid Maddie could affect you like this, make you cry all night. she took another step towards your bed, brushing aside some of the discarded tissues before taking a seat, the mattress creaking a little under your combined weight. vi’s large hand came to rest in your shoulder, gently shaking you.

“come on, i know you aren’t asleep. talk to me, alright?”

you groaned as vi shook your shoulder. you knew vi wasn’t going to leave until you talked to her, despite all your mumbling and grumbling.

“im fine”, you spoke, your voice muffled by the pillow.

vi leaned down to whisper in your ear, “you’re just saying what you think i want to hear. you know im not leaving any time soon, so you might as well make it easier for the both of us.”

that’s one thing about vi that annoyed you sometimes, she was persistent no matter the situation. reluctantly, you rolled over on your back to face vi, a pout spreading across your lips. your eyes were puffy and still a little red from crying all night.

“there? are you happy now? i told you im fine, go do something else.” your voice was rough with sleep as you squinted your eyes to shield them from the late morning light.

“right… because a person who’s totally fine would definitely be surrounded by tissue in their bed. got it.”

there goes vi’s signature sarcasm again. but, you suppose it wasn’t completely unwelcome. it made you feel a bit better, but then again, when doesn’t vi help make you feel better? you knew she was right, it was a super flimsy excuse considering the puffy and red eyes, tissues in the bed… it’s frustrating that she’s always right. you sat up against the headboard, your sleep shirt slipping a bit further off your shoulder. before you could come up with some kind of response, you felt two strong arms wrapping around your neck. your cranky attitude melts away like ice as vi gathered you up in your arms and held you close. you returned the hug by snaking your arms around her waist. the two of you stayed like that for what felt like eternity, and you wouldn’t mind if you actually did. but eventually, vi withdrew herself, leaving you with a lingering warmth wherever her body was pressed against yours.

“how about now? are you still going to say your “fine” or are you actually okay now?”

you just nodded yes, your throat going dry when you thought of something to say. which was… weird… because you never had problems talking to vi but now you’re body is having some kind of nervous reaction? no, you’re probably looking too much into it. you haven’t drank any water since last night, perfectly good reason why your throat is dry. simple as that.

“good”, she says, her voice a bit gentler than before. “now get up and brush your teeth, yea? i think there’s some waffles waiting for you…”

[fawningflowered]

literally what she posts c:

[queen-of-gotham]

It’s A Love Story

(Wally West x batsis!reader)

Word Count: 1,930

Synopsis: you and Wally have been friends forever, but something’s changed. Can you feel it too?

Warnings: not beta read. Just tooth rotting fluff.

Notes from the batcave: Shout out to Pookie (@sobbingscripter ) for the idea and getting my creative brain juices flowing ❤️

Wally doesn’t think he could pinpoint the exact moment his brain chemistry went a bit askew when it came to you. When he started seeing you as a woman and not just his friend.

As long as he can remember, it’s been the two of you gossiping, playing games, having movie nights, and dinner dates, and so much shit talk about each other’s partners. All that typical best friend stuff.

You two practically grew up together, along with your older brother, Dick, and the original Teen Titans.

He was privy to all your phases growing up, every step you took living in the public eye as Bruce Wayne’s daughter. Wally watched the way you grew and matured and changed your image ever so often, though he wasn’t sure if it was to stay relevant in the media or if you actually just wanted to fade away from the cameras.

He saw your hyper-femme, pinks and lace and gold accessories.

He saw your preppy plaid skirts, and knee-high socks with sweater vests.

He saw you finally settle into some kind of old money aesthetic. You truly looked like you had been born with that silver spoon you had simply inherited in your tailored blazers and fitted skirts. Expensive jewelry you never flashed or showed off, just existing with the Rolex on your wrist, and a strand of pearls laying over your neck like it’s normal and typical.

You’d always looked beautiful, of course. That was never a question, but something about seeing you standing out on the balcony of the Wayne Manor, dressed to the nines in a gown Wally is sure cost more than his annual salary… something made it click in his mind that just maybe he’d been looking at you wrong your entire relationship.

There’s only a few years difference between you and the speedster. Wally can recall days of you two and Dick running around this very manor as young kids and him calling you annoying, because at the time you were just Dicks annoying little sister. Wally also remembers how you cried when he said that and Dick smacking him hard upside the head to apologize to you.

Always the princess.

Wally remembers when Dick first left the manor and started the Titans. That’s when your friendship really blossomed because you chose him to complain to. He didn’t get it at first. He can still hear your voice saying, “Your Dick’s best friend, you’re the only one who would get it.”

And eventually, those phone calls got longer. Inside jokes became fashioned into the threads of your friendship, and the very core of who you two were. Jokes, belly-aching laughs, and a mutual platonic love for who each of you was as people.

You also joined the team eventually.

A stray thought would cross Wally’s mind from time to time, of course! He was a teenager, and you… well, you were gorgeous. Model material. You smelled like you came straight out of heavens bakery, expensive and just out of reach.

But those thoughts were intrusive. You were his best friend! And not to mention his other best friend’s little sister. And he was just some guy from a small city in Kansas who in no world would ever be good enough.

Especially now when he sees you all dolled up for the Wayne Family Gala, and neither of you are teenagers anymore. You’re a gorgeous woman of 23 now. A floor-length gown hugging your frame as you lean onto the balcony ledge of the upper floor in the ballroom, just far enough away from the chaos to catch your breath and let down the mask of being a Wayne for a handful of moments.

You’d always told Wally there were two versions of yourself. The you in the public eye and the you behind the mask. And he could see where they stood as different personas.

You, in the public eye, were a Wayne with far too much PR training. You could sniff out the paparazzi faster than anyone he’d ever met, not that he knew many people who deal with them, but still. You were put together, a perfectly curated young woman of high society that cared a lot about philanthropy and fashion.

Then there was the you behind the mask, who was by all accounts a bad-ass vigilante that was rooted in justice and feminism and making sure your message was always centered and clear when cleaning up the streets. You wanted little girls to see your heroic acts and know that they could be destined for greater things. Let the men have all the fun saving the day? You would never.

But Wally knew that there was a third version of you, one that very few people ever got to see. Wally knew the real you. The one who steals his clothes because they’re comfy, and makes the excuse that you’dnever be caught dead in a Walmart, but these are cozy. As you curl up with him for movie nights. The you that made him your personal gopher when you’d go shopping and always insisted to the paparazzi that he was your friend, sometimes you’d say assistant. Other times you’d ramble off that he was your dog walker, your stylist, anything to fuck with the intrusive questions while wearing a smile so sincere it would make anyone believe you.

He knew the you that didn’t feel the need to be so guarded when it was just the two of you. You who would laugh loudly, or kick your feet when you’re giddy about the latest gossip. Who’s naturally a bit more brazen and unkempt. You who dances around and sings off-key. The you who would devour a plate of bone-in wings and not worry about the sauce being all over your pretty manicured fingers and face because the only one who sees is him and the television set.

He sees the you that’s so perfectly imperfect, not just the made-up exaggerated version standing there looking like a damn panting out of the Louvre.

“Hey, you alright?” He asks, coming up behind you, the crisp nighttime summer breeze blowing past you both.

You turn your head just a bit, that prepared camera-ready smile relaxing to something more genuine when you realize it’s him and nod.

“Yeah. Just needed a minute.” You answer, looking back out over the garden of the manor.

Wally feels like you’ve stolen his breath away the way the moonlight dances across your skin and makes your eyes sparkle. He’s making mental notes to thank Bruce for allowing him to come tonight just to see this ethereal version of you standing before him.

He hums in response to you, moving to lean on the ledge beside you. You must have felt comfortable because for a couple of fleeting moments it’s like you forget where you are, that cameras are littered around the event looking for a story to make, or maybe you just don’t care what the reporters might skew as you delicately lay your head on his shoulder and just enjoy the quiet of the night and the soft roar of the party happening inside.

Wally was so down bad.

His heart was skipping, and he’s certain there’s an entire zoo wreaking havoc in his stomach, not just butterflies, especially when you tip your head to look up at him through those false dark lashes that frame your pretty eyes better than any poet could ever write into words.

He swallows hard, leaning down to press his forehead to yours, letting his eyes fall shut because he’s scared if he stares too long he’s going to start blurting things he can’t easily take back.

He loves you.

He loves how you smile when he brings your favorite flowers every time you say you’ve had a rough day. He loves the way your eyes soften when you talk with little kids, and how they light up when you hold a baby. He loves how you drink iced coffee when there are feet of snow out in the streets. He loves the way your nose crinkles a bit when you take that first sip of champagne. He loves that mischievous smile you get when you’re being spontaneous. He knows every lyric to your favorite Taylor Swift songs, He could go on and on and-

Yeah, he’s sure. He loves you.

He doesn’t know when the yearning started or how it got to here, but part of him doesn’t want to screw it all up, and tell you and be wrong about the little inkling in his chest that just maybe you feel the same way for him.

Maybe you yearn for him too. You notice the little gestures. The flowers. The good morning texts. The sweet dreams voice notes. You remember his favorite comics, and his every order and every restaurant the two of you have ever eaten at. You’ve counted every freckle that litters his face… maybe you do it too. He has suspicions.

You’ll stare his direction a little too long, or so easily collapse into his arms after a tough mission. You’ll make little comments that eat at his brain because he just knows deep in his soul that you have to love him too, right?

But how does he ask that?

What if he’s wrong?

What if he screws this all up and loses you and the friendship the two of you built?

But as he pulls back from you, your pretty gaze on his green eyes again, he swallows hard. There’s electricity in the moment, you feel it too, right? You have to, he’s sure of it.

His eyes linger over your face, taking in every small detail that he memorized long ago. His hand comes up, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and he catches the way your breath hitches just a bit.

“You look beautiful tonight.” He says softly, his words coming out just above a whisper, and that sweet smile he loves pulls at your plush lips, a pink dusting your cheeks.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” You say back, your entire focus on him and this moment that feels like maybe, just maybe he might finally make the move you’ve been waiting for ages for.

“I- um…” God, he’s trying so hard to find the words, to do or say something that doesn’t make him seem like a complete idiot, and you just wait so patiently for a few fleeting moments, trying not to scare him off before he finds his footing in the conversation. “Would you- I mean, can I-“

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” You finally blurt out, trying not to laugh at how he was tripping over his words, and he grins, ear to ear, like you just told him he won the lottery.

“Can I?” He asks, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek as well, holding your face delicately, like something precious, a piece of art to be admired.

“Obviously.”

He presses his lips to yours in a somewhat timid, soft kiss filled with trepidation. Slow and steady, the complete opposite of either of your hearts. But for a first kiss, it’s filled with sparks and longing, and all the built-up tension between you is finally finding somewhere to simmer other than the longing spaces in either of your souls.

He didn’t have to yearn anymore. He has you, and you’ve just confirmed it for him, and he’s so excited to see what the future with you may hold.

🦇return to the batcave🦇

🪺DCU Masterlist🪺

[bambiesfics]

𝗘𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗦𝘂𝗽𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗚𝗳 — Ellie x Bimbo!r

𝜗𝜚 Author’s notes ✦ Butch/femme dynamics, Ellie has a panic attack, this references joel’s death, anxiety, bile, nausea, and hyper sexual themes, Ellie’s butch, wears a packer/strap. Refers to it as cock, dick etc Reader’s a bimbo and genuinely stupid. Ellie gets really scared.

𝜗𝜚 Ellie Williams ✦ I listened to Vietnam - Crystal Castles it’s tempo mirrors Ellie’s panicked anxiety. I’ve linked to a few seconds before the beat drops, on YouTube for accessibility. Listen with earphones so the music fucks your ears.

𝜗𝜚 If you find yourself uncomfortable with the themes in this fic, maybe try educating yourself on Butch sexuality. Read this to get a sense of Ellie’s headspace.

kisses u. ⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡.

Ellie fisted the joystick into neutral and killed the engine. She cracked all 5 knuckles before reaching over to release your seatbelt. The belts cold buckle sprang across your breasts and over your shoulder, turning your nipples visibly hard and full in their wake. Ellie fought off the urge to glance down; to drink them in. She was semi-successful at managing away her inner teenage boy every time it chose to rear its ugly hungry head at inopportune moments.

  “So…” she started, her hand massaging the inner dough of your thighs, warmed by the hug of your crossed legs. “We just gettin’ your little sparkly earrings? Or are you gonna get distracted and spend more money than I make in a single paycheck?” 

  You ran your palms up the sleeves of Ellie’s brown military jacket. Fascinated by the texture of the rough fabric everytime one of its crinkles caught against your acrylic nails. You couldn’t fathom how Ellie walked around in clothes so rough and distressed, all of your outfits were soft cotton or silky satin. And here Ellie wore a deconstructed uniform jacket like it was meant for her body. You blinked away your distracted thoughts, and leaned into nose at her neck. Pressing nose and lips to the source of the most comforting scent in the world to you. Allspice, cigarette smoke, and 2-in-1 body wash. There was still a faint trace of her cologne, you wish she wore it, the traces of it made you go brainless for your butch.

  “Earrings only.” Your sweet voice was muffled against her neck. She reached her other hand up to cup the back of your neck. The cold metal of her rings kissed your skin, but you leaned into it.   

 “I’ll wait for you right here, peach.” 

“Okay.” You nodded obediently. 

“Don’t spend too long in there, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded once again. 

“If anyone stares at you too long or makes you feel weird for being girly, call me and I’ll meet you wherever. Especially those judgemental ass grandmas.”

You looked up at her, her hair was in her eyes, casting a shadow that turned her gaze into a deep hunter green. 

You leaned in slowly and kissed her lips. Ellie attempted to chase the kiss, until you slid your hand between the valley of her breasts and urged her to stay. Behave baby boy. 

  Ellie’s right eyebrow quirked up in response, impressed that you kept her in check. That you knew her so well that you could tell exactly where that kiss could’ve led to if you didn’t tell her to slow down. 

“Be right back here in an hour.” Ellie was relishing in how your thumb rubbed across her chest. Your hand rested on her chest like you were her little damsel in distress, looking to her to save you. You made her feel like Clark Kent, and it made her want to puff her chest out. 

  “Hour-and-a-half, I wanna get ice cream.” You prattled.

  “An hour.”

  “Ellieeee” You whined. 

  “If you’re not back here by 2:30 pm, I’m stomping into Icing myself, throwing you over my shoulder and marching right back out.” 

  “Please as if you could hoist me up over your shoulder.” You leaned over to fish Ellie’s wallet from her back pocket. 

  Ellie side-eyed you intensely as she tracked the movement. She enclsaped your wrist in an iron grip once your acrylics brushed the back pocket of her jeans. Her thumb pressed down. You couldn’t move.

“You didn’t seem confused about my strength when I lifted you into that full nelson and pounded you in front of the mirror.” She dropped her blue steel face and started grinning like a fox. “Uhnnuhuh Ellie, m’gonna squirt. I’m gonna squirt on you daddy.” She mocked in a high-pitched overly feminine voice. She drew her eyebrows together to school up the appearance of someone deliriously aroused. One that mimicked your cock-drunk face all those days ago.  

  Ellie dropped the comedic expression for a moment, in favor of replacing it with the one she sported to intimidate customers who started testing her boundaries or her patience. The one that said ‘respect me.’  

“Fuck you, asshole. I’m made of steel.” She spat.

  You leaned up, and just planted a glossy kiss on her cheek. She blushed until she was cherry tomato red. She always blushed harder when you were affectionate to her, in the middle of her egotistical masculine delusions. Like a mom kissing her son's cheek, after he called himself Spider-Man. 

Ellie would tease you for hours. But remind her again you were her adorable little girlfriend who she worshiped, then she’d be back to acting right again. Ready to hump the air just to get a whiff of your hair. Sweet and pliable. Ellie crossed her fingers subtly and hoped you got specks of glitter gloss on her cheek from that kiss. She wore your kisses like merchandise. Those and the smell of your pussy on her mouth and fingers. Some days, the smell was just smeared all over her face. 

  You blinked at her, slow and pouty in the way that got her real happy and pleased. “Now that you’re done poking and teasing me, can I go inside to get my sparkly earrings?” 

Ellie slid her wallet into your palm, her lips parted at the way your acrylics snatched it. The way they sunk into the soft leather. Mmmm.

  “An hour.” 

You climbed out of her beat up hatchback. The metal groaned as you slammed the door shut. “See you Els, if I get in trouble or get lost I’ll call you okay? I charged my phone this time. Bye-bye.”  You sing-songed just before walking away, out of the parking lot and towards the entrance of the mall.

  You were the utter definition of hate to see you leave, but love to watch you go. Ellie drank in the very very obvious little characters of your ass. The jiggly flesh, dimpled skin, and the way they smacked each other with each step. The type of visual someone could only see if the person walking in front of them was naked. Which you practically were considering how your pink cotton leggings looked painted on. The silhouette was way too intimate with how well it showed the character of your ass. She could’ve forced you to change, but you two had such a good morning today. 

Ellie didn’t want to—no—she hated picking fights with you. Ellie being mad at you? That was just another Tuesday. She had temperament issues, trauma, death of a loved one blah blah blah. But you being mad at Ellie? She’d kill herself. She shuddered in the car at the thought of it, and swallowed her jealousy. Everyone sees your little dimpled ass? Fine. She’s the only person that’s seen it twerking for her during backshots. And anyway, you’d get jealous if she wore gray sweatpants to work, so she kinda understood the sentiment. Especially because she packed everywhere, and the bulge was glaring. 

  Ellie wrapped her knuckles on the steering wheel. Trying to distract herself from the slow and lonely weight of the parking lot. Joy Division’s “disorder” played in her head. She considered pulling out a Marlboro to smoke, but thought against it. She remembered how you squealed whenever she kissed you with cigarette breath, telling her how it made your kisses taste so bitter. 

Truth be told, she was just as clingy with you, as you were to her. You just initiated it more often. When someone follows her around like a little puppy trying to catch up to its much larger owner all day, it’s hard not to notice their missing presence. 

  Ellie played with her rings as the mounting anxiety gnawed at her tummy. She turned her wrist over to check her watch. Ten. Only ten minutes had gone by? Fucking christ. 

She puffed out her cheeks. Yeah she was being ridiculous. Knowing you, you probably had only just arrived at the store, and that meant making a cute pikachu face at every new piece of merchandise they shipped into the shop floor that week. So it’d be a while before you were back. She could’ve gone in with you, but Ellie knew her presence there would’ve weirdly encouraged you to take a full day tour of the mall. She was your walking wallet apparently. But it’s worse when the wallet can actually give in.

  It was better this way, you kept her card in hand, but Ellie wasn’t physically there to actually convince of anything. So you couldn’t use it to buy anything more than earrings. Plus, she couldn’t stand another trip to Victoria’s Secret. As much as she loved the way you modeled a show for her whenever you tried stuff on, and as much as the jokes she cracked with the other boyfriends waiting for their girlfriends to be done made for good conversation, Victoria’s Secret just served to make her feel incredibly out of place. Mostly due to its overtly sexual displays of femininity. Something she still struggled to place how she felt about. All Ellie knew was that she didn’t want it.

Matter of fact she had repelled femininity so much, it even reflected in her dating preferences. You were by far the most feminine girl Ellie had ever dated. That was a considerably large shift from the tomboys she typically had crushes on in highschool.  

But she couldn’t help but be turned on by the way your acrylics stroked her bulge, by the way you blinked up at her with those dolly lashes like you needed her approval more than you needed oxygen, by the way she got both wet and enraged seeing men’s gazes linger on you as she walked behind you. Lingering in a way that they never did for any of her exes. It ignited a possessiveness in her she had convinced herself she didn’t have the ability to feel. Made her walk out the house with her shoulders drawn up to her ears, scowling. As if to say to all the men, ‘fuck off, get your own cocksleeve. This one’s claimed.’ 

  You were the cutest cocksleeve too. The human embodiment of a little bow for her dick. 

Just the thought prompted her to squeeze her bulge through her jeans, feeling phantom erections.

God it’d been how long now? Ellie checked her watch, reading the watch face to make sure she’d read that right. Twenty minutes? Only?

  Her palms started perspiring, and she started grinding her teeth. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. She’ll be back any minute. Be cool, you freak. 

Ellie reached to grab her phone, but the way the time flashed at the top bar of the screen made her stomach knot up anxiously. She chucked her phone into the passenger seat, and rolled down the window to get some fresh air. It felt beautiful for a moment, her rough short hair curling around the wind and blowing in her eyes. But then she felt like she couldn’t breathe again. Like her throat was squeezing in on itself. So Ellie unbuttoned the top button of her navy plaid button down. She yanked the collar away from her neck, and took deep breaths. Nice and deep slow breaths. The demonic little shadows and whispers of panic ebbed away, leaving only room for peace and the sunlight of the early afternoon. Ellie smiled, she’d be fine. 

She played with her rings, recounting all the places and dates she’d thrifted them from. Then she started fidgeting with them as her leg bounced in the car, working off some of that returning nervous energy. The little shadows were starting to creep back in her mind again. Ellie white-knuckled the steering wheel. “No, no, no please. Not now, please not now.” She sucked in a deep breath as unshed tears lined her waterline. She flipped her wrist watch face up quickly, you’d been gone for thirty-five minutes by this point. And Ellie felt her skin run cold. thirty-five minutes left twenty-five minutes. Twenty-five more minutes for the ebb and flow of panic to infect her brain and trigger her adrenaline response. Twenty-five more minutes of letting her own mind attack itself. Ellie couldn’t stomach the thought. She started gasping as she fidgeted to remove the car keys from the ignition. The dark whispering shadow only urged her to look at one thought in her mind: Alone. You’re alone again, Ellie. 

  She nearly keeled over from the sheer nausea that thought brought about. Ellie tripped out of her car, slammed the door and stumbled towards the mall as her heartbeat thundered louder than her thoughts. And her thoughts were very loud. Her face felt tight and itchy, as she ran. And due to the combination of wind and glossy eyes, her vision warped until it became disfigured. Which only set off to make her blood run icier. Like she was being deprived of all her necessary  senses as she yanked the mall door open and stumbled around trying to wade her way through until she got to the side where women’s jewelry and clothing was huddled. Her vision was disjointed, Ellie felt as if she was looking through a fish-eye lens. It caused bile to rise in her throat. Ellie was spiraling, she knew it. And if she didn’t find you—fuck where were you?—it was only going to get uglier for her. She despised being reduced to ugly. She hated herself when she was ugly. 

  Snot mixed in with tears as she scaled the walls of the mall trying to use the brightness of pink and white signs to guide her to the right store. You promised you’d go to icing, you promised you’d go to icing, you promised you’d go to icing. She hummed the mantra in corners of her brain.

She gurgled “better fucking be at Icing otherwise I’m gonna kill he—my heart christ—fuck fuck fuck baby please be at icing.” The palpitations rolled in, causing her heart to beat erratically. Two beats instead of one, a skipped beat, or an extra hard beat. Every bastardized combination instead of the reliable, glub-glub of a healthy heart. Ellie gripped her own shirt, and tried to feel any lingering warmth from your hand when you placed it there nearly an hour ago. Her breaths were coming out ragged, and she was still blind with a disjointed vision no matter how much she rubbed her jacket across her eyes to soak up tears. Ellie stumbled until she saw a store with the familiar lettering, and she yanked and tugged at her shirt to ground herself as she made her way to the checkout lane. “Hi.” Her voice came out so small and strained. She hated herself for it. 

  “Have you seen a girl, she’s—seems about yay-high and she’s wearing pink leggings and a tight pink top. Oh—she’s pretty—long nails. My girlfriend, do you know where my girlfriend is?” Ellie choked, her sanity was slipping. Her bloodshot eyes were crazed as she stared down at the cashier like the woman held the answer to curing Ellie’s mental suffering. 

  “N-no. Sorry I didn’t see a girl with pink leggings.”

  “No?” Ellie’s voice grew fainter, weaker. She sobbed “are you sure?” but her voice crackled with that sentence, and the cashier just stared at her with a puzzled expression, unsure of what to say to diffuse the situation. 

  Ellie stumbled out of the store, flinching at the expressions of customers who were looking around the store to see if they were the only one witnessing the girl's mounting panic attack. She ran to an empty hallway in the mall. The one where they kept those gumball machines that hadn’t been replaced since 1998. She fell to her knees and curled in on herself. Her nails scratched her scalp until it broke skin, trying to draw out the thoughts of being alone, being alone, being alone, being, alone, being alone, being alone, being alone, being alone, out of her head. 

Ellie tugged at her hair now, using the self-inflicted pain to distract from that hungry giggling fear, the one that wrapped itself around her eyes and throat and told her to describe what she saw: loneliness. Pitch black, devoid of warmth, pure unadulterated isolation. 

She needed you, needed you so bad as she cried to herself on her knees. She should’ve never let you go alone, she should’ve never let you walk away from her, she should’ve never let you have an hour to leave her, she should’ve never let you take her wallet and not take her, she should’ve never ever ever ever ignored the signs, the raised hairs and the feeling of dread that pooled in her stomach the past week. Just waiting to be triggered by something insignificant. Now it was triggered, and in an incredibly public place too. Ellie beat her chest, coughing just to bring herself down from the dissociative hell her mind was flinching in. “Baby where are you? I’m hurting…it’s hurting me again. Pleasepleasepleaseplease, peach.”  

  Nails bluntly tickled her nape, sending a shiver down her spine just as the smell of sweet jasmine and vanilla perfume engulfed her. Ellie broke from her kneeling fetal position to draw you into her lap. She didn’t even need to look at you, she knew you like the back of her hand. Ellie knew the feeling of those acrylic nails because of how deeply they’d scratched down her back in bed. She knew the smell of your perfume from how often she’d buried her face into your waiting body after work for comfort. Her grip was painful, likely breaking capillaries from its tightness. She mewled for you like a kitten finding its mother. “Babygirl.” 

  “Ellie—Ellie I’m sorry did I take too long? I set an alarm, I don’t think it went off, I’m sorry Ellie I didn’t mean too I promise.” Ellie let out a wet laugh from where her face was crooned in your neck. She just shook her head. It absolutely was not your fault. But God weren’t you just the cutest fucking thing in the world for thinking you’d made another little mistake? How sweet, that even in the face of Ellie’s utter mental crack and breakdown, you found a way to give your baby the benefit of the doubt. Ellie dragged her face up your neck, inhaling deeply as her nose traced a path up your throat. The scent alone was like Xanax to the nerves, drowning her in a sea of serenity. Letting the anxiety ebb away until it was no more than a dull twinge, the whispers reduced to muted hums. You were her light. Ellie’s grip on you tightened, her medicine. 

  She pulled her face away, and she could only imagine how distressed she must’ve looked by the way your eyebrows drew up, and by the way your pretty little lips formed a worried pout. Ellie gnawed on her bottom lip. There was nothing to fear, you would understand. 

“You didn’t take too long princess, I just had a panic attack.”

  Your hands flew to cup Ellie’s reddened blotchy cheeks, massaging her face cutely as her eyelashes fluttered. God, you were a balm. “I should’ve seen it coming, I’ve been feeling so out of it the past week. But then this morning was so fun. We made fluffy pancakes, you sat on my lap and listened to my dumb work drama, helped me trim my bangs, then...” Ellie blew air into her cheeks and looked up. This was going to be hard to say. Felt like a lump stuck in her throat. “Then we got ready and the kiss we had before we got in the car made everything melt away. This morning was so good baby, so good. I tried to ignore it, thinking my brain just wanted to be a little asshole and spook me for no reason. But no—I should’ve known—it doesn’t play tricks, it only gives warnings.” 

  Ellie leaned into your palms, she kissed them gently. “Can we go home baby?.” She held your gaze through wet eyelashes. You nodded “Mhm. I’m sorry Els I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I missed you.” You were disappointed because you didn’t intuitively know the right words to say, and how to say them. Didn’t know how to articulate that you understood her pain but she also shouldn’t beat herself up. Everything you thought of sounded cliche, you weren’t smarter than her, you weren’t able to come up with reassuring words the way other people could. Not like her uncle Tommy or Maria, or anyone. All you could do was cover her in kisses, tell her you loved her, that next time you’d never ever be separated from her, and cradle her head against your chest. 

  Ellie rose to her feet, pulling you up with her by your elbows. The kiss that followed was for comfort, for reassurance. For the feeling of squeezing her human emotional support plushie. 

  Ellie pulled away first, leaving you wanting more. She tasted so good, smelled so good. Made you want to pur and stroke her through her jeans. But it wasn’t the time nor place. Not after recent events. 

“Did you get your earrings at least?” 

“Yeah, I got a pair for you too!” You shared excitedly. 

  Ellie was still shaken up, but for now she could break out a small grin. “You got earrings for me?”

  “Yes, same color too!” 

  “Baby, my ears aren’t even pierced...”

  “Oh.” Ellie loved that, your characteristic little ‘oh’. 

“I knew that. I just got them for when—for when you decided to pierce them, yeah.” 

Ellie was hot in your heels as you two made your way out of the mall “Is that right?”

“Mhm.” You refused to meet her eyes.

“Oh yeah? K, then. Thank you so much for getting me a gift using my credit card.”

 “You’re very welcome, I love when we match as a couple. Els when we got home, did you want my chicken noodle? Cause it’ll make you feel better.”  

Ellie sucked in a breath. Cuteness aggression was real, and she was feeling it so hard right then. Right after her emotions had already been frayed by her anxiety. She knew, if it wasn’t for the way the panic attack had left her feeling utterly exhausted, bone tired like a wet blanket, ready to drop at a moment's notice to recuperate, that she would’ve done something that would’ve pulled a squeal out of you in the car. And she had the package to do so. 

  “Sure, I’ll eat your damn noodle soup.” She chuckled tiredly. 

  You put both palms on her chest and leaned in to kiss her, stealing back some of the desire that was ripped away too soon in the mall. 

“You’ll feel better in no time.” 

 Ellie gave you a once-over. Over eager, as usual. 

“Somehow I don’t doubt that.” 

  You littered her face in kisses all the way home, like you always did. Like you thought each press of your lips to her freckled face was going to cure her of her anguish. And believe Ellie, every press of your puffy lips to her cheeks, tip of her nose and forehead did more for her state of mind than two hours of trauma therapy a week did. Or at least that’s what she’d like to believe. Fuck the noddle soup, it’s you. You’re what’s going to make her feel better. As long as you’re there, everyday for her to come home to. All she needed was her pretty princess, her little babydoll, her little bimbo.

[angelicsvlt111]

me and who?🎀