#realized half way through it would make more sense for it to be the other way around

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 4: When the Quiet Bleeds

series masterlist

(trigger warning - blood, violence, death)

You couldn’t shake the tension from your shoulders the moment you hit the edge of Denver. The city loomed around you like a half-buried corpse, steel bones poking through ash and rust.

You’d stopped to siphon off some gas, hands clung to the bed of the truck and locked tight enough around the edge to bleach your knuckles. Each minute you spent here felt like a countdown as you wait patiently for the gas to finish filling.

Jenna clocked it, you could tell. She wants to ask — that much is obvious — but didn’t. Not when the silence between you both has grown into something unspoken. Familiar. Not warm, but… mutual. The banter had mellowed since Kansas, less snapping and more conversation. Still surface level, but safer. A kind of truce carved from wearing each other down over time, like an emotional type of erosion.

“Good to go?” her voice breaks through your thoughts.

You blink, distracted, before realizing the siphon had finished. She’s leaning over the center console to peer through the driver side window. You give her a wordless nod, tossing the hose into the truck bed and wiping your hands on your jeans as you move toward the driver’s side.

Jenna scoots back to her seat as you climb in, she doesn’t press. But beneath her calm, she was chewing it. You could see it in the way she kept glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

In Jenna’s mind, she’s mulling over that strange feeling that circled back; it’s like you want to talk to her but then you remember who she is and suddenly you shut down once again into silence. It leaves a bad taste in her mouth, the idea that you think she’s untrustworthy. Or maybe it’s for an entirely different reason. In the end, it doesn’t really matter.

Maybe she senses it — that there is something here you hadn’t dealt with. But then again, Jenna has her secrets too. She hadn’t been fully honest about why California mattered so much, and she is counting on your nature to keep you from asking.

And if you never ask, which she knew you wouldn’t, then she’ll never have to tell you.

You both knew it: some truths stayed buried on purpose.

Everything would work perfectly, she’s counting on your reserved personality to not bring it up, or at least until you both get close to California.

You’d only been back to driving for a solid fifteen minutes when suddenly the truck jolts — not like a bump, but like the Earth had clenched a fist and swung it sideways.

BOOM.

Metal screams as the truck goes off balance from the pavement. Glass explodes into the cab, slicing through air and skin. You feel your body lift, weightless for a moment before the frame hit ground again, sliding and shrieking as gears and steel chew against concrete.

The seatbelt snaps across your chest like a whip, your head slamming hard into the steering wheel before you get jerked back. Then everything is upside down, the tase of blood in your mouth.

It happens faster than you can blink, and for a moment, all you hear is static.

Glass cracks as it settles beneath you. The weight of your own limbs is disorienting — the blood rushing to your head, the cuts from the glass hot and stinging on your face. You dangle there in the driver’s seat, dazed, the buckle of your belt pressing hard against your ribs. Smoke coiling up from the hood like a warning.

The stench hit next. Gasoline. Sharp, chemical pooling beneath the truck. You blinked through the haze, ears ringing, stomach twisted from the roll.

Move. You have to move.

You reach up — down — to the buckle, disoriented in the flip. It jams on the first press, making you grunt with effort, pressing harder.

Click.

Your body drop like a sandbag, landing hard on one shoulder before you roll out beneath the steering wheel, boots kicking at glass and steel as you scramble to orient yourself.

That’s when you see her, unconscious.

Jenna hangs slack from her seatbelt in the passenger side, her head tilted toward the shattered window, a thin trail of blood running down her cheek. Her legs are caught awkwardly where the dash had warped in, but from this angle you’re relieved to determine she isn’t trapped. The truck groans around you both — metal expanding in the heat. The fire isn’t at the cab yet, but it wont take long.

You can’t get her out from inside, your best bet is pulling her out.

You shove the driver side door open with your shoulder, the warped metal shrieking in protest. You crawl out from the wreckage on your hands and knees, coughing from the smoke stinging your lungs.

You clamber over to the side of the overturned truck and brace one knee under the passenger doorframe, shrugging off your jacket and placing it down over the glass beneath her before ducking to reach through the window.

“Jenna,” you breathe out, voice low but sharp with urgency. You grip her cheek gently, tilting her face toward yours, and her eyes flutter.

Thank fucking God.

The belt held her fast, so you slide your arms around her, bracing her head and then gently reaching for the latch with one hand “I got you, stay with me.”

Her buckle gives easier than yours did.

She slumps and you catch her, arms tight and shielding her head as you carefully pull her free. You maneuver her legs from under the dash, one by one, ignoring the fresh throb in your shoulder. She isn’t heavy but the adrenaline has you in flight rather than fight, her body limp in your arms, but you don’t miss a beat.

You cradle her to your chest and half stumble, half sprint from the truck just as the flames kiss the undercarriage behind you. Smoke billows, heat licking at your heels.

You carry Jenna into the nearest building, ducking behind a counter and carefully situating her. Bolting back to the truck just as you hear an explosion go off somewhere down the street, voices shouting.

The truck hisses as you half dive back through the passenger window, grabbing both your bags and the rifle. Snagging your jacket as you slip back out right as fire starts to grow and spread. The smell of gasoline hits again like a threat, and you don’t wait.

You launch yourself over the counter, hitting the ground with a pained grunt just as the fire found what it needed.

BOOM.

The air sucks itself from your lungs and punches out your ears, windows shatter around you. Heat blew in from the street as orange bled into the dusk.

You sit up, breathing heavily, wincing as you try and roll the ache out of your shoulder.

“There goes our ride—”

“What the fuck was that?” Jenna rasped.

You turn sharply at the sound of her voice. Relief flooding you, too quick to show, but it’s there. You’d just pulled her from fire and steel and she’s talking, coherent. Good.

“Raiders,” you manage, drawing your gun from your bag, your hands slick with blood from the cuts of crawling over the glass. A problem for later.

“Probably saw our truck, I fucking knew Denver was a bad idea.”

You swiftly eject the clip, double checking the bullets. Your hands just know. The safety clicks off and you scan the windows “I know you don’t condone killing people—”

“But I’ll happily shoot at them,” Jenna snaps, shakily pushing herself upright. You caught the source of blood trickling down her face at her brow, noticing way her fingers tremble. But she stands anyway, eyes flickering as she surveys.

“Okay,” she breathes, “I’ll take the roof to cover you.”

Your brow furrows as you hear disoriented voices outside the building, they’re getting closer “what? The roof? The hell are you gonna do?”

“Help from above” she says easily, shrugging like it makes sense as she takes her pack from the ground and shoulders it on.

You raise an eyebrow skeptically “what — do you have an attack helicopter hidden up your sleeve or something?”

She rolls her eyes, snatching the rifle that was slung over your shoulder, and the proceeds to check the chamber “my idea of ‘help from above’ is a sniper on the roof”, she slides a bullet in and the clicks the bolt handle back into place.

Goddamn. That shouldn’t be attractive, but here you are.

You can’t help but lick your bottom lip at the thought before slowly allowing yourself to smile “alright hot shot, let’s see what you’ve got”

“God — Nile pick a nickname for me already if you aren’t going to use my real one” she huffs before walking off towards the back of the building, but casting a look over her shoulder at you before jogging off and out of sight.

You watch her go, a flicker in your chest you didn’t want to name.

Then chaos calls you back.

Gunfire suddenly begins barking from outside, the whizzing of bullets scraping concrete echoed through the broken street. You duck behind the frame of a door, quick to pull your pack on as take a few breaths to collect yourself.

One Raider rounds the corner, young and reckless, you don’t give him a chance.

His head jerks sideways as a bullet makes contact, jaw dislocating and neck jerking, his body crumples instantly.

Another shot rings out, you duck out of sight just as more bullets whiz overhead — pop pop pop — tearing plaster from the wall. You raise the moment the shots stop, firing twice from below the counter. One bullet clips the Raider’s shoulder, the second sank deep in his chest.

As you peak back out, you ready for another only to find yourself in a moment of confusion. A few more people run past, paying no attention to you and the burning truck anymore. A horrendous shriek pierces the air.

You freeze, every muscle tensing.

Stupid fucking Raiders, they attracted infected for miles around.

From outside, it echoes off the walls and it’s hard to tell where it’s coming from.

“Okay, eyes up,” you mutter to yourself as you slip your gun back into its holster, tugging the crowbar free from your backpack and adjusting your hands to grip it better.

You move slow, careful, smoke hanging in the air like fog. Shadows dance through the firelight, coiling and curling like a finger, daring you forward.

A Runner lunges out from behind a burnt out sedan, shrieking. You side step and swing so the hook of your weapon catches its leg. It instantly stumbles and hits the ground, you don’t miss a beat to drive the crowbar down, splitting skull and bone. Wet. Final.

You turn, gaze sweeping once more, spotting two infected laying in the street unmoving nearby. As you approach, you see they are definitely not moving, torsos littered with bullet holes, as if gunned down by an assault weapon at a distance. After confirming those ones definitely aren’t getting back up, you move a bit slower than before, watching for signs of further struggle.

Just make sure it’s clear, find a safe way through and signal Jenna to come down, but for now she’s safe somewhere uptop.

The sun is almost gone now so you dig out your flashlight to click it on, using it to cut through the smoke and shadows simultaneously. It catches on the dry, dead grass of the small park across the street from a cathedral. Scanning slowly across it with the bright light, your breath catches in your throat when you see a hunched over form toward the center.

The person is on their knees, bent over with their head angled down. Another few steps and you can see they’re bent over a person in FEDRA armor, the body on the floor twitching as the kneeling figure presses their face into the other’s neck. A shift in your position has the light catching the clear fungus curling throughout the body.

The Runner immediately throws its head up, it’s shoulders twitching once before it whips towards you. Trails of blood pour down from it’s mouth as the lips part, letting out an inhuman growl as soon as it makes eye contact. It leaves behind it’s meal to stumble to it’s feet, making a break in your direction.

You take a few quick steps toward it, crowbar clutched in both hands, and reel back. The Infected lunges, the sharp curved end of the crowbar makes contact with it’s skull. The right side of it’s head caving in with a sickening crunch as the force of the swing sends it off to the left before it hits the dirt.

You barely have a chance to feel proud before a sickening crunch and squelching sound is heard from your right, and when you turn you are quickly informed on what had happened to the Raiders who had attacked you.

There are more hunched over figures, feasting on prone bodies, stragglers from the group being feasted on the ground right in front of you. There are at least fifteen Infected littered across the street, each with their own soon to be companion bleeding out on the ground. Their bodies jerk unnaturally as they press down, and something your stomach twists.

This is really fucking bad.

You duck behind a nearby chunk of rubble that had fallen off one of the buildings and work quick to tug out a pre-made Molotov from your pack, grabbing a nearby rock and carefully aiming it in the middle of the grouping from where you’re hidden, and then you throw it hard.

The clatter has them all shrieking and rushing to inspect the sound, trying to ignite a flame with the flint and steel with shaky fingers. Sparks flying as the lighter refuses to catch—

Click. Flame.

You kiss the bottle with a prayer, wind back, and hurl it hard into the advancing cluster.

WOOSH.

Heat blossoms, flames eating at the fungus. Screams fill the air as the infected stagger and twist, their bodies glowing like twisted candles.

Almost all of them light up instantly, their cries bouncing off the walls. You rush forward to pick off the stragglers. One, two, three — crowbar swings enough to crack vertebrae, shattered jaws, each one dropping cold.

Then the ground rumbles.

That roar — guttural and long — made your stomach drop.

You turn, slow, already feeling dread building in your chest.

No. Fuck. Not now.

Through the smoke, a hulking shape lumbers forward. Eight feet tall, arms like tree trunks. Plates of fungal armor crowned its shoulders and chest. Its mouth hung open in a wet hiss, revealing thick cords of muscle and decaying teeth.

Bloater.

You reached instinctively for the rifle — but it isn’t there. Jenna has it, wherever she is.

“Shit—” you drop your crowbar and instantly move to pull your pistol free.

“Alright big boy — LETS GO!”

The Bloater roars, and you feel the vibrations through the ground of each step it takes as it charges.

You empty your pistol uselessly, bullets lodging and vanishing in rot. Theres a fleeting moment of panic as you start taking steps back, frantic as you release the clip and swiftly switch it out for another. Aiming —

Then — crack! — comes from above and the larger infected stumbles a bit, a splatter of ichor as it steadies itself before standing upright.

Another shot rings out, and then a third, you watch its body jerk with each impact. And with a final shot, its head snaps to the side, losing balance. Its knees buckle and you watch as it drops to the ground with a loud thump. Smoke curled from the wound as the giant collapses, a final shudder from the fungus before it stills.

Not even realizing you were holding your breath, which you’re already short on from dispatching the runners and Raiders headfirst, you look up towards the building roof and see movement.

Above, you catch the flash of a figure leaning out from the rooftop, Jenna’s hair blowing in the breeze and rifle steady in her hands.

“How’s that for a short round, hot shot, Sleeping Beauty, Sherlock princess Adam Sandler?!”

An unprompted laugh cracked through your chest, real and involuntary, because why is she keeping tabs on all your nicknames for her?

“She’s never gonna let me live that down” you mutter to yourself, shaking my head as you again survey the street and the fires slowly beginning to burn out.

You turn and head back towards the building. Gunfire fading, screams thinned out. Raiders and infected all scattered in chaos that’s now drifted on elsewhere.

You feel a pang of relief wash over you at the sight of her descending the stairs, rifle slung over her shoulder and a wicked grin on her face.

“You didn’t answer my—”

“Come on, American Sniper. We gotta move before the encore” you say, unable to stop the smile growing on your face as she shoves you.

“God would it kill you to say, ‘thanks for saving my ass back there Jenna, you’re a hell of a shot’, like come on you know that was cool—“

“Take out fifteen Runners and then get back to me.”

“Oh my god, but you cheated—”

“I also pulled you out of the truck before it exploded.”

“…So we’re even?”

Your gazes meet, and you can’t help but burst into laughter once more, her eyes only widen for a moment at the sound she’d never heard come from you before and then she is joining in.

“You were um… right about the rifle, your dad really taught you how to shoot like that?” you say as you start to make your way towards an alleyway, and for once it didn’t sicken you being back in Denver.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I take it back—“

CRACK.

Gunfire again, close, and you move on instinct.

You tackle her down behind a car, covering her body with yours. The bullet pings off the metal inches from where her head was just a moment ago.

“Go! Now!” you bark, pulling her up and pushing her ahead of you.

“Where?!”

“Doesn’t matter — just run!”

You both sprint, hard, limbs screaming in protest. But the second you saw her stumble, you felt the air thin.

How her body twisted mid-step from impact. A bullet, her arm, and you see the blood before she does.

You withdraw your pistol, twisting your body and shooting off two shots without missing a beat. The Raider who had been pursing is too busy firing off to try and dodge the counter-fire, his body jerks and drops.

Time slows as Jenna stumbles into the bricks of the wall next to her hard, teeth clenching and eyes wide with shock as she cries out in pain.

Jenna turns fast to swing her fist when suddenly someone steps into her proximity, disoriented — and you catch her wrist mid-swing. Gripping, not hard, but just enough to keep her grounded.

“Hey, hey, it’s me,” you try to soothe, instinct shifting. Something shifts in your posture, in your eyes right before her.

Your body relaxes as Jenna’s own tense muscles loosen slightly once you actually make eye contact, the familiar smell of pine, earth and bonfire smoke filling her nose.

Jenna blinks, breaths ragged, pain clearly clouding her head as she cradles her arm.

“It’s just me, did you get hit?” you pull back slightly to inspect her and Jenna’s knees buckle under her, she barely falls a few inches before you rush forward again to support her.

“Fuck—okay. Okay, can you walk?”

Jenna’s eyes are unfocused, obviously dazed and in shock from the chain of events, blood beginning to soak through her sleeve. “Dizzy,” she murmurs, good hand coming down on your shoulder and gripping tight as the world shifts around her.

“Jesus, Bambi…” you mutter, trying to breathe through the sudden surge of panic that felt nothing like panic you were used to “taking a bullet mid-sprint? Hardcore. But we’ve gotta move.”

“Just…” her mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, dry and heavy as she tries to reply “just need a minute.”

You hear shouts somewhere behind you, they’re still far enough, but closer than you like.

“We don’t have a minute” your tone was gentle but urgent, no bark, just motion “sorry, just hang on.”

You grab her good arm, slinging it over your shoulders, wrapping your other around her waist, and made quick to get you both going again. The pain of the movement sends Jenna reeling, a shattered cry breaking out of her as you drag her forward.

You don’t stop, not even when her head starts to sag and her feet begin to drag.

Jenna’s eyes blur and the surroundings blend together as she focuses in on trying to keep her legs moving, though that alone feels like a fate worse than death. There’s blood dripping along her arm down her hand and onto the ground behind you both as she hangs off of you, letting you guide her deeper into the shadows.

“Just keep your eyes open, John Wick,” you whispered, barely above breath “you’ll be okay.”

“Call me by my name or leave me to die,” she murmurs, wincing at a particularly sharp movement, blood running in rivulets.

She barely makes out a faint chuckle from you, a breath between a laugh and a prayer.

“Yeah, you’ll be just fine… Jenna.”

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Tag List: @thatshyboy1998 @redroomgraduate @gablmk @canyonyodeler

[biteyoubiteme]

I was so very excited to read this when i realized it was a familiar fic, ive always loved reading books, watching movies that have the concept in it and this was so so so good, i actually did not realize it was coming to an end i was so engrossed and emotional im sad it ended but this has to be one of the best things ive read on here. It was so atmospheric and warm, warm in a fall, dark, and moody kind of way that comes with reading dark academia and this was kinda hinting at that for me. Your writing style is so pretty and i know you said you wrote it well over three years and i could not tell, all of it flowed so well together. Anyways i loved this ><

Your magic has been weaker lately. You can feel it like a dwindling fire inside. Everything that should be easy is difficult, and all that was once difficult has become impossible. Not only are you half the witch you were, but you also feel like half the person you know yourself to be. Looking dazedly around the room, you try to calculate how long it’s been since it began. It began a few days past the last occurrence of the full moon. Was that a week ago? In your mind, you try to pry the blur of days apart, but since most of them have been much the same – lethargic and hazy – they seem unintelligible from one another. Ugh i love the way youre setting up the lore here, i love your writing style.

At your feet are the tracks of your dear companion; little paw prints still sunken into the soft dirt of the path that leads from your door to the garden gate. Stop this is actually so cute. 

You would be able to see every emotion of his in those eyes if you weren't able to feel them for yourself through the bond. "I didn't mean to be gone so long, o-or go so far. I lost track of time, and I was coming home but..." He trails off as he senses you aren't upset, your calmness washing over him. He sighs and leans back into the cushion of the settee tiredly. There's food in his belly, he's warm and cozy, taken care of, and most importantly, home. "I missed you." ugh i can feel the warmth and welcome, you made it so cozy. 

and, he’d pointed out, what was he to do with a pair of shoes once he’d shifted? Carry them around by his little cat mouth? Lmao stop now im picturing a cat with shoes in its mouth ;-;-; my own cat brings me her toys and im just seeing that lol 

If you were to lose your life, Hyuka would soon follow after. But if Hyuka were to die, you'd go on, your life forever missing one integral piece. Other familiars might come, perhaps, but they wouldn't be Hyuka. Hyuka, with his superstitions about ravens, scowling at them through the window as if he might pounce through the glass even in his human form. Who always muttered in his sleep when he went to bed with a full stomach. Whose soft snoring you had come to be unable to sleep without hearing across the hall. The small black bundle of fur with glowing moon eyes he shifted to and fro, always making you laugh as he strayed from the path his human counterpart had told you he would take the minute he saw a butterfly; chasing them always seemed more important to the cat. You were sure you'd still see his phantom running around the house and garden for years to come if he were to be taken from you. All you can do is what you have always done; do your best to protect each other and hope that fate will be kind. Stop i love this so much and i actually started to tear up, with real tears, i love their bond that they have ;-;-;

“I’m sorry I took it,” she says a little breathlessly. “I slipped it off while petting you when first we met. I don’t know why…” You can see her body growing heavier against the concrete of the porch, hear her breathing more shallowly. “Maybe I just wanted something to hold onto. Something like… a friend…” no this breaks my heart so bad, and knowing its mainly a token to show their bond so when kai wears it, its about reader, so its something closer to what she lost ;-;-

“She said this has been happening a lot, and getting closer to the village,” you say in an almost whisper, as if the trees might overhear and spread your words. “Do you think… do you think we're safe?”-A brisk chill blew across the clearing, as if the very wind itself was relaying a warning. -He meets your eyes and you find there a cloud of emotion and determination like you've never seen. When he replies, his voice is rough but firm. “We'll make sure of it. We'll lay low. At the first sign of trouble, we'll leave.” -You nod solemnly. “I'll do everything in my power to protect you,” you say, as if it needs saying. -“I know,” he replies in a gruff voice, and you feel your shared feelings of protectiveness intensify as his grip on your hand tightens.-As he takes a step forward, you fall into step beside him. He leads you out of the clearing, back through the forest, towards the village – towards home. Neither one of you lets go of the other's hand, both silent once more as you trek home in a flurry of emotions and anxieties, wondering what the future holds, and grateful to have each other. Ugh i know this is a big just block of text ive copied over but this is just so good, i loved every bit of it, i dont know why when i read like soulmates it sometimes feels so proformitive almost but reading this or about any familiar really it feels lived in, like its something deeper, i dont know if that makes sense but i love it so much. 

Safe & Familiar - Huening Kai

Synopsis: When your familiar goes missing, you set out on a search, only to find danger is brewing (I’m no good at writing synopsis)

Warnings: death, grief, brief mention of imprisonment and someone being killed (slowly so maybe torture?), reader is a witch so themes of magic, eludes to the beginnings of some considerably dark historical events 

Author's note: Finally finished! A little ashamed to say this took three years when hardly anything happens in it, but life happens and other ideas come up, and my writing brain doesn't always want to co-operate. This is a story I was really excited about when I started it and couldn't wait for it to be done to be able to post it, so I hope it's a good read because I enjoyed writing it. I was halfway through writing this when I lost someone special, and I thought it wouldn't get finished for a lot longer due to that. Surprisingly, the grief spurred me to work on it and I ended up able to use my own feelings because it matched the character’s thoughts. If it feels a little bare-bones or disjointed, it's because I worked on it on and off over three years including when I had lost my writing mojo but just wanted to get it finished!

Word count: 4.7k

At the break of dawn, with the first light of day intruding through the windows of your room, you decide to give up on the idea of sleep. Proper rest has evaded you for weeks, slumber slipping from your grasp as soon as you seem to catch it. You feel ragged and rundown, drained and lackluster, and you know the cause.

Your magic has been weaker lately. You can feel it like a dwindling fire inside. Everything that should be easy is difficult, and all that was once difficult has become impossible. Not only are you half the witch you were, but you also feel like half the person you know yourself to be. Looking dazedly around the room, you try to calculate how long it’s been since it began. It began a few days past the last occurrence of the full moon. Was that a week ago? In your mind, you try to pry the blur of days apart, but since most of them have been much the same – lethargic and hazy – they seem unintelligible from one another.

All you could clearly and vividly remember was the day that ended with the full moon. Watching your familiar disappear past the front gate, tail flicking between the garden shrubs, and then gone. Then you'd begun preparing for your own full moon rituals. It had been the same as every month before. Except that your familiar had not returned come next morning, and had not returned since. Every full moon phase the cat would go, called to the natural world, to explore, to hunt, bathe in the moonlight, instincts leading it out into the forest, part wild animal. It'd never been away from you this long, always returning home by mid afternoon of the following day.

Pushing yourself up from the still cold mattress, you walk to the doorway of your room, from which you can see through the open door of the room opposite. Once again finding the bed inside empty, you breathe in a sigh. Despite your misguided hope, you had not expected to see anything otherwise. Exhaling deep and slow, you resign yourself to what you know; that something is not right, and that it's time for action.

Not bothering to eat, for you have no appetite, you wrap a shawl around yourself over the clothes you have not changed for days, and slip your feet into a pair of boots. With one last look around the strangely empty quarters, you step out into the brisk early morning air. 

The light of day is hidden behind a substantial layer of cloud, casting a grey gloom over the garden. At your feet are the tracks of your dear companion; little paw prints still sunken into the soft dirt of the path that leads from your door to the garden gate. Closing your eyes, you visualize the animal leaving that day, before you'd closed the door behind it. You focus on the feeling of the cat and the empathetic bond that you share, searching for the tether between you. 

There – you get your first instinct of where you should be headed, though vague and foggy, and step onto the middle path into the woods, trampling through layers of pine needle and shredded tree bark, scanning the landscape of rocks and trees. As you walk, you try to reach out through your bond, asking for a sign. The cold bites at your face, and you curse yourself for leaving it so long, for not gathering your remaining strength to search earlier. Your familiar knows its way around, never lost – you know that. If it had not returned home, it meant something was stopping it – something has certainly gone awry. Why have you not forced yourself into the forest sooner?

The wind in the trees makes it harder to listen out for movement, creating noise all around you. The chill of the breeze tries to distract you, make you focus on yourself, the feeling of the cold settling heavy into your face and limbs. A few times you almost stumble clumsily as you look around you and not at the placement of your steps. As you venture further and further still, pushing your weary body along even while it begs you to stop, you feel something; a faint presence not far away, though there is no living being in sight. Unconsciously, you pick up your pace, ignoring the exaggerated ache of your legs and feet, eyes straining and searching, until suddenly, you stop. Your eyelids close of their own accord.

In your mind you see yellow and orange leaves making the transition from green to red, different from the foliage of the trees around you that remained a deep green. You caught a fleeting scent of moist soil, as if it had flown by on the swiftest of breezes, shivering as the phantom sensation of cool water dripping down your neck tickles your skin. Water.

Without another thought, you instinctively turn in the direction you know there is a stream in a glade. You find yourself almost at a run now, your body despises you for it. As the evergreen trees around you thin, you see the yellow-orange leaves of the liquidambar trees ahead. You begin to feel another pain, a pain that is not your own. 

Approaching the stream, eyes trained on the plants around the bank, you see black shapes against the greenery. Shapes that, as you grow closer, focus into birds. Sleek black feathers and beady eyes – five of them. Your mother had always tried to teach you the symbolic meaning of the number of crows one came upon, but you can't remember now, for better or worse, which number meant death or misfortune or good luck. You shoo them away, making them clear out, screeching their loud piercing calls, a blur of feathers and a racket of strong flapping wings. Finally, as they fly off, you lay eyes on your closest friend, laying in the shrubbery. 

Your heart pulses as you take in your familiar's unkempt state. The cat's midnight black fur is damp in patches and ridden with leaves and twigs from the forest floor. The yellow of its eyes is less vibrant than usual, and less attentive of the scene around it. Not until you stepped closer, until the two of you made eye contact, did the animal's eyes seem to focus. Worst of all were the cuts and scratches to its face and body. Whipping your shawl from around you, you carefully scoop up the cat, eliciting a pained ‘orw’ from the poor creature. 

"Shh, we're going home," you soothe as you wrap your shawl around it. 

----

The house is warm and welcoming, and relief washes over you the moment you step inside. The cat is sleeping in your arms, having relaxed into you on your journey back, and you can sense how it has missed your presence, that it feels safe once more with you. You feel considerably more stable and capable yourself. 

Placing the sleeping bundle on the settee by the fire, you leave the room to fetch water and some cloth. The kitchen is in disarray, having had no strength or desire to see to any of your chores since the last full moon. Thankfully though, the bread you bought last week is still good, and you grab it on the way back. 

"Ah ah," you scold as you enter the room and find your familiar halfway off the settee. 

Dark eyes look up at you, the bloody cut across his nose shining in the firelight, your shawl falling over his shoulders, no longer big enough to keep him warm. "Sorry," he says quietly, bringing his foot back up off the floor. 

His wounds don't look as severe on his less tiny body, but they need to be cleaned nonetheless. You hand him the chunk of bread as you set the dish of water on the table and sit on the space of floor in front of him. You hear his stomach make itself known at the sight of food, catching his eye as he chuckles with a small smile. Oh, how you've missed that smile. 

Being home again is doing him good, giving him more strength and allowing him to shift. He would not have been able to shift to his human form at all while he was out there alone and injured, away from you and your magic. Your bond causes you to depend on one another, and though other magic users found this frustrating, you felt that it made the magic that you did use more meaningful. 

One hand clutches at the edge of the shawl and readjusts it around himself as he eats, eyes watching your fingers dip the cloth into the bowl. You should have brought a blanket, you realize, but then you feel the warmth of his skin as the hand you use to press the wet cloth to his arm comes in contact with, and decide the fire is enough. 

"You scared me, Hyuka."

His chewing stills as his eyes find yours; those big innocent eyes that let him get away with even more in his human form. You would be able to see every emotion of his in those eyes if you weren't able to feel them for yourself through the bond. 

"I didn't mean to be gone so long, o-or go so far. I lost track of time, and I was coming home but..." He trails off as he senses you aren't upset, your calmness washing over him. He sighs and leans back into the cushion of the settee tiredly. There's food in his belly, he's warm and cozy, taken care of, and most importantly, home. "I missed you."

Images play in your mind of when Hyuka had come into your life. You had begun to have dreams, more vivid each night until he arrived, of paw prints through your house. Then one morning you'd opened the door to a ball of midnight fur. He had been nervous about how you'd feel about him being a shifter, and shy when it came to revealing his human form, but he needn't have worried. He'd come to you just when you needed him and you grew alongside each other. Now you could not do without each other, magical bond or no. 

His hand moves to the back of his neck, a well-known habit of his. His eyes grow startled as he feels the absence of leather cord, his hand flying to his throat to confirm the loss. "My... my charm… Do you have it?"

"No," you answer. You'd been too worried about getting him home to notice his accessory was missing. 

"I must have lost it in the tousle… a wild cat picked a fight with me," He looked down at a scratch on his forearm as he spoke with a scowl, as if mentally cursing said animal. 

You knew the charm was important to him—it was special to you, too. It was a long running tradition amongst magic users to give their familiars a token of their bond. Not only as a symbol of the connection, but for other magic folk to determine familiars on sight, give them shelter or aid, accept or send messages, or follow them to their human counterpart if they were in need of help. "We can go and look for it. Maybe in a week, when we're both back to our best, hm?"

Hyuka agrees, his eyes back to their usual warmth and calmness. As you tend to his cuts and scratches, he watches the fire, his mind wandering back into the forest. He'd gone further than he'd ever been, and if it weren't for his cat form's senses, he probably would have been lost. 

"There was another familiar in the woods," he says suddenly, remembering more as the haze of hunger lifts and the warmth of home settles into his being. 

Hands stilling their work, your eyes lift to his face. You had lived in this area your whole life, born and raised and never left, and never met another magic kind—not one you weren't related to. "A familiar? Are you sure?" 

Hyuka nods, looking solemn. "I had walked a long way. I must have been halfway between our village and the next. I was about to turn back and make for home, but I spotted a house. It was abandoned, I think. But... there was a woman."

Sitting back on your heels, you listen intently, fingers worrying at the cloth in your hands subconsciously. "At an abandoned house? Was she a squatter?"

"She was using the shelter. She was weak. I could tell she'd been through an ordeal. She was like me. A shifter, I mean."

Blinking in this information, your mind begins to rush with possibilities. Has there been someone else with magic close by all this time? Just a walk through the forest? Could you have had a friend, someone to share everything with? To exchange notes about herbs and spend traditional holidays with? Just the thought of it made your chest squeeze with longing. You had Hyuka, of course, but a familiar was different; an extension of yourself, in essence.

“Was she separated from her witch?” you ask, intrigued. “Was she lost, like you?”

You feel his mood dip lower before he even formulates an answer. “No,” he answers, eyes blinking faster, the way you knew he always did when trying to keep his composure. He looks off again, remembering. “I’d never met another shifter before, you know. What they say is true; I could sense that she was one, and she sensed me too. She talked to me, told me I’m more lucky than I know to have a bond. She told me I should go home.“ You notice a longing in Hyuka, just as you had felt moments before, perhaps a little stronger now. “She told me her witch was dead. She knew it would be her turn soon.“

Moving on instinct, you get up from the floor, planting yourself on the settee beside him and clasping his hand in both of your own. “That's terrible.”

He looks at you again, with sorry eyes and a heavy heart. If only you could take it away for him. “I wanted to do something to comfort her, to be able to say something, but…”

“You couldn’t shift to your human form,” you finish. Hyuka nods. As ragged and tired as you are, the feelings of desperation and distress you feel, both your own and shared, outweigh everything else. “Do you think you could find your way back to that house?”

His eyes light up a fraction. “But you need to rest and–“

“We can't just let her die all alone out there.” You feel your frazzled nerves sparking as you speak, mentally preparing yourself and what little strength had returned since your reunion. “Someone should be with her. If you’re up to going back again.”

Hyuka stands faster than you can blink, almost knocking over the dish of water at his feet.

–---

 Leaving the house with Hyuka in human form alongside you is something new. While his animal side was a keen adventurer, as a human he was somewhat of a homebody. As someone who could change himself from man to animal, Hyuka didn’t own a single pair of shoes. You’d offered to buy him a pair in the beginning, but he’d refused. For one, he never planned on walking around outside of the house as a human, and, he’d pointed out, what was he to do with a pair of shoes once he’d shifted? Carry them around by his little cat mouth?

For the first time, you were witnessing his bare feet in the elements. The pine needles, broken twigs, stray stones and other natural materials that made up the forest floor didn’t seem to bother him the way it would your own feet. 

It was getting into the afternoon now, and the sun had made an appearance from behind the clouds. Hyuka was much easier to keep up with when he was a cat; his long human legs made for big strides, and while you struggle to keep the same pace, straggling only a few steps behind, you understand his haste. 

Fear creeps in as your mind wanders ahead. What if you were too late? You can feel the desperation in Hyuka, wanting to help even if it was just by being there for someone, even a stranger, in their final moments. You knew that if she was already gone, he’d be crushed. You would be crushed. Hoping against hope, you chant silent prayers in your mind that there is still time.

Hyuka turns to look over his shoulder at you as he dodges a stray branch that had already lost all of its leaves. For once, you can’t think of anything to say to him, so you give him a small reassuring smile which he returns, though you both know the other’s feelings like your own – there could be no hiding them. You both wanted to say something to comfort each other, and that knowledge was enough. 

The further you walk, the drier the surroundings grow, as if the place had been abandoned not only by people but by nature itself. Brambles catch on your clothes, dried needles crunch and snap underfoot, and the air somehow feels stale as your lungs breathe it in and push it out again. This was unfamiliar ground for you, and so different from the areas close to home you were used to.

“Almost there,” Hyuka announces as you pass the remnants of a broken down and weather worn horse cart.

Your heart squeezes with hope when you approach a clearing and a small cream coloured house with a faded roof comes into view. Sensing Hyuka’s pulse quicken, you attempt to slow your breathing and be strong for him – for the both of you. He was losing something that might have been too, but he was also seeing his fate first hand should anything take you from this world.

As the two of you draw nearer to the home, you can make out the figure laying still on the doorstep. The closer Hyuka advances, the more carefully he treads the dry woodland floor, so as not to startle the woman. A few paces from the step of the porch, he stops and calls out softly, “Hello.”

The woman’s weary eyes open, and or a moment she looks panicked, her body tensing, the expression of a scared animal wanting to flee crossing her features. But you can see she is too exhausted to make a move even if she wanted to run away. Your stomach pangs with the realisation that the woman is not far from death. To look at her, you can see how shallowly she breathes, as if each intake of oxygen is an effort. You wish with all your being that this was an ailment you could cure with magic, with some special brew, but there could be no righting her condition or her fate.

“It’s okay,” Hyuka assures her, his hands held out flat in what he hopes is a calming gesture. “We’re friends. Remember the black cat you spoke to?”

A wave of understanding and surrender rolls over her face and she physically relaxes. She must feel comforted by the fact that she is in the presence of her own kind – even as her eyes take you in, it looks as though she puts it together; a familiar and his magic user. You feel Hyuka relax slightly at her acceptance.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

The woman’s lips part, her tongue darting out to wet them before she speaks in a weak, hoarse voice. “Alita.”

“Alita,” you address her gently as you step wider out from Hyuka so she can see you in full. Her eyes are slow to drift over to you once more. “Where is your bonded one?”

Alita’s eyes fall closed as if recalling a nightmare. “She is gone.”

“What happened to her?” Hyuka asks. Carefully he steps forward onto the porch, and when Alita doesn’t look frightened by this, he kneels down by her side. You follow suit, crouching down next to your companion. Her eyes look broken as she looks up at the two of you, flitting between both pairs of eyes. There is a sadness there that you can only imagine. 

“They came in the night, the people of our village. Shouting and banging on the door, on the walls. So many men. A few women, but mostly men. They were angry – more rage and hate than I’ve ever seen in one person, multiplied many times over,” Her lips quivered as she found her next words. “They broke the door down and took her, my mistress. Dragged her from the house and into town, locked her up. She was locked up for days, and they wouldn’t say why. Then she was taken to the town hall. There were so many people there, even people we knew. People my mistress had helped. Everyone was shouting at her. They all looked at her like she was the most evil thing they’d ever laid eyes on. A trial, they called it.”

You watch as Alita shudders, a sign you recognise as the irreversible cold someone feels as they linger at death's door. Even if you had a blanket to give, she would not get warm. She would never be warm again.

“I’d name it a screaming match. They all shouted such terrible things, claimed my mistress had done things that just weren’t true. It went on for days.” Alita’s next inhale was so shaky and stuttered you thought she might’ve been choking until she spoke again. “They said they knew she was a witch. That part was true. It wouldn’t be tolerated, they said. So they took–” Her voice caught in her throat. Hyuka placed his hand comfortingly over hers which laid limp on the concrete of the porch. You could see the pain written all over her face, her eyes far away as she relived the whole ordeal, grief that she would never get to heal taking her over. “They took her away again, and they killed her. Slowly. I know because I could feel it.” 

She was looking at Hyuka now, and when you glance at him you see tears wet on his nose. You had never seen him cry. He always held it back on the rare occasion he got choked up. But in this moment, hearing this story, he couldn’t. “It’s been happening more and more in our town,” she continues. “We thought we’d be safe because we live just on the outskirts, close enough to visit but not really part of it. I thought we were safe because so many people appreciated my mistress's help. She always went to them when they asked for her.”

Feeling your own eyes prickle, you take a sidelong look at your familiar as he holds Alita’s hand. You imagine what it would be like if he were suddenly gone from you, from the world; to never again be able to look into his eyes and feel seen and understood; no longer feeling that connection, your bond severed, left feeling cold and untethered. A shiver threatens to take over as you consider your life without him, and you stifle a gasp as a pain throbs in your chest. Alita’s fingers weakly clench Hyuka’s hand as she sobs. You are so lucky, your thoughts remind you. Lucky he came into your life, lucky the two of you get along as well as you do, and that your bond is a strong one. Lucky not to be completely alone in the world and your little cottage. 

If you were to lose your life, Hyuka would soon follow after. But if Hyuka were to die, you'd go on, your life forever missing one integral piece. Other familiars might come, perhaps, but they wouldn't be Hyuka. Hyuka, with his superstitions about ravens, scowling at them through the window as if he might pounce through the glass even in his human form. Who always muttered in his sleep when he went to bed with a full stomach. Whose soft snoring you had come to be unable to sleep without hearing across the hall. The small black bundle of fur with glowing moon eyes he shifted to and fro, always making you laugh as he strayed from the path his human counterpart had told you he would take the minute he saw a butterfly; chasing them always seemed more important to the cat. You were sure you'd still see his phantom running around the house and garden for years to come if he were to be taken from you. All you can do is what you have always done; do your best to protect each other and hope that fate will be kind.

Alita turns Hyuka’s hand over and presses her palm into his with a weak squeeze, and Hyuka’s eyes are drawn to their touching hands with curiosity. Her hand slips away and he up-turns his palm to find a silver moon charm in a leather cord – the one he had lost. She meets his eyes with a slightly guilty look in hers. Her breathing is growing more ragged by the minute, her eyes losing more and more of their light, and you want to suggest that she save her strength, but you don’t want to deny her of her last interaction. 

“I’m sorry I took it,” she says a little breathlessly. “I slipped it off while petting you when first we met. I don’t know why…” You can see her body growing heavier against the concrete of the porch, hear her breathing more shallowly. “Maybe I just wanted something to hold onto. Something like… a friend…”

Suddenly her eyes go hollow, the breath draining from her chest. Hyuka just has time to draw back his hands before Alita’s body shifts one last time into her animal form – a grey dove. 

You take in a shaky breath, feeling so many emotions yet numb at the same time. Hyuka turns to you, his eyes wet, and presses his forehead to your shoulder. The two of you sit like that for a while, until you’re sure Alita’s spirit has passed on. Until you’re both ready to do what needs to be done. Then, you pick up the grey dove and follow Hyuka in silence to a nearby tree, the biggest one in the clearing. Using his hands, he scoops out enough dry earth to make a hole just big enough. You place the dove inside, then carefully bury her together, handful by handful. You place some stones to mark the spot, but don't dare to leave any likeness of a symbol of magic.

Standing side by side looking over the site, you grasp Hyuka's hand. The numbness has given way to questions and concerns, leading you to finally break the silence. “She said this has been happening a lot, and getting closer to the village,” you say in an almost whisper, as if the trees might overhear and spread your words. “Do you think… do you think we're safe?”

A brisk chill blew across the clearing, as if the very wind itself was relaying a warning. 

He meets your eyes and you find there a cloud of emotion and determination like you've never seen. When he replies, his voice is rough but firm. “We'll make sure of it. We'll lay low. At the first sign of trouble, we'll leave.” 

You nod solemnly. “I'll do everything in my power to protect you,” you say, as if it needs saying. 

“I know,” he replies in a gruff voice, and you feel your shared feelings of protectiveness intensify as his grip on your hand tightens.

As he takes a step forward, you fall into step beside him. He leads you out of the clearing, back through the forest, towards the village – towards home. Neither one of you lets go of the other's hand, both silent once more as you trek home in a flurry of emotions and anxieties, wondering what the future holds, and grateful to have each other. 

[knataa]

Chat they're taking over my brain

[kindnessistherealpunkrock]

can't stop thinking about clark realizing you're pregnant before you even had a clue..... (1.8k words)

It's damn near midnight. You'd spent most of the day in bed, barely able to keep anything down. Maybe the flu can still be going around...in March? That's what you told yourself anyway. You'd promised Clark you'd go to the doctor in the morning if you weren't feeling any better.

The day had been uneventful. Your time was spent by nursing cups of broth and watching reruns of your favorite show - it was all you had the energy for yet you were still exhausted by the time Clark came home from work. He had tried to make you eat real food, but even the smell of butter burning slightly in the pan made your stomach flip and allowed the sickness to take over.

Clark had helped you into the bath after and opted to sit on the cold bathroom tile next to you. He missed you dearly, but more than anything wanted to make sure you were okay. He told you what you missed at work today. "Whole lotta nothin," he quipped, his hands moved to push the hair out of your eyes. He told you about the new article he'd gotten approved to write, that he saved a cat from a tree on the way home, that he saw a photo on Jimmy's phone that he really wished he hadn't. Clark sensed that his rambling soothed you, the energy surrounding you turned mellow and your heart rate slowed as he gently massaged your scalp with his fingers. You really were worn down, he thought. He wished more than anything that he knew how to make you feel better, but this would have to do.

That led you to now. In bed, on your side, eyelids growing heavy with one arm and leg draped over Clark's toned chest and legs. He was bare, save for a pair of tight fitting boxers. Any other day, you'd be all over him; begging for him to be all over you until you're a pile of mush in the sheets. But not tonight. Tonight, you just wanted him to hold you. Clark is a good boy, so he was doing just that with his large hand splayed across your back. His fingers occasionally running up and down your spine almost sank you into blissful sleep. That is, until...

Clark stiffened beneath you. It's like his entire body turned to concrete while his eyes darted from one corner of the room to the other. He heard something.

"What is it?" You ask, exhaustion and a hint of annoyance laced in your voice.

"Hear someone," Clark murmured.

He slid out from under you with ease and pulled some sweatpants over his legs. The spot he just left was still warm, but his absence made the bed suddently feel cold and sterile.

"You sure it wasn't just a bird, baby? They've been crashing into the windows like crazy for weeks now."

You're slightly perturbed, but you try not to be. He is Superman after all. His job is to keep the city safe, so you can't blame him for being attuned to hearing anything and everything that could possibly pose a threat. Plus, you knew he cared about your well being more than anything else in this world, so you chose not to push it any further.

Clark doesn't say anything else, only turning back to you with a finger over his lips, asking for silence as he investigates. He glides through the room tactfully and undetected, as if he were a lion hunting its prey. You watch as he pads down the hallway from your shared bedroom and disappears into the darkness that is the rest of your apartment.

He's gone for only a minute or two. When he comes back, you notice his hair is a bit windswept. He must have checked the outside of the building. You can't even imagine if someone had saw him. A half naked man with rock hard abs seemingly levitating outside the 17th floor of a Metropolis apartment building in the middle of the night. Although, it probably wouldn't have been the weirdest thing anyone has ever seen.

"Sorry," he apologizes, "Guess it was nothing."

Clark quickly discarded his sweats back onto the floor and nestled back into bed next to you, resuming the same position you were both in just minutes before. He runs his veiny hand over his face and rubs his eyes, an adorable yawn escaping his lips. Clark was tired too.

"It was probably just something happening on the street. They're still doing night construction across the street," you thought aloud.

"No, honey," he was quick to interject with a click of tongue, "It wasn't something; it was someone. I heard their..."

Clark froze again, ears perking up as he turned to fully face you. He suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time. He looked like he wasn't breathing.

You were growing concerned with his sudden skittishness. "Everything oka-?"

"Heartbeat," he finally mustered up the strength to say out loud.

You're not making sense of what is unfolding in front of you. Clark is staring at you; his eyes felt like they were burning a hole into your soul. His gaze drifts about your body, as if he were checking you for injuries or trying to see if anything was different about you. You notice his eyes are lingering at your lower half, where your arm laid haphazardly across your stomach as you rested on your side. Your engagment ring glimmered in the low light of the lamp in the corner of the room, but that's not what Clark was really staring at.

"So, it was a person or no? I'm lost, bubby," you stated, begging him to make sense of this.

"I only heard the heartbeat when we were in bed earlier. 'S not outside or in any other part of the house. I think...." Clark's voice is shaky now. "I think you're pregnant?" It came out as more of a question than a statement.

It was your turn to be speechless. Your eyebrows furled as you sat up straight. Either Clark was losing his mind or this was some kind of joke.

"Clark, what in the hell are you talking about?"

He's quiet again, only this time he shimmies down the plush mattress until his head is hovering right above your belly and facing away from you. It felt like the whole world stopped in that moment. What if it was true? Is this why you've felt so sick over the last few days? Gears are turning in your head trying to solve this puzzle. When Clark turns his head back towards you, the final piece locks into place.

"I hear it. It's quiet, but it's there. A heartbeat." Clark was smiling.

You reach a hand out to hold the side of his face that isn't pressed against your stomach. You don't know whether to cry, celebrate, or puke for the seventh time today. You run your thumb anxiously along his jawline.

"Holy shit," is all you can muster. "Is that even possible?" You really didn't know. Neither of you did. Sure, you've both pondered (and loved) the idea of mini Clarks and mini yous running around the farm in Kansas one day. However, you had never seriously considered whether or not a human could give birth to a half-Kryptonian.

"Guess so," Clark replies. "We can make some calls in the morning and try to find out."

He's moved back to the top of the bed now and his arms are enveloping you in an all-consuming embrace. His chin is tucked into your collarbone, his breath tickling your neck just slightly with each exhale.

"Are you happy?" He asks, begs, quietly. Your lack of enthusiasm has him growing weary.

You pull back to look at him fully. The dark, curly hair on top of his head, the prickly stubble on his cheeks that appears after a long day, the warmth radiating off his perfect body. You melt under his touch, along with any doubts you had in your mind. In front of you is a man who would literally go to the ends of the Earth (and beyond) to protect you. A man that lends a hand to anybody and anything that could possibly need his help. A man that loves you so deeply that he would know how to find you in any universe or lifetime.

"I think," tears prick at your eyes, "That I'm a little scared. And a little shocked."

Clark nods his head, listening. His jaw twitches slightly.

"That's okay," he tries to reassure you.

"I know." You swallowed hard. The tears were coming now. "But also still a little happy."

It's like a switch flipped, the two of you begin chuckling contagiously in disbelief. Clark thumbed the tears away from your cheeks and you kissed him deeply. He was warm and his tongue was soft, slipping through your mouth and running along your bottom lip.

"I love you so much," Clark says as he pulls back. There isn't a doubt in your mind of how much he means it.

"I love you too, Clark," you beamed, "But I can't believe you thought our baby was an alien intruder that came here to destroy humanity at midnight on a random Tuesday." A fake pout adorned your features.

Clark playfully flicked at your nose, unable to fight the laugh in his belly. "I thought you were sick?" He jested, "Now you have time to crack jokes?"

"Heyyy!" you protested, "Be nice to me. You have to now."

"'M always nice to you," Clark snided, feigning offense and planting a forgiving kiss to the top of your nose.

Neither of you remember when you both fell asleep. You talked until the sun almost began to rise. About what color hair you thought they'd have, what theme the nursery would be, what color their eyes would be. You wanted them to have Clark's, and of course, Clark wanted them to have your eyes. Agree to disagree Clark proclaimed, though he'd be happy even if the baby's eyes were purple. The baby, your baby, was a piece of the two of you and the love you shared so deeply with one another. And that was all that mattered to him.

You woke up turned away from Clark, morning light quickly taking over the bedroom. Your body was engulfed by his broad shoulders as he spooned you. His arm, as strong as it may be, was draped oh so carefully across your abdomen. Clark was already protecting the little one growing inside of you. And he always would.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Farmer's Market Gossip

Bruce Wayne enjoys visiting the farmers' market, especially the one in Smallville. Something was refreshing about wandering stall to stall, looking over fresh fruit, baked goods, and little handmade nicknacks.

One of the best parts was realizing that almost no one recognized him. Maybe in a place like Gotham, where his face and his activities were always splattered on news outlets and gossip rags, it made it hard for him to go unnoticed unless he actively disguised himself.

That wasn't a problem in here.

People didn't follow the rich here in the same way they followed celebrities. Why would they care that Bruce made a fool of himself at a fancy gala in a random street they had never seen or heard of? Why would his donations to charities matter when the charities never reach this far out here? Why would they bother to look deeper in the thought of Don't I know that guy from somewhere? while he browsed the tomatoes.

Smallville was a pleasant, quiet place to retire or raise a family. But it lacked a night life, and to be fair a large amount of entertainment. There wasn't a whole lot to do out here. It was, in every sense of the world, a little rural town in the middle of nowhere.

Oh, Metropolis was a mere hour and a half drive away, or ninety miles, because Americans need to use actual measurements when speaking of distance, as Alfred once put it (Bruce just thought it was funny to see his father-figure get annoyed at the oddest things). It was a relatively easy drive, hardly out of the way, but it still felt like far too much to go for a mere night out, at least a constant one.

Commuting for work was a different matter.

So, really, Smallville had a limit to gossip, not because the neighbors weren't nosy - in fact, Bruce found them far more invested in each other's lives than they should be but because there just weren't enough people to hear new gossip about. They passed along the same story over and over again, until everyone and their mother had heard it, but after a day or two, that would be old news.

Maybe that's why the vendors all knew Bruce's face, and knew that when he strolled through, he would buy almost everything he paused to browse, but knew nothing else about him. He likes it that way.

Oh, there were whispers; however, those speculations were more about the fact that Martha Kent's boy brought around a city boy with him every other weekend. How suspiciously close that Clark fellow was to his friend.

Mr. Parr, who sold a rosemary sourdough bread that Bruce was addicted to, muttered to Miss Davis that he always knew Clark was on the more colorful side. Miss Davis then commented how Clark did well for himself because Bruce always seemed to have enough cash to walk back to his car, bags nearly spilling out of his arms.

Bruce thought it was hilarious and chose not to correct anyone. He knew Clark was aware of the rumors - it was hard not to, given the man's superhearing made him hyper-aware of everything all the time - but his friend had no idea how people got that impression and didn't know how to make them stop.

His parents' neighbors thought Lois was made up, even after Ma and Pa Kent talked about their son's girlfriend.

This week, he actually showed up without Clark. His friend was busy at work, but had been willing to fly him over so he could get his bi-weekly fix of relaxation. The kids knew they were always welcome to join him, but they also knew Bruce liked doing his little Smallville farmer's market alone.

As he was chatting with Mrs. Green, he noticed a new stall had been added to the usual lineup.

"That's Danny Fenton." Mrs. Green revealed after noticing his curiosity. "Sweet thing, just moved into town. He took over Mr. Jackson's old flower farm after Mr. Jackson became ill. You know the poor man is in the early stages of dementia, so his daughters wanted him closer to their houses, a state away. Anyway, Danny makes these excellent natural creams and lotions from his flowers. You should try his ointments too! Why, it helps clear up most of my arthritis aches and pains."

Bruce flashes her a boyish smile. "I'll go over and see his selection. If it's a recommendation from you, he must be fantastic."

"Oh, aren't you a charmer?" Mrs. Green laughs bashfully, swatting Bruce away. "Go now before you make an old lady faint from a severe big head."

"You big-headed? Never." Bruce laughs taking his fresh set of carrots and apples. "Have a good day, Mrs. Green!"

"You too, Brucie."

Strutting over to the new booth, Bruce made sure to wave at the regular vendors, who all smiled and greeted him back, except for Mr. Martinez, who Bruce had come to know had always had a bit of a hard time with eye contact. He didn't take it to heart.

The man's salsas were far too delicious to be upset over something small like eye contact.

Danny Fenton's booth was much like the others. A large pop-up canopy with a long foldable table was set up. Fenton had some wooden stands displaying randomly sized jars with a ghost-like logo stuck on them. He placed fake flowers around the wooden stands, making it appear as though the jars were sitting in a garden bed, and had soft, classical music playing from a speaker near the back of the booth.

Bruce realized that the closer he got, the more battery-operated fountains were placed around to grab people's attention and create the obvious soft, cottage-core ambiance Fenton was going for. Not only did it pull in customers, but it also let him influence their mood from the get-go for his sales pitch.

The man obviously had some experience in the field.

Fenton kept up his fantasy gimmick by dressing in a peculiar outfit. Bruce couldn't quite name the style at the top of his head, but he was sure that Fenotn wouldn't be out of place in a Renaissance fair among the fairy section that Tim and Damian loved so much. All he was missing was a mushroom-themed hat.

Since Fenton was currently chatting with a few customers, Bruce decided to browse the selections of hand salves. He dipped a spoon in a few of the sample jars and spread the salves on one of his hands, testing out the sensation with a critical eye. His many years of grappling across the city made his hands a bit rough, and it was always nice to find something to soften them again.

He couldn't be a proper gentleman if his hands weren't gentle after all.

Almost instantly, he realized he was going to be walking away with at least three jars: lavender rose, rosemary spearmint, and lavender chamomile. Not only did they feel great, but they smelled divine.

Bruce then truned his attention to some lotions, hoping to find some for Cass who always had a bit of a more pungent nose then the rest of his kids so she tended to look for more natural sents and came face to face with Fenton himself.

The man had finished with his other clients, moving behind the table to stand on the other side directly across from Bruce. He had a few small flowers braided in his hair, letting the rest of it fall loosly around his shoulders and he offered Bruce a smile as gentle and as pretty as the flowers he grew.

Bruce felt his jaw drop.

Never before had he seen such beauty.

"Hi there! Let me know if you have any questions." Fenton chirps, looking so darn happy to have someone standing in of his items that he was almost glowing.

"Um...No...I ...Just these." Bruce coughed, handing over the jars and a random lotion bottle. He didn't break eye contact, as Fenton happily rattles off the price and bags his things for him. But he can't find the will to push words out of his mouth, grunting in thanks and all but fleeing from the man.

Much later, he overhears Mrs. Lee giggling with a few ladies. "Mr. Fenton has to be the most attractive person to ever move to Smallville. I heard he was a supermodel."

"Well, I heard he has some siren blood in him. Miss Jackson said his voice was hypnotic."

"Siren blood? Really?"

"Hey, anything is possible; people like Aquaman are running around."

A siren.

That had to be it. No wonder Bruce had been so struck dumb. A magical creature of the sea had moved to a landlocked town to sell flower-based skin care goods. Not the oddest thing he has faced as Batman.

However, to be safe, Bruce should return next week. Just to make sure Fenton wasn't going to eat anyone.

(Three weeks later, Clark tries his hardest to assure everyone Bruce is not cheating on him with the new Beauty of Smallville because they were never a couple. He gets lots of baked goods to heal his broken heart in response, and Lois laughs.)

[ggclarissa]

immune | clark kent

fandom: dcu

pairing: corenswet!clark kent x fem!reader, corenswet!clark kent x psychic!reader

content: reader is a psychic/metahuman, clark kent is immune and suspiciously sweet about it, secret identity tension, slow-burn vibes if you squint.

summary: in which your psychic abilities work on everyone except clark kent — and the more you try to figure it out, the more everything starts to make sense.

author’s note: my first longish clark kent oneshot !! this one took me a while, so pls show it some love 🙏🏻🙏🏻 comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated.

There were perks to being a metahuman. Free coffee was one of them.

“You want the last cup?” Jimmy offered, already reaching for it — until your eyes met his. A slight tilt of your head. A subtle pulse of psychic energy. His hand froze. Then, smiling as if it was his own idea, he said, “Actually, you go ahead. Looks like you need it more.”

You did. But that was besides the point.

The ability to influence people — gently, subtly, never maliciously — had made life at the Daily Planet significantly easier. Deadlines weren’t challenged. Conference rooms weren’t contested. Even Perry approved your story pitches faster than anyone else’s.

Nobody ever noticed. Because it never felt like a shove, just…a good idea they hadn’t realized was yours.

Except it didn’t work on him.

Clark Kent.

He was maddeningly immune. Like a rock in the middle of a current, unmoved by your waves. You realized that during your second week at the Daily Planet, after he’d bumped into you — apologizing profusely as your coffee spilled down the front of your blouse.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” He said, retrieving a roll of paper towels from his desk.

You met his gaze and allowed your power to flow, smooth as silk. “Actually,” You suggested, “it would be really helpful if you could get me a fresh cup.”

Nothing. No hesitation. No flicker of compliance behind those glasses.

He blinked at you. “The coffee? Uh — sure, yeah. How do you take it again?”

No moment of blank surrender, no silent acceptance of your thoughts as his own. Just Clark, doing a kindness because he chose to.

You laughed it off like you always did when your ability slipped, but it kept happening. Every time. With everyone else, the lightest suggestion became reality. But not with him.

At first, you chalked it up to nerves. Maybe you had a thing for him — he was cute, after all. Tall, steady, old-fashioned in a way that should have grated but didn’t. Always held the elevator. Kept track of everyone’s birthdays. Smiled like your voice was the only one that mattered whenever you pitched a story.

Maybe your ability had no sway over Clark because, on some level, you never truly wanted it to.

But then you began to notice other things. Like the fact that every Superman interview published by the Daily Planet bore Clark Kent’s byline.

You knew plenty of reporters who’d chased Superman through rooftop stakeouts, bureaucratic red tape, and half a dozen dead-end leads. But Clark? He never had to chase. He always landed the first quote, the exclusive, the one-on-one.

“How do you always land these?” You asked as he submitted yet another polished draft — cheeks flushed from what he called a “quick trip to the scene.”

He adjusted his glasses, looking modest. “Right place, right time.”

You offered a polite smile, but something in your gut pulled tight. Clark Kent was many things, but lucky was not one of them.

Then the disappearances started. Whenever Superman appeared downtown, Clark would vanish from his desk.

Perry barked orders — “Get me boots on the ground!” — and Clark was already gone. Taking an early lunch. Stuck in an elevator. Nowhere to be found.

He’d return to the office breathless — loose tie, tousled hair. “Sorry, I missed it. You all right?”

And like clockwork, Superman’s quotes would appear in his next draft.

Immune to your psychic nudges. Always gone whenever Superman appeared. Somehow landed every exclusive with the most elusive man in Metropolis. It was almost laughable, how obvious it was.

You decided to test your theory during the next bullpen rush.

Perry was in a mood — cursing zoning permits and vigilante damage reports — and Clark was buried in a report on LutherCorp’s latest stunt.

“Clark.” You leaned against his desk, smiling.

He looked up, attentive. “Yeah?”

“Could I borrow that highlighter?”

Clark glanced at the yellow highlighter beside his keyboard. You didn’t move to take it — just tilted your head slightly, sending a soft pulse of power his way, like a breeze brushing up against a mountain.

Stillness. Then, after a beat, he blinked and passed it to you, casual as ever.

“Thanks,” You said, watching him carefully.

“You’re welcome.” His smile was guileless — sweet and entirely unreadable.

That night, Superman rescued a train full of passengers just two blocks from your apartment. Clark skipped the staff happy hour.

You cornered him three days later.

The Daily Planet was nearly deserted. Perry had gone home, and Lois was asleep at her desk, worn out from of a day of chasing dead ends. Clark was in the bullpen, coat draped over one arm, bag slung over his shoulder, already halfway to the elevator when you stepped into his path.

He smiled when he saw you. “Hey. Burning the midnight oil?”

You didn’t bother with pleasantries. “You’re immune to me.”

He stilled — just for a moment, but it was enough.

You stepped closer. “Everyone else — one glance, one thought — and they’re bending over backwards. Doing favors. Oversharing. Letting me skip lines. But you…” Your eyes narrowed. “You never do anything I suggest unless you want to.”

Clark shifted his weight, expression unreadable. “Is that…a problem?”

“No,” You replied slowly. “It’s impossible.”

You studied him. Kind, powerful, gentle-eyed Clark Kent. The only person who’d ever helped you freely — not because you nudged him, but because he chose to.

Then, without a trace of psychic influence — just your voice — you said, “You’re not human, are you?”

A pause stretched between you. Then, softly: “No, I’m not.”

You exhaled. A quiet laugh. “Holy shit.”

Clark cast a quick glance around, as if someone might be listening. When he saw the coast was clear, he gave you a small, rueful smile. “I wasn’t trying to lie. I just didn’t want to assume you’d be okay with the truth.”

“I’ve been casually psychic-shoving half the office since day one,” You spoke dryly. “Pretty sure I lost the moral high ground a long time ago.”

That earned you a real smile, one that lingered. “You figured it out,” He said, like he was genuinely impressed.

“I had to. You were driving me insane.” You tilted your head, your voice softening. “Why don’t you tell people? You’re Superman. It’s not like anyone’s gonna stop inviting you to parties.”

Clark held your gaze — steady, warm — and then, gently: “Well, why don’t you?”

The words settled between you, quiet and heavy.

You didn’t respond.

You didn’t have to. Because for the first time since stepping into the bullpen, someone saw you — really saw you. Understood what it meant to live half a life in plain sight. The hiding. The restraint. The quiet ache of knowing you could change the world, if only you were willing to lose a piece of yourself in the process.

Two people, both wrapped in the same quiet lie, carrying truths just beneath the surface.

A moment passed. Then another.

And finally, you let out a slow breath, allowing the stillness to linger before tipping it towards something lighter.

“Clark?”

“Yeah?”

You jerked your head towards the elevator, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Wanna grab a coffee sometime? No psychic interference, I swear.”

That smile of his bloomed, slow and sure. “Yeah,” He said. “I’d really like that.”

[avaricefics]

the winner takes it all | kimi antonelli social media au

| Kimi Antonelli x fem!reader

| Fans are starting to believe that Kimi's girlfriend, Y/n L/n, is a bad luck charm at races- he happily proves them wrong

| This is my first ever smau, so I'm still learning all the formatting and such. Please be patient!

f1updates

f1updates Kimi Antonelli's girlfriend, Y/n L/n, posted on her story about arriving to the Canadian Grand Prix. The last time she went to watch a Grand Prix live, at the Spanish Grand Prix, Antonelli DNFed. Should Mercedes fans be scared of a bad luck charm in the garage this weekend?

comments

user1 Still not over Spanish GP... maybe Y/n actually is bad luck lol

user2 the more you think about it the more it makes sense

-> user3 Her first in person GP since Kimi was in F2 and he DNFs...

user4 Always said he shouldn't have dated her

real life

You scrolled through your phone, barely blinking as all the hateful comments and mean words flashed past on the screen. You should be used to the hate, having dated Kimi since his F2 days, but it still made no sense to you. These people didn't even know you, and yet they thought they could say whatever they wanted about Kimi and your's relationship.

You tried not to let it phase you, you tried to pretend like it didn't hurt each time someone on the internet called you a 'terrible girlfriend' or a 'bad luck charm'. Formula 1 was Kimi's dream, and you hated the thought of ruining it with your own selfish insecurities.

It also bothered you how much the fans looked down on you for missing so many grand prixs at the beginning of the season. You hadn't meant to, but your older sister had given birth prematurely to triplets a couple weeks before the season started, and you had stayed at your family home in Italy to help out for those difficult first months.

Kimi supported you fully, of course. He understood the need to stick with your family, and help them when they needed it. Between races, he had even stopped by the house to help with the triplets himself.

You and Kimi had both been so excited for the Spanish Grand Prix, but clearly that didn't turn out so well. And honestly? With how much hate you were getting for attending the Canadian Grand Prix, you were half-tempted to fly back across the ocean to Italy to help change diapers.

You scrolled past another negative post, one that wondered why Kimi would date you if you were so basic looking. You shut off your phone and resisted the urge to chuck it against the wall.

"What's wrong, vita mia?" Kimi called from the other room of the hotel, noticing you despondently laying starfished across the bed. You couldn't help but smile at the Italian nickname.

"Just stupid people on the internet," you replied. Kimi walked out of the other room, holding a leftovers box with spaghetti and meatballs that he had been warming up in the hotel microwave. Even if the spaghetti wasn't as good as authentic Italian pasta, it reminded both of them of home just a bit.

"Are you looking at the bad luck posts again?" Kimi asked, upset. He hated that there were people who called themselves his fans who treated his girlfriend so cruelly. You nodded.

Seeing your face, Kimi didn't say anything, but instead set the leftovers down on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed, his body angled towards you. You sat up, scooching towards Kimi so you could rest your head on his shoulder as both of you leaned back on the pillows.

"I'm sorry this is happening," Kimi said softly. "I got so caught up in my own dream, I hardly payed attention to the toll it was taking on you to be there, too."

"It's not that," you said, trying to think of a good way to describe how you felt. "I love supporting you, and getting to be a part of that dream. I just... wasn't prepared for the fans to not want me to be a part of it."

"Oh, carissima," Kimi whispered. He pulled you closer to him with his right arm, and rested his head on top of yours. You didn't even realize that tears had started to fall until he reached up to brush them away.

"I love you," you spoke quietly. "I love you, and it sucks that people don't see that."

"I love you too." Kimi reached over your side to grab the leftover pasta, handing you a fork and taking one for himself. "I'll fix this, amore. I promise."

kimi.antonelli

liked by yourusername, mercedesamgf1, user74 and 134, 092 others

kimi.antonelli Y/n and I have been together for years, and I am shocked and horrified to see with my own eyes people who call themselves my 'fans' turning against her. We love each other, in sickness and in health, in the happiness and in the hurting, and through both good fortune and bad luck.

Anyone who doesn't see that and respect our relationship, and my girlfriend, isn't a real fan by any means.

comments

yourusername <3

comments restricted on this post

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, georgerussel63, user10 and 184, 309 others

yourusername Mercedes 1-3 at the 2025 Canadian Grand Prix! I'm so incredibly proud, congratulazioni a entrambi! Let's go Kimi!!! (Something something bad luck charm... yeah, right. My boy is too good for luck :))

comments

georgerussel63 I see how it is... you get P1 and not even a picture

-> yourusername Gotta support the bf

->kimi.antonelli I'm her favorite 😇

->yourusername That too

[moonstruckme]

hi congrats on 10k this is sooo deserved!!!! i was wondering if you could write a blanket fort poly!marauders drabble w the prompt “i didn’t have anywhere else to go”? if you already have an idea in mind for this please write whatever you would like to but if you’re open to having something to go off of i was sort of thinking of pureblood!reader maybe crashing a sleepover at potter manor after deciding to leave home because of a similar situation to what sirius went through

Thank you <3

cw: implied family abuse (both for Sirius and reader, though it's left vague what that entailed), takes place after hogwarts, insanely cheesy narration sorry not sorry

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You don’t actually knock. 

You’re planning to. Or, you think you were planning to. You don’t actually know that you had a plan. You just—you apparated here on panic and adrenaline, but Merlin, what the fuck? You’re a mess. It’s the middle of summer, and you’re shaking, your bones rattling around in the hollowness of your body like coins in a tin cup. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. They won’t want to see you. A crushing loneliness digs its fingers into your gut, and you turn to go, but the door just—opens. 

An older man stands on the threshold with a rubbish bag in his hand. His eyes widen to find you in his path, a warm, familiar brown. He says your name. 

You’re surprised that Monty would remember you. You only met once, and you were a child then, trailing behind James and Sirius down Diagon Alley, trying diligently to keep up with their long-legged pace and rapid-fire jokes. He does, though. Monty says your name with a familiarity you didn’t realize you shared and a warmth that makes your chest ache. It feels like you blink and then you’re inside the Potter’s home with him closing the door behind you. 

You can hear the boys in the next room. It’s that unceasing jabber that seems to accompany the marauders wherever they go, sometimes cut through with a bark of laughter or a shout of mock offense, voices rising and falling and overlapping in a cadence you feel like you know even now, but it sounds distant, like the echo of another life. Still, you move towards it. 

Remus spots you immediately as you come around the corner of the kitchen. James and Sirius are too caught up in whatever they’re making—half of the pantry shoved into a blender, by the look of it—but Remus’ eyes lock on yours, the both of you stilling. Ultimately, it’s his aburpt silence that gets the attention of the other two. Monty’s quiet throat-clearing helps. 

Sirius reacts much the same as Remus. Freezing, like he can’t make sense of you here and he doesn’t trust it. James, though—Godric, he looks just like his father when his eyes flare like that. They’re all older than you left them, more adult, and though you’d known they would be it pangs in a way you hadn’t expected. James breathes your name like it belongs to a ghost. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, taking a step back. Monty has disappeared—it will never feel less strange to you, how much liberty the Potters give their son with his privacy—so there’s nothing between you and the door. You think it’s best if you go back from where you came. 

“What?” Sirius’ brows furrow in a way that wavers between bemusement and upset. “Why are you—what are you doing here?” 

Isn’t that the question of the evening? You don’t know, either. 

You think James sees this on your face, sees that you’re about to run, because he steps around the counter with his hands held out in a pacifying gesture. “We’re just surprised to see you,” he says. 

And, well, that’s fair. You haven’t seen any of them since your parents collected you at Kings’ Cross after your last year. You haven’t seen much of anyone, honestly. And while you were locked up at home, thinking of your friends and fantasizing about leaving, they were off living their own lives. Now, reunion stings. It reminds you that there was a separation in the first place. 

Your voice shatters as you finally answer Sirius’ question. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” 

James’ arms come around you, and you become aware of the rattling again. You’re rattling yourself apart. He holds you together as best he can, though not tightly. It reminds you that this isn’t his first time. You’re not the first wounded stray to come to the Potters’ doorstep, and James knows how to handle you. 

“It’s okay, you’re alright,” he says into the side of your head, letting you grip him so that your fingers bunch in his shirt. “You can always come here.” 

“I’m—I—” Your breaths come harshly. You taste salt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—” 

“Shh. Sweetheart, it’s alright. Why don’t we have some tea, yeah?” 

You’re transferred smoothly into another set of arms. The worn knit of Remus’ jumper wraps around you. He rubs your back and ushers you into a seat. 

Sirius stands over you. He cups your face, that same confusing furrow between his brows. “Are you hurt?” he asks. 

“No.” You want to shrink, but his eyes trap yours. “Not…not in a way that’s…” 

Pain flickers in Sirius’ expression. “Right. Okay, I understand. You’re okay, darling.” 

His touch slips to the back of your head, and it’s all your need to drive you forward, your hands clutching his hips as your face buries itself in his chest. Sirius holds firm as you break down. 

“I know. I know. You’re safe now, baby. We’ve got you.” 

His voice tightens and strains, and you think of the peace you’d stolen from them by coming here. It makes you cry harder, broken apologies stuttering out your lips. 

“Shh, breathe.” Remus rubs between your shoulders. His touch is heavier than the others’, lacking their same awareness of the state of you, but you welcome the ache. “Deep breaths. We want you here. We always want you here.” 

“I just—when I left, I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking—” 

“Hey, didn’t you hear Remus?” There’s a gentle teasing to Sirius’ tone now. “Breathe.” 

You don’t feel like you deserve to, but you try for their sake, forcing air in and out of your nose. Sirius’ shirt smells like laundry detergent. You wonder if James’ mother washed it for him. 

“There we go.” His nails scratch at your scalp rewardingly. “I think we’re all glad that you didn’t think, sweetness. However you ended up here, we’re happy about it. Okay?” 

You sniffle. The clink of porcelain against the table turns your head. James is setting a cup of steaming tea in front of you, diluted with cream to just the color you like. 

“I wasn’t invited,” you croak, just to him. “Your parents…” 

His eyebrows lift. “My dad brought you in, didn’t he?” 

You have no reply to that. 

James smiles. It’s not his happiest, but the sight of it lightens something in you anyway. “You’re always welcome here, sweetheart. Consider it an open invitation, alright?” He nudges the cup toward you. “Have some tea.” 

So you pick up the tea James made for you, with Remus’ hand on your back and Sirius lingering by your side like he plans to stand between you and the outside world. It tastes like coming home.

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ oh my god (she showed me all the stars ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by ✨ anon ˚₊ ⊹

ft. rumi x f! reader — kpop demon hunters

╰₊✧ rumi has her first time with her girlfriend┊1.7k words

contains: smut!! dom reader & sub rumi┊established relationship, rumi’s first time with another girl, scissoring, mentions of a past boyfriend 

➤ author's note: don’t be fooled by how hot she looks in the gif, she’s a total bottom here

rumi isn’t the most experienced when it comes to relationships and sex due to her busy lifestyle, but she isn’t a virgin, if you must know. she’s had a boyfriend before, two if you count the one in middle school (she doesn’t because she doesn’t remember his name), back in college when she was tense and stressed all the time while trying to juggle getting her degree, training to be an idol, and training to be a demon hunter. he was a nice guy: smart, funny, handsome, but she always knew that he wasn’t the one for her, more like a device to pass the time by making it more enjoyable with company and to stop the questions on why she was still single when she was as pretty as she was. to be completely honest, she doesn’t exactly remember much about her first time, even though it’s supposed to be a special event. it’s more of a blur because they had come back from a party and had quite a few drinks in their systems, but she certainly remembers the lack of sexual chemistry and feeling quite disappointed afterwards, even though they both had their orgasms. they did a few more times after that, but there was a lack of spark, like they were only going through the motions because couples were supposed to.

then they broke up after her rise as an idol, no longer having much time for him and no longer being able to live normally without being swarmed by paparazzi. she was more confused than anything about her lack of heartbreak over the entire thing, and for quite a while after that, she thought there was something wrong with her other than her half-demon blood. he really was a good guy all around, many said she was so lucky to be with a guy like him, but she didn’t understand it when she felt so neutral about him in every sense. 

soon, she realized that the issue wasn’t her lack of passion, but rather, she was simply with the wrong person (and was probably only with him due to pressure from outside forces to be with a man even if she didn’t care for him, which was the final verdict reached with the help of her elder gay friends during a sleepover), because once she caught feelings for you, she quickly found herself absolutely infatuated as if all of the feelings she was supposed to have for her previous boyfriend said “double it and give it to the next person.”

when you asked her out to be yours, she nearly passed out on the pavement right there because of the overwhelming amount of dopamine going to her brain, making her first instinct to scream about it to her friends before remembering that she actually had to agree. every day was christmas day with you after that, even if they were as mundane as just relaxing on the couch together or helping her practice choreography. she just adores you so much, and it makes her feel like a girl in a fairytale who got her forever happily ever after.

so when you have her in bed like this, underneath you and pressed into the mattress, fully sober and making out sensually on your bed with your hands instinctively starting to wander all over her body after pinning her wrists to the side of her head, she feels nervous. she’s never done with another girl before and doesn’t know much about it as a result, and she feared she would disappoint you in the same way she was disappointed by her ex. 

you could tell that she was worried by the way she was suddenly hesitating to continue, so you let go of her for a moment and looked her in the eyes, full of understanding in a way that only wanted what was best for her, “we don’t have to do anything tonight, you know. we could just cuddle and watch a movie if you want—”

“no! it’s not that i don’t want it, it’s just… i’ve never done it with another girl before, and i’m just… not that experienced in general…”

“i don’t mind that, i just want you to be comfortable, that’s all.”

“i am! and i really want to do it with you, i’m just a little… nervous, that’s all…” how is it that she was easily able to perform in front of millions as an idol, but was suddenly getting shy about intimacy between girlfriends?

her ears were burning from embarrassment, finding it hard to believe that she could easily perform in front of millions as an idol but was suddenly getting shy about intimacy between girlfriends.

“don’t worry about it, it’s completely normal,” you assured. “whatever you want to try, i’ll teach you.”

“well, i… could you… could we try… scissoring?” her ears were burning from embarrassment, evident by how red they were, and her voice had lowered to a kind of high-pitched whisper. 

“you wanna try scissoring?”

“i just… you know, i wanna know if it’s real or just a porn thing… zoey said it didn’t really do anything for her but mira said it did… so i was wondering if it would work for me?”

god, she’s so cute when she’s all shy and submissive like this. you wanted to tease her so badly, but you refrained, knowing that this was a vulnerable moment for her. besides, you’ll have all the time in the world to do it when she’s more confident, moving to kiss her again to unravel her anxiousness, “just lay there and be pretty for me, okay princess?”

rumi’s already a hot mess and melting like putty in your hands, both at the term of endearment and the mere thought of your lower lips ‘kissing’ like the upper ones were right now. you could tell how aroused she was by it when you pulled off her underwear, cute and pink and so soaked that there was an evident wet patch in the fabric, and you couldn’t help but place a little kiss on her pretty flower-like pussy to watch her blush all over. the intricate patterns painted were starting to flicker in a similar vibrant purple as her hair, making you wonder how they would light up like fireworks when she orgasms. 

her mind is running in laps as you strip yourself of your own clothing to match her nude state and position yourself to interlock legs in the most comfortable position. it’s her first time properly seeing you naked, the only other time being when she accidentally walked in on you changing before bolting out of there in mortification, but she’s laying there questioning how on god’s green earth a loser like her who was barely able to string together a sentence when you first met managed to pull and be in bed with a goddess like you. 

the gawking didn’t last for much longer as you pulled her close to you, and she finally felt your two heats meet, so close and intimate in ways she’d never believed possible. it seemed so natural to her to be like this, with your hips slowly moving in a constant motion to press your cunts together, allowing her to feel every inch of you against her in the best way possible. the pressure was making pleasure build as the stimulation made her let out a moan, unable to help herself from also moving to copy your actions and make it faster and better. 

the entire thing is so exhilarating with her heart beating out of her chest as your clits kiss and grind against each other, providing the most exhilarating feeling she could have ever dreamed of. it’s all so intimate, as if this was a ritual that was helping connect your souls in a deeper manner, and she’s felt closer to you now more than ever, both physically and emotionally.

 she peeked one eye open to watch your through her long lashes, observing how yours were screwed shut with the most beautiful expression she’s ever seen while you focus on the movement, the light of the nearby lamp catching in the light sheen of sweat coating your soft skin and making you look more radiant than normal. 

an unfamiliar knot was beginning to form in her abdomen. her mind was all hazy, and she briefly wondered if you had noticed that there were tears in the corners of her eyes and a little bit of drool starting to trickle down her mouth at the heavenly ecstasy. she’s close, she could feel it, but in a way, she didn’t want it to happen yet. you would probably start with aftercare after she bursts like a bubble, being all sweet and tender as you help clean her up, but in a way, she didn’t want this to end yet even if it meant she’ll pass out from exhaustion.

she wants to go all night if it were possible, and if you were willing to. she has plenty of stamina from always singing and dancing for the better part of the day for most of her recent years, and she’s sure she could keep up with whatever you threw her way, even if you wanted to strap her down or finger her senseless or anything else you wanted to do.

all of these wild things running through her head of you using her until she was completely spent was enough to send her over the edge after a mere six minutes of stimulation with her eyes rolling to the back of her skull and her toes curling. “god, that was… that was so perfect,” she whispered once she came down from her high, noticing that her patterns had taken on a gentle glow and that there was a slight numbing feeling in her quivering thighs. it was one of the most amazing feelings she’s ever experienced, second only to the day she found out she would be debuting with her dearest friends but before the day she graduated high school. 

“here, i’ll help you get cleaned up and run a bath—”

“wait!” she called out, grabbing onto your wrist. you still haven’t came yet, and even if you were putting all of your focus on her, she could see that you were still in clear need of your own release. “could you also teach me how to… how to eat… pussy?”

request:

Hi hi! ✨ anon here again! Hope you’re having a good day/night! The last prompt was so good! I loved Rumi’s part! I was wondering if I could request a nsfw fic with Rumi and a female reader? With Rumi being new to wlw intimacy (new to it in general, but not knowing as much about sapphic spicy stuff) And her girlfriend guiding her through it? (Stuff like scissoring and eating out for example) Thanks! And please take your time! No worries!

[whoswitchybabyanyway]

say it again

pairing: aaron hotchner x gn!reader

word count: 1.7k

summary: drunk texting your new(ish) boyfriend while out with friends :)

includes: no use of y/n, no gender specific description of reader, reader is drunk/mentions of alcohol and drinking, fluff. just cute wholesome fluff

It was supposed to be a casual Friday–a few drinks with friends, stories swapped over bar food and music too loud to really talk through. But you hadn’t realized how tired you were. How little you’d eaten today. Or how fast whiskey sours hit when you aren’t paying attention.

You don’t mean to get that drunk.

You had meant to just check in. To send a cute text to your boyfriend of a few months–the man you’d worked with for years, who had somehow gone from boss to friend to something infinitely more terrifying: someone you could see yourself falling for.

Your messages start out… maybe a little embarrassing, but at least coherent..

“miss u. u would hate this place lol so loud”

“why do guys named brad always yell”

“ur tie looked good today. tell it i said hi”

And then someone had ordered a round of shots. And then another. And suddenly, your thumbs stopped obeying your brain–which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders either.

“emergency: i need cheese fries n maybe a hug. or both at once”

“hotsh hotc hotdch ur eyes are SO BROWN”

“ty for ur face and ur arms n ur … exist???”

You’ll be mortified by all of it tomorrow morning, but currently, you can’t find yourself caring about much, other than the fact he hasn’t answered.

You frown down at your screen, chin tucked into your hand, your other arm lazily draped around a half-finished drink in a sweating glass.

“What’s wrong with your face?” your friend asks, half-laughing at the childish pout on your lips.

“He left me on read,” you mumble, wiggling the phone at her as though it’s Exhibit A. “Aaron. He read it. Didn’t respond. He read it.”

She squints at your screen, then snorts. “How is he supposed to reply to ‘you’re the best jawline in the whole FBI’?”

You pout harder. “I dunno. Say thanks?”

Your friend just laughs at you, shaking her head. But you don’t think it’s funny.

Because even though you know you’re being ridiculous, even though the room is warm and the night is young, your chest hurts a little. Just a pinch. A flicker of doubt where certainty usually lives. 

You haven’t been together long–just a few months–and it’s all new, still fragile. You’re not used to this part yet. The missing him in public. Needing him without permission. The strange, quiet way his absence can leave you feeling a little off-kilter.

You stare at your phone.

“Fine,” you whisper. “Leave me on read. Rude.”

You sigh and drop your head onto the table, face smooshed against your arm. “I’m going to die here. I’m going to become a ghost in this Chili’s-adjacent bar and haunt the bathroom.”

Your friend pats your head. “You’ll be a beautiful ghost.”

You groan.

And then–

He’s just there.

You blink, lifting your head too fast–definitely too fast, based on the way the room tilts. But it doesn’t matter, because your heart is already thudding, even before your brain catches up with your eyes.

Aaron stands by the door, scanning the room, his tie slightly undone, his expression unreadable in the dim bar light. His eyes find yours, and his whole posture shifts–like something softens behind his stern exterior. Relief, maybe. Familiarity. 

Your mouth drops open. “Hotch?”

He’s already moving toward you, steady and sure.

“You stopped making sense,” he says calmly as he reaches you, slipping a hand under your elbow to help you out of the booth. “Figured I’d come get you after the third text you shortened ‘your’ to ‘ur’.”

“You read my texts,” you accuse softly, tilting your head back to look at him.

“I did,” he says as though it’s obvious, guiding you through the crowd like he’s done it a hundred times. 

“You didn’t answer.”

“I figured showing up would say more.”

You blink.

Oh.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or just him, but your chest folds in on itself. You let him guide you out into the night, warm and solid at your side, and suddenly the rest of the world feels quieter.

A little less lonely.

The car smells like him. Clean, calm, a little like cologne and a lot like comfort. You curl into the passenger seat, his jacket draped over your legs, your shoes on the floor, bare feet propped on the dash despite his protests.

The window is cracked. The scent of pine and rain float in on the wind. The road curves gently away from the city, trees rising up like shadows on either side.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” you mumble.

Aaron hums. “You sent me a voice memo where you just repeated the word ‘eyebrows’ for thirty seconds.”

You groan, covering your face. “That’s not a crime.”

“I didn’t say it was. But it was… concerning.”

You peek at him—his profile bathed in the dim light of the dashboard, jawline sharp, mouth soft. That little tug of a smile plays at the corner, the one that always makes your heart do strange things.

You’ve known him for years. Shared cases. Late nights. Quiet grief. It took months to earn that smile, and when you finally did, you made it a mission to chase it every chance you got. And then—somewhere between burnt coffee and unexpected laughter—everything changed.

A kiss, in the kitchen after an especially tough case. A breathless “what are we doing?” followed by that smile and the softest, realest “I don’t know. But I want to keep doing it.”

It’s still new. Still precious.

But you can’t deny it already feels like home. 

Outside, stars scatter across the sky. You tilt your head, watching them. A few drift–too slow to be shooting stars, too steady to be anything magical. Satellites, maybe. You squint, tipsy and thoughtful.

“Do they ever crash?” you ask, voice quiet. “The stars and satellites. Do they ever just–” you mimic an explosion with your fingers. “Boom?”

Aaron glances at you, like he’s deciding whether you’re serious. Eventually, he says, “No. They keep their distance.”

“That’s kind of lonely,” you say. “All that space between things. Nothing touching.”

He’s quiet again for a second, eyes back on the road. Then: “Or maybe it’s safe.”

You let that settle. Then smile, a little sad. “I think it’s sad.”

He glances over at you again. “You think everything is sad when you’re drunk.”

You pout. “Not true.”

He reaches over, hand brushing yours where it rests on your knee. “Alright. What’s not sad?”

You turn your head, taking him in. The clean line of his jaw, the focus in his eyes even as he drives, the quiet steadiness of his presence. Your heart softens, like it always does with him. 

“You,” you say, a little too easily. “You’re the opposite of sad.”

He doesn’t respond right away—just gives your hand a quiet squeeze.

“When you’re like this,” he murmurs, “you forget to hold back.”

You smile, sleepy and honest. “I know. But you love me.”

A beat.

“I do.”

You blink.

The words hang in the air like mist, weightless and heavy at the same time. The quiet hum of the tires on asphalt, the wind brushing through the cracked window, the rustle of leaves as the road curves–all of it fades beneath two words spoken so simply that they almost don’t register. 

You sit with it for a second. Like you’re not sure you even heard him right. 

Almost.

But then they do.

“...You do?”

Your voice is barely a whisper, a fragile thing in the dark of the car. You’re staring at him now–more sober in this moment than you’ve been all night. Not just because the alcohol is wearing off, but because nothing snaps you into clarity like him.

Aaron’s hand is still on yours, thumb moving once, slow across your skin.

He doesn’t look over at first. Just exhales, the smallest lift of his brow, like he’s thinking back through the last thirty seconds and only now realizing what slipped out.

He gives a quiet, dry sort of laugh. “Suppose that’s not how I meant to say it.”

You just stare at him. “So… you did say it?”

His mouth twists–not regretful, just wry. That little pinch between his brows appears, the one you’ve come to learn means he’s sifting through something careful and important. “I did. Wasn’t planning to. Not like this. Not while driving you home after you sent me a bunch of texts about how brown my eyes are.”

You let out a tiny wheeze. “They’re very brown. Deeply brown.”

He huffs a laugh, but it’s quiet. Focused elsewhere.

“I mean it, though.”

You don’t breath.

He clears his throat, almost awkward. “I do love you. I was going to say it eventually. Preferably when you were sober. Maybe cook something. Say it over dinner. Something better than… a carfessional.”

You gasp. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t say it again.”

“A carfessional.” You bite your lip, barely holding in your smile. 

He groans, but you can see it—his smile, finally unguarded. Like he’s letting himself have this.

And something about that makes your eyes sting. It's a shaky little moment, full of that strange, sacred feeling that only comes around a few times in life.

You turn back toward the window, toward the trees passing by like silhouettes, the stars still scattered like someone spilled silver across the sky. You’re quiet for a while. Letting your heart settle. Letting the words breathe.

Then, softly: “I love you too.”

Aaron doesn’t flinch but you see it–the way his hand pauses slightly against yours. The way his shoulders shift, like something’s unfulring inside him. He doesnt say anything, but you don’t need him too.

He brings your hand to his lips, presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

You smile down at your lap, at the warmth tucked beneath his jacket, at the world outside that suddenly feels a little softer. 

After a few moments, you sigh.

“... Still want cheese fries, though.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“I’ll find you some,” he says. “But only because I love you.”

Your smile curls wide. Warm. Dizzy with the weight of it.

“Gross,” you whisper. “Say it again.”

He glances over, flashes another smile back at you.

“I love you,” he says again, like it’s easy now.

Like it was always meant to be.

divider by strangergraphics

[yuiiiriii]

boyfriend!Inumaki who’s a loser in a hot body. It’s kinda like dating two people. He’s so expressive in text with you because, well, that’s his main way of communication with you. Other than the notes and letters he always gives you.

Through text he’s always his trolling playful self and the longer you’ve been together you noticed just how confident he gets over text. However when you’re with him in person, he does a complete one eighty. Everything you do lights him aflame, he’s breaking out into a huge blush, hiding behind his sweater. You think it’s cute. That’s he’s cute. He loved to tease you over text and you loved to tease him in person.

But boy was it a different level when you’d confront him about it. This night was a little more than your guys usually teasing.

As Toge shuts off his phone does he only realize the reality of the situation right now. And he’s fucking nervous. He’s already half hard thinking of you but his hands are clammy and he feels so hot.

Still, he makes it over to you, opening your door and making sure no one else heard him come in. When he turns around to meet your eyes, he gulps.

“Hi baby.” You whisper, your hands finding their home on his cheeks, rubbing along the patterns etched into his skin.

You loved when he was bare like this, when you were able to see all of his face. He was so pretty after all, it was shame he hid it half the time. His hands shakily rest on your waist and you smile innocently.

“You sure you’re ready?” You question, your thumb still gliding along his cheeks. He hums.

“Are you?” He whispers and you smile, trying to hide it by biting your lip. You hum and just like that your lips connect.

You weren’t dumb, you noticed how nervous he was, you could sense it. In a way you were to, but the need to dominate your usually cocky boyfriend was clouding your mind. The kiss is heated right off the bat, your tongue exploring his mouth as his hands grow more impatient, grabbing whatever he could.

You slowly led him to your bed, pushing him so he can sit as you made your way on top of him. He pouts when your lips leave him to suck at his neck. He hissed and squeezed your waist.

“Let’s take this off yea?” You smirk against his neck, pulling off his shirt above his head.

Toge flushes, his heart beating unhealthily fast. His chest, ears and neck were all red, making you grin. You noticed he was getting shy under your gaze, you were just taking a second to admire your boyfriend’s lean body. You go back to placing kisses on his neck, gliding yours hand down his chest, he shudders, his Addams apple bobbing. You notice this and move to suck on it, making him let out a strangled gasp.

He’s beginning to notice how you’re easily dominating so he tugs at your shirt, a signal that he wants it off. So you sit up, tearing it off of you and now it’s his turn to stare. A lacy bra that hugged your breasts so perfectly, it makes him groan.

“Touch me Toge.” You add a little whine to your voice, knowing it’d have an effect on him.

You grab his hands, placing them on top of your chest. His eyes are blown wide, as he fondles your breasts. He squeezes and tugs, his hands trailing to slide the straps off your shoulders. One hand rests on your waist as you unclasp your bra, letting it fall on the floor. Toge’s breathing is erratic as his eyes lid with pure lust. His hands move to cup them and you moan, only egging him on. He leans down to press light pecks and then his tongue darts out getting a perfect sigh of the marking on his tongue as he wets your nipple.

You whine as your hands, tangle in his hair. He takes one into his mouth, sucking and leaving playful bites on them. You’re a whining mess on top of him. It becomes a problem for him when you grinding down on him. He’s groaning in to your skin, his hands guiding your hips along his. He’s warm, his clothed bulge fitting perfectly under your clothed cunt. He would spend hours playing with your boobs if he could but you’re growing impatient.

So you lightly tug him off you and he’s a little dazed. You smile as you stand in between his legs, stripping in front of him. He swallows dryly, his hand reaching out to glide across your dips and curves. Then you’re kneeling down in front of him, his eyes widening. You slide down his sweats only to be with a dark patch on his boxers. He covers his face and you giggle.

“What happened Toge? You all shy now? It’s ok, I’ll take care of you.” You smile, palming him through his boxers, his hips jolt, his hand slapped over his mouth.

He was so sensitive and you were loving every second of it. You finally pull down his boxers and his cock springs out, his tip an angry red. A bead of pre cum dribbles out and you lick your lips.

“You’re so pretty Toge, big too.” He whines, biting his lip so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t torn.

You plant kisses on his inner thighs sucking a mark on it making him hiss. You finally wrap a hand around him and he groans. You haven’t even had him in your mouth nor pussy and he was already a mess. You swipe your thumb along his slit and he grips the sheets. His eyes are squeezed shut so it’s a surprise when he’s met with your warm mouth.

This time he lets out a guttural moan, something you’d never expect to hear from your boyfriend. You can tell he’s shocked to because he’s even redder now. You take him in deeper and you can feel him twitch in your mouth. He’s panting at this point, his hands pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

“S’good.” He babbles out, his eyes are barely open as he focuses in on the way your pretty lips wrap around his length.

Your hand goes up to massage his balls and he’s spasming. Series of ‘Yeses’ leaving his lips as he hunches over you, fucking into your mouth. You gag around him and the clench of your throat only makes him cum harder. He’s whimpering as the rush of his orgasm dissipates. He falls on your bed as he tries to catch his breath. His mind is mush that he doesn’t even notice you’re getting on top of him. You’re surprised he was still hard but that only made you all the more excited. Only when you grab him again does he rest on his elbows, eyes bulging as you glide his tip along your folds. You’re both moaning as you grow more needy. Toge is delirious.

“Ima put it in ok?” You huff out and he’s letting out shaky breathes, nodding quickly to your words.

You were so wet from sucking your boyfriend off that he bottoms out pretty easy. A pathetic moan leaves his mouth when he’s fully sheathed inside you. His hands shoot to your hips, a vice grip as he tries to fight the urge to cum again. He’s so fucking overstimulated but your walls are so warm and so tight he tears up.

“You okay baby? Don’t cry does it hurt?” He shakes his head frantically, god he feels like such a bitch. Or as he’d say, a beta.

“I’m gonna move, I can’t wait anymore, you feel to good.” You clench around him and you feel him twitch inside you at the praise.

With a lift of your hips your, slamming back down on him. You both moan and you begin to set a steady pace. You’re leaning down to catch his lips in a messy kiss. Neither of you even being able to kiss back because of how much you two were moaning.

“Acting all high and mighty hm? L-Look who’s beneath who.” You laugh out and he blushes.

“Fuck, I wanna cum so bad Toge, M’getting tired.” You puff out and now it’s your turn for your eyes to well up in tears at the sheer frustration of wanting your release.

That sight is like a switch for Toge and in a second his hands are on your thighs. He’s sitting up and flipping you under him.

“W-What Toge—ngh!”

You’re not able to process what just happened because he’s setting a brutal pace. His hands have your legs spread as he fucks you like he hates your guts. He’s utterly addicted and pussy whipped. His hips don’t skip a beat and you’re crying—sobbing even. He feels your cunt tightening around him and he stutters.

“So close, please Toge.” You cry, his dick hurts from his previous orgasm but he can’t stop. You’re so warm and wet he doesn’t think he can ever stop. Squelching is heard throughout your room and your bed creaking, you both are trying so hard not to let your noises be heard. Toge doesn’t let up and he drops a hand to your clit, rubbing it messily.

That’s just enough to have your back arching off the bed, as you convulse around him. Toges hand grabs the small of your back, fucking you through your high. You pull him into a kiss by his hair as you moan into his mouth. With a few more thrusts and whimpers and whines into your mouth he’s pumping you full of his seed. The both of you pant in to each others mouth, his hips slowing down as you both come down from your intense highs.

Toge’s arms sneak under your back pulling you flush against him. His head rests on your breasts as he tries to calm down his breathing. You’re doing the same as you slide a hand into his slightly damp hair. You both were covered with sweat and when pulls out you wince at the feeling of his seed spilling out of you.

“Toge, can you wipe me.” You rasp out and he lets out a noise, standing abruptly.

However his knees buckle not realizing how shaky they were. Yet he stills grabs his shirt, lightly cleaning you. Once he’s done he’s sliding in to your bed, pulling you flush against him. You both are so tired but you had a little energy to speak to him.

“I love you Toge, that was amazing.” You giggle into his neck and he smiles dumbly, rubbing your back. His nose nudges along your ear, his lips brushing across them as well.

“I love you too.” He whispers, sending shivers down your spine.

The both of you drifting off in each other arms. You were gonna have so much fun teasing him about this tomorrow.

He wasn’t wrong though, his hips did not lie.

© yuiiiriii

[i9messi]

Don't break up with me — Oscar Piastri

Because of a misunderstanding, Oscar thinks you want to break up with him. Signals made him suspect he was right, but in fact, you just want to surprise him with a new puppy.

word count — 1,3k

note: i promise you this is pure fluff and romantic stuff. oscar here loves reader soo much, so I hope you enjoy it!

MASTERLIST

Oscar started to think about the last half of the year. Everything in your relationship had been so wonderful in those last few months, almost too perfect to be real.

You went to support him to his races every weekend, had romantic dates in your favourite places, went to museums and book stores and enjoyed ordinary things such as going together to the market. You had a beautiful relationship, where you supported each other and talked about your concerns as well as your future. Having known each other since you were teens, you and Oscar had talked many times about what you wanted to do in the future: to get marry and start a family.

Your families were very close, his mother loved you and you loved her, even spent time with her when he was not around. Your side of the family adopted him as their son, showing love to him.

There was no way you would break up with him. It made no sense.

However, the signs were there. That morning before heading to the circuit he had called you and you interrupted him, saying you were busy. That would have made sense and it was fine, except then he talked later to his mom and she told him you had been texting her all morning. Why didn’t you want to talk to him?

It was bad. That couldn’t be happening.

“Oscaaaaaaaaaaarr.” Someone shouted and that made him come back to reality.

Lando was in front of him, while he was sitting on the couch. Oscar used to be the most calm in your relationship. He took things easy, used to think before taking action, but now thinking so much was turning him into a person full of insecurity.

“What's wrong?” Lando asked, realizing that his teammate was acting differently than usual.

“Nothing.”

“Is this about your girlfriend?”

Oscar didn't try to hide the truth, not with him. “I think she’s going to break up with me.”

Lando was silent for a moment, until he burst out laughing.

“Don’t laugh, I feel bad. I’m devastated.”

“She’s not gonna break up with you, mate.”

You didn’t live together yet, you hadn’t taken that step in your relationship yet, but you practically lived next to each other. Your apartments in Monaco were only a few meters away. Yesterday he had invited you on a date and you told him that you couldn’t go. Lately it was as if you didn't want to spend your time together, as if his mere presence was annoying to you.

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you're the perfect couple. You love each other, you show the world how adorable you are, and then make everyone else feel miserable.”

“I don’t think that’s true anymore, Lando.”

“Go talk to her, then. Crying and feeling bad about it won’t solve a thing. Go and win back your lady.”

Oscar listened to his teammate, knew he couldn’t waste time or the opportunity to talk with you. He found you just a few minutes later and you hugged him, while he left a kiss on your forehead.

“Baby, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Oscar. Congratulations for the race, I'm very proud of you.”

That had to mean something, didn’t it? If you hadn’t missed him and if you didn’t want him more in your life, you wouldn’t have answered that. Oscar was trying to convince himself that he still had a chance with you.

“Let’s go to my house.” he suggested, as you raised your head and looked at him with a face that showed no feelings.

“We better go to mine. We need to talk.”

Damn. You were going to break up with him. You never spoke like that, you had never said those words before.

On the way to your apartment in Monaco, he drove quietly. Oscar noticed you were nervous. You ran your hand through your hair and barely spoke. You were acting strange. He was increasingly convinced that once you arrived at your home, you would tell him that you wanted to break up with him.

The road was eternal and the worst of the worst. You arrived and stayed in the living room.

“Would you like some water?”

“Yes, please.”

You went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and came back a few seconds later. He drank the water in a single instant, too thirsty and nervous.

“Is something wrong, Oscar?”

“Do you want to break up with me?”

You stayed silent, until Oscar spoke again. His eyes were shining, his hair was messy from all the times he had passed his hands over it.

“Don’t break up with me, please. I don’t know what I would do without you in my life, you're my everything. I love you, that’s all I know. If I did something wrong just tell me, I'll try my best to not make the same mistake again."

“Oscar, baby…”

He hesitated, but he walked a step closer to you. Oscar was trying to not lose his mind.

“We can’t break up."

His supplicant gaze begged you not to leave him, not when he needed you so much.

“I love you and my life would be shattered without you.”

And something happened. You smiled.

“Oscar, I’m not breaking up with you. I don’t know what made you think I would.”

Calm made Oscar relax, but he remained confused. He was very sure of all the signs he had seen, he wasn't crazy and he was not imagining things. You had been acting strangely in those last days.

“Then why have you been acting so weird?”

“Wait for me, I’ll be right back!”

You left and came back a while later with something in your arms. A little puppy.

“It’s for you, honey.”

Oscar couldn’t help but come closer to you to see the puppy. The animal looked at him with a little mistrust, but once his hand came to caress the dog, the puppy began to move his tail with happiness, while you saw him with a smile on your face.

“A dog? For me?”

“It was a surprise. I talked with your mum about it and she even helped me. When you'll be busy with work stuff, I will be taking care of him.”

Your boyfriend grabbed the animal in his arms, the puppy ran his tongue over his face and Oscar squinted his eyes, while he couldn't stop feeling his heart beating frantically in his chest.

“l didn't expect this, thank you.”

“I would never break up with you, Oscar. You make me happy. That’s why I thought of adopting a puppy for you.”

“Then why were you acting so weird?”

“Because I wanted it to be a surprise. Yesterday I went to get him and that’s why I canceled our plans. Today the puppy peed in the clothes I was going to wear, just when you called. Also, he started barking and didn’t want you to find out. It was my little secret.”

Oscar had never been so happy, he left a kiss on your lips. Your mouths joined and he smiled so happily.

“I love you, you made me the happiest man in the world.”

“We have our little family now, Oscar. We are parents of a dog.”

Even as you planned to start a family when you were old enough, sharing the life of a pet was everything to him. Sharing the care and affection of a puppy made his tender and loving part appear.

“I love you and I love this animal. I will take care of you and him for my whole life.”

You weren't breaking up with him, that was the best part of all.

[kyber-crystal]

through the seasons || f.w.

summary: he would love you till the end of time. everyone can see it, and they can only hope that you’ll come to your senses and realize that too.

words: ~6.4k (i went overboard LMFAO)

warnings: light angst, some mentions of death / violence (but dw it's a happy ending)

a/n: first ever hp fic in like, ever LOL so apologies if this seems off in any way. the timeline for this is a lil weird?? but basically the fic starts during the spring of GOF: you’re a year below fred & a year above the golden trio : ) ALSO i highly recommend listening to 'moonlight serenade' by frank sinatra ESP during the parts it's mentioned in. you'll see why :)))) add yourself to my hp taglist here!

spring

Given that springtime was nearly over, it was rather cold outside. 

The sky gleamed a bright, cornflower blue, with the May morning breeze hitting your skin. You, Hermione, and Ginny found yourselves huddling together in the stands and tightly clutching each other to keep warm. 

Anticipation nipped at your insides like tiny needles. You had spent the past half-hour at breakfast listening to a nervous Ron ramble on about how he hardly knew what he was doing, and seeing an unusually quiet Fred pick at his food. You knew it wasn’t like him to spend almost an entire meal without saying more than a few words. 

“You ok?” you mouthed, glancing over at the redhead in concern.  “As long as you’re looking at me,” Fred replied, attempting a small smile. He pressed something warm and fuzzy into your hands under the table. “You’re my good luck charm today. Keep this for me during the match.” You nodded, and felt your heart warm as you looked down to see that it was the fuzzy scarf he always wore during Hogsmeade trips or around the castle when it got particularly chilly. His initials had been hand-stitched into one end—undoubtedly Mrs. Weasley’s handiwork. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” “That’s my girl.”

“Look!” Ginny whisper-shouted, ending your momentary flashback. “I think that’s them!”

The Gryffindor team filed out into the stadium to be instantly met with a cacophony of loud cheers and applause. Your throat was already starting to hurt from screaming alongside the seas of blazing red and gold, though the match had yet to begin. 

Without even realizing it, you found your eyes scanning the area for a particular ginger-haired Beater, and the tension you didn’t even know you had in your shoulders loosened as soon as you saw him. 

“You’re not even playing, yet I’d say you’re as big of a mess as poor Ronald,” Hermione chuckled lightly. “Concerned for someone?”

“Oh shut up,” you muttered, tightening Fred’s scarf around your neck just a bit more. “It’s the last match of the year—I’m just as nervous as everyone else. I need to see someone beat Malfoy’s egotistical arse to a pulp.”

Both her and Ginny snorted at this. 

“You’re right…but that’s not who I was referring to,” your best friend reminded you. 

You rolled your eyes. “Uh huh.”

“Don’t you think you care a little too much? More than a friend should?”

“No,” you stated flatly. But Hermione knew this was a lie—after all, she had known you for five years now and could tell when you were lying. She watched as you fiddled with the ends of the colorful scarf around your neck—a flash of something caught her eye, and she squinted to see F.W. embroidered in delicate gold. 

Of course you were being serious, she chuckled to herself. She decided to not say anything about why you had Fred’s scarf on, and instead joked, “Do you think he or Ron’ll make it without getting a concussion?” 

“Now that’s hard to say…” you began, knowing how the two boys were sometimes often quite clumsy. “Fingers are crossed that my Fred will be just fine.”

“Your Fred? What about Ron?” she raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you care about both of them?”

“—Both of them will be just fine,” you quickly corrected yourself. “They’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” she said, unconvinced that your reply wasn’t just a slip of the tongue. 

Turning your attention back to the game, you heard Lee Jordan’s classic, enthusiastic voice echo across the grounds. “Welcome to the last Quidditch match of the YEAR! We have quite the game in store today, Gryffindor versus Slytherin…” 

Eventually, after the captains shook hands and everyone mounted their brooms, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and released the balls into the air. Loud cheers filled the stadium once again, and all fourteen players shot up into the sky. You were only really focusing on one thing—or person, really. It seemed that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

“—aaand that’s a Bludger to the head from Fred Weasley, ouch, that’s gotta hurt…There goes Katie Bell, making a swift pass over to Johnson…there’s Johnson with the Quaffle! And then, ,there he goes…Fred Weasley does it AGAIN! Malfoy gets a hard Bludger to the back—”

Right then, Fred caught your eye and winked. You sent back a shy wave in response. 

Everyone tries their best to ignore the Slytherin section’s jeering taunts and chants of Weasley Is Our King. You didn’t need to look over to know Ron was hardly taking it. 

From there on out it was a blur of motion, noise, and loud sounds, and before you knew it, the match was over and done. 

“—GRYFFINDOR WINS! WITH WEASLEY’S GAME-WINNING BLOCK AND POTTER’S SHEER SPEED, THEY WIN!” The excitement is clear in Lee’s voice. “GRYFFINDOR WINS THE QUIDDITCH CUP!”

The crowd went wild again as Fred made his downward descent. As soon as the tips of his shoes touched the grass he jumped off and immediately rushed over to you as fast as his feet would take him.

Your head was spinning and you could barely tell what was going on amidst the ground-shaking noise and overall chaos. But there he was in front of you now, sweaty and tired but grinning wildly nonetheless as he brought you into a tight embrace. He started spinning you around and you couldn’t help but join in on his contagious laughter. 

“There’s my good luck charm,” he whispered into your ear as he set you down, breath fanning against the skin behind your ear. 

Having no words left except pure joy, you shook your head and smiled as you leaned into him, squeezing him back even tighter. “I’m so proud of you.”

Both of you were too busy to notice that your friends around you had stopped congratulating the other players and chattering with one another, their eyes now on you two. Ginny, Harry, and Hermione exchanged a look, and Ron, amidst his nerves and exhaustion, cracked a grin as he watched his older brother and best friend savoring a moment with each other. 

Hopefully, they’ll realize it for themselves…he thought. Amidst the chaos of the past year, he knew that all of them—especially the two of you—deserved a bit of peace more than anything. 

summer

“Last one there is a rotten egg and has to take the soddy backup broom!” Ginny shouted. You all immediately broke into a sprint at this, scrambling to go outside for yet another round of backyard Quidditch. Harry damn near tripped over his own feet as he and Ron tried pushing over each other to squeeze out the back door. Fred and George were doing the same thing, and you and Hermione used this chance to sneak past them. You silently high-fived each other at this.

“Boys will be boys…” she laughed quietly, linking your arm through hers as you continued walking across the meadow, the grass brushing against the fabric of your trousers. “There’s no catching a break around here.”

Lo and behold, poor Ron was forced to take the backup broom, grumbling the entire time as everyone put their gear on. “I hate you guys. Haven’t I been through enough already?”

Everyone took turns being the score-keeper, and this time it was Hermione (she had also been score-keeper the last two rounds as she was a bit tired, and didn’t really mind). She sat down under the giant apple tree as she chose the teams. 

“Harry, George, and Fred!” she called out. “Versus the rest of you.” 

“That’s so not fair!” Ron complained. “You have two Beaters and the—”

“—youngest Seeker in a century on one team,” Harry finished his sentence with a cheeky grin.

Ron rolled his eyes. “At least I’m with you, Y/N…I guess…”

“Thanks for the compliment, Ronald,” you said with a slight hint of sarcasm. 

It was only a few minutes in the match when Fred found himself distracted. He was supposed to be on guard, but his eyes kept wandering over to you, zipping around on your broom with ease, gliding through the air like a bird. He wondered when he stopped seeing you as just his ‘best friend’ and started seeing you as someone who made his heart beat faster; someone who he desperately wanted to see smile because that’s all he needed to make his entire day. 

“Awe, come on, Freddie, get your head back in the game!” you called out to him in a teasing voice as he just barely blocked a flying Bludger hurtling towards his face. “Don’t wanna be slammed into, now do you?”

He shook his head and quickly snapped out of it. “Of course not.”

“Blimey, Fred! You nearly gave yourself another concussion there from ogling at her!” George exclaimed. 

“I can’t help but be charming,” you joked, sending Fred a wink. “Enjoy the view while you can!”

It was only mid-morning/barely afternoon by the time you finished the last match, but if anything, your sore muscles told you that it felt like days had passed. Adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins as everyone headed in, laughing at the thrill of flying through the skies without a care in the world. 

“Remember that losers have to make lunch!” Harry reminded.

Ginny groaned. “Come on. Way to ruin the vibe.”

You, her, and Ron all let out long sighs before heading straight to the kitchen to whip something up for the six of you. Food bets needed to stop…

After a quick meal of sandwiches, everyone headed back outside to play more rounds of backyard Quidditch. You opted to stay in this time around; the dull ache in your shoulders and lower back telling you you’d had enough for the day. One cold shower and some quiet work helping Mr. Weasley organize his home office later, you slumped onto the sofa.

The remainder of the afternoon and evening went by slowly but peacefully. Eventually, you found yourselves sitting around on the living room floor, playing board games well into the night while the crickets chirped outside. The days were long, and cracking jokes and long talks came much easier than they normally did. Of course, Fred sat next to you the entire time, finding a way to be touching you in one way or another no matter what. Shoulders pressed together closely, fingers tracing patterns into your palms, a hand rubbing your back. 

Harry gulps down his mug of butterbeer before launching into a dramatic retelling of when Professor Moody turned Malfoy into a ferret, earning roars of laughter and “That git deserved it” from all around. Fred follows up with the first time him and George tested prototypes of their Puking Pastilles, which ended with a delirious Lee Jordan and Ron’s face turning greener than mandrake leaves (much to Mrs. Weasley’s horror—she sent both twins death glares at this). 

You were too busy losing it to notice an arm—Fred’s—snaking around your waist, pulling you into his side. But when you did realize it was him, you didn’t say anything, and just simply relaxed against him. It was second nature to you both; you’ve learned to anticipate him sliding up next to you. And, it was comforting to know that he would always be nearby.

Despite being the last one to go to bed, Fred was the first one awake before dawn had even broken over the horizon. The skies were clear but grey, and the roosters had yet to make a sound. 

“Wake up,” you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Whaddayawant,” you groaned, voice groggy. “Listen Ron, it’s too early to play Quidditch, tell Wood that you want to go for a round instead…”

“Hey, it’s only me,” Fred replied. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you got up, being careful not to step on Hermione or Ginny’s hands or arms on the way out the door. He kept a hand pressed against the small of your back the entire way down the creaky staircase. 

“Ta-da…” he whispered, the classic Weasley grin spreading across his face. “Take a look at this beauty.”

“A…record player?” your brows furrowed in confusion. “This is what you woke me up at 4 a.m. for?” 

“Dad got it at this old Muggle store in central London years ago, he said it was a ‘thrift shop,’” Fred explained as your eyes glanced over the cracked, but beautiful record player on the kitchen table. “D’you reckon it still works, though?” 

“We’ll have to see for ourselves,” you shrugged. 

He placed the vinyl CD into the player and adjusted the needle, and within seconds a slow Muggle tune began to play. 

“Oh, I know this one…Hermione has told me about it before. Frank Sinatra is quite famous in the Muggle musical world.”

“Well, then…may I have this dance?” Fred extended a hand out to you. You shake your head and roll your eyes, but take his hand and allow him to pull you close. His arms wrap around your torso as your hands rest on his shoulders, and you allow yourselves to get carried away by the slow, melodic ballad.

My love, do you know That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming? I bring you, and I sing you  A moonlight serenade

Fred gently twirls you around the kitchen before bringing you back in and smoothly catching you by the waist, and you’re surprised at how easy it is for him. You often forgot that he had a knack for dancing—it wasn’t often that you got to see him do so. 

“And you were about to be upset at me for waking you up,” he leans in to say. 

“You’re forgiven,” you exhale, resting your head against his chest. “But you know I could never be upset with you.” 

Long after the song had ended, you still found yourself wrapped in his embrace.  

Mrs. Weasley was heading downstairs to start preparing breakfast, but suddenly stopped midway. Her heart warmed as she took in the sight of you and Fred standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed as he hummed a foreign tune, slow dancing without a care in the world. 

Deciding not to interrupt, she stands there for a moment, smiling as she watched her boy fall in love with the young woman that she hoped to call her daughter one day. 

fall

“—Godric’s sake, I’m so tired of losing,” Ron groaned as you quickly smacked the top of the deck with your wand, dust flying into his face. “I’m never playing this with you again.” 

You rolled your eyes as he coughed and dusted himself off. “Okay, no Exploding Snap, then no more sweets from Honeydukes ever again.” 

“Fine, I’m playing, I’m playing,” he sighed, rubbing the side of his forehead as the colorful deck of cards reshuffled themselves. “You’re almost as horrible as my brother.”

“Almost as horrible as who—hey, Y/N, is that my jumper?” Fred paused as he approached you and Ron sitting at the coffee table, as Luna, Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny watched on. 

“Dunno, is it?” you shrugged innocently, tapping your chin. “Hey, Nev, you want a go? I have to finish reading my book for McGonagall’s class.”

Neville nodded, and Ron raised a fist in triumph. “FINALLY! Bring it on, Longbottom.”

You shifted onto the couch so Neville could take your spot, and without another word, Fred sat down right next to you. The deep burgundy color of his Gryffindor sweater only further brought out the color of your eyes, he noticed, which sparkled brightly under the dim lighting. 

Fred then shifted to lay his head down in your lap, and you didn’t even do so much as flinch. With your book in one hand, you used the other to start brushing your fingers through his hair. You hadn’t even realized what you were doing until you heard him let out a quiet sigh of contentment. 

“Did I ever tell you that you’re absolutely brilliant?” he glanced up at you from where he lay, watching carefully and intently. “Sometimes I’m surprised that you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Weasley,” you laughed softly as you turned the page. 

Right as you were about to turn the page again, he stopped you by lightly tugging your wrist. “Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

He carefully turned your hand to look at the scratches etched into the back of it. They were beginning to fade, but the occasional shifts in movement would cause them to sting and sometimes crack open. 

“When did Umbridge do this to you?” Something unfamiliar flashed in Fred’s eyes, and he seemed angry for the briefest of moments. But the darkened look was quickly replaced with one of concern. “Does it still hurt?”

“No, not at all,” you lied as you set down your book, but he didn’t miss the way you winced slightly as he adjusted your hand to look at it again. 

The rest of your friends had scattered elsewhere at this point, the typical noise now having faded into a soft chatter of sorts. Hermione came back with a bowl of yellow liquid, eyeing you worriedly. “Strained and pickled Murtlap tentacles…these should help…”

“Oh…thank you…” You placed your hand into the bowl and immediately exhaled with relief. 

“I think I’m going to sleep a little early tonight…I’ll see you two at breakfast? Take it easy, Y/N,” Hermione gave your shoulder a squeeze. You nodded as she gave you one last smile and walked away. 

Once the pain had faded into a dull ache, you set the bowl of murtlap on the table and leaned back against the sofa. Fred was now laser-focused on something he was holding, fiddling with it using what looked like a small pair of tweezers. Assuming that it had to do with the joke shop he and George were working on, you paid it no mind, and picked up your copy of Guide to Advanced Transfiguration again. 

You were far too absorbed into your book to notice when Fred had slipped whatever that thing was onto your finger. It was cold to the touch but fit snugly. 

“D’you like it?”

“What is…” You put your book away and glanced down, about to say something half-sarcastic, but immediately stopped. 

It had to have been the most beautiful ring you had seen. Although it was slightly on the thinner side, it glittered brighter than any star you had ever seen. You twisted your hand this way and that as you watched the material catch the light. 

“...You know my ring size,” your voice trailed off as you took notice of the hopeful look in Fred’s eyes. “But what is this for? You know we’re—”

“For when the time comes,” he explained simply, raising your scarred right hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. His gaze on you remained steady and comforting in the same way that his presence made you feel. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Tears prickled at the edges of your eyes, and you nodded, feeling a sudden lump form in your throat. You were filled with a warmth that you knew had nothing to do with the blazing fire in front of you. “You know there’s no one else.”

How your best friend could make your chest ache in this way, you had no clue…For some odd reason, you thought, it wasn’t all that difficult to picture a future with him in it. 

Not when he was your future. You loved him, no doubt, but when it came to describing your exact relationship all words fell short. You were close friends, but was it in the same way that you and Hermione were friends? Or you and Ginny? 

But he’s my best friend, you told yourself. He’s been my best friend for over six years. 

But ‘best friends’ don’t make you feel the way that Fred does. 

Best friends went beyond just saving you a seat at the Great Hall if you woke up late for breakfast or slept through lunch because of a long nap. They didn’t pull you away on Hogsmeade trips and insist on hanging out with you one-on-one when you could very well just hang out together as one big group with all your friends. 

They definitely didn’t fashion you a ring by hand in the middle of one quiet fall night, but he did. 

“Earth to Y/N?”

“Hm…what?”

“You okay? You seemed a little spaced out there, love,” Fred raised a brow at you as he sat up, taking your hand in his. 

“Just…thinking,” you hummed, letting your head lean against his shoulder. He pulled you into his side at this, tenderly brushing his lips against your forehead. 

“About how I’m your favorite person on the planet and that I’m loads funnier than Georgie?”

“As if you’d ever be the only thing on my mind.”

Fred pouted, his bottom lip sticking out. “Ouch. That hurt.”

“I’m kidding,” you glanced up at him, pouting slightly. “You’ll never leave my mind. I’m holding you hostage.”

“And that’s a sentence I’d want to extend for as long as I could,” he responded. 

Voldemort's return and the premise of another war loomed overhead. But he found that when your warm hand slipped into his, body leaning in close, and your laughter ringing through the air like shooting stars, it was easy for him to forget. To fall into you and feel as if you're the only thing that mattered in this world because frankly, you were.

winter

There was one big thing to look forward to today: another Hogsmeade outing. The final weekend trip before Christmas was always a little bittersweet, but filled with the most pure joy. 

The Great Hall was decked out from ceiling to floor as it always was during the holiday season. Bits of snow delicately floated down from the crystalline ceiling as the classic giant Christmas tree stood tall behind the staff table. You stopped every few seconds to admire the decorations despite having been here for nearly seven years now and seeing (and even having helped one time) the grandiose setup.

Excited chatter filled every table as you went over to the Gryffindor table to sit with your friends. Ron was already piling his plate with food, grinning excitedly as he did so. 

“Where’s Fred?” you asked as you sat down next to George. 

“Already missing your lover boy?” the younger twin teased. “He’ll be down in a sec. The lazy arse overslept so Lee went to drag him down here.” 

“Oh, okay…” You paused for a moment. “Wait, he’s not my—”

You felt someone squeeze your shoulder behind you before pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, stopping you from finishing your sentence. 

“Morning, my love,” Fred greeted casually as he slid into the spot next to you, seemingly oblivious to the stares he got from his gesture. “You sleep okay?”

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, when are ‘ou going ‘o admid it?” Ron groaned, in the middle of chewing his third drumstick. 

“Yeah, when?” Ginny echoed. “I’m going to hex you if you don’t.”

“Tell me what?” you tilted your head to the side as you glanced between them. 

“Oh, uh, nothing!” she said quickly. 

“Nothing!” Fred grinned sheepishly. Ginny sharply jabbed an elbow into his side. “OW!” 

You rolled your eyes, deciding not to question the odd exchange. 

Fred placed a soft hand on your thigh, using his other to swipe a croissant from your plate. 

“Hey!” 

“You know you love me,” he teased. 

“Shut up,” you muttered, feeling your face burn, a smile crept up on your face nonetheless. You continued eating, his hand remaining in place, and pretended like you didn’t mind what he was doing. 

You exited Hogwarts to flurries of snow blowing around, adjusting your hat and (Fred’s) scarf accordingly to protect your face from the biting winds. Hogsmeade was relatively quiet today, so you took every second you had to relish in the peace. 

“Godric, you’re freezing,” Fred’s bright smile turned into a slight frown when he noticed you were shivering, rubbing your gloved hands together. “Here.”

He shook off his coat and handed it to you, helping you put it on by holding the sleeves out. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief once the warmth enveloped your body.

“T-thanks, but aren’t you gonna get c—”

“Trust me, I’ll be alright,” he assured you, squeezing your hands. “Don’t want to get sick before Christmas, right?” 

You managed a nod, and he casually slung an arm across your shoulders. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he grinned. “Now come on, I think we have some drinks waiting for us.” 

As always, he had pulled you away from your friend group to “spend extra special time with the coolest and funniest girl in the world” and though you rolled your eyes at this, you allowed him to take the lead. (You weren’t complaining.)

Maybe it was the snow, maybe it was the added heat from Fred’s jacket, or maybe it was something else, but you were in an unusually good mood today. Fred noticed how you smiled more than usual, eagerly tugging his hand as you pulled him from shop to shop. 

“Y/N…you’ll drain my pockets,” he groaned as you stopped in front of Honeyduke’s, positively beaming. “And you’ll rot my teeth.”

“Please…?” you begged. “I’ll die if I don’t get a bag.”

“Y/N, love, come on…” But seeing the blissful and innocent twinkle in your eyes made it damn near impossible for him to say no. “Alright, fine. Pick out what you want, it’s on me.”

“You’re the best!” you squeezed his arm before heading into the shop together, hand in hand. “This is why I love you.”

“Ow? Placing my worth based on how many sweet treats I am willing to bestow upon you?” Fred feigned offense at your statement. “But it’s okay. I love you too.” 

Half an hour later, you were walking out of the sweet shop with a bag filled to the brim, and Fred was magically several Galleons lighter.

The two of you were only a three-minute walk from the castle grounds when the wind started to pick up. What was once a light snowy drizzle had suddenly turn into a full-blown blizzard, obscuring your vision for meters. 

“I can’t even—I can’t see a thing!” you yelled over the whipping winds, trying to shield your face. “Fred, where are you?” 

“Right behind you,” he murmured, circling an arm around your middle. “Don’t worry.” 

But then, you felt something cold and icy slip down your jumper. 

“Fred Weasley!” you yelled as he ran away, laughing with another clump of snow in hand. “You get back here right this instant before I kick your arse—” 

You lunged forward and went sprinting after him, well, as fast as you could through the thick blankets of snow. Fred’s laugh echoed through the frigid air as you rolled up a giant snowball and chucked it at him. It hit him square in the back and he nearly fell from the impact. 

The blizzard added an extra layer of difficulty, but you were determined to win by sheer talent and not take the easy way out with magic. 

Your arms began to ache from forming and throwing snowball after snowball, and you were sure that you’d be getting bruises all over your body (especially from one particularly hard hit between your shoulder blades when you’d been distracted). But seeing Fred so blissfully happy made it worth it—for a split second, you could pretend you were both thirteen again, no worries in the world except for beating each other in Quidditch. 

“Okay, this is so over!” you shouted as you chased him over a small hill and finally jumped on his back to tackle him, causing him to fall face first into the snow. 

“You absolute—” he began, voice muffled. “Ow.”

He fell silent for a few seconds and stopped moving, causing you to worry. “Freddie, you alright? Fred!”

After you panicked for a few more seconds, Fred finally flipped over, clutching his stomach as he laughed at you. “You actually thought I was hurt?” 

“It’s not funny!” you exclaimed in a high-pitched tone. Your face flushed as you realized you practically sitting on him and awkwardly shifted off, opting to kneel by his side as he sat up. “What if you actually were? I’d like to be the one that heals you, not hurts you, thank you very much!”

He smirked. “Aw, so you were worried about me. You care, don’t you?”

“Shut it, I do not,” you scoffed. 

His eyes trailed down your ring, which still shone so brightly, as you absentmindedly fiddled with it. 

“...I think you’re missing a little something, don’t you think? Or maybe it’s me that is,” he said so quietly that you almost missed what he’d said. “A diamond, perhaps….”

“A diamond?” your voice came out in the tiniest of whispers as well. “I think you’d look alright in a little silver…”

Fred then cupped your face in his hands, which forced you to look back up at him. He gently grazed his thumbs over your cheekbones and there was now what seemed like a look of longing in his bright hazel eyes. He’d always gazed at you admiringly but that was because he was your best friend, you told yourself (a lie that, time and time again, you’d try and fail over the years to convince yourself of). Best friends loved and cared for each other, that’s what they’re supposed to do. 

But here he was, making you feel things that a friend normally didn’t. And you didn’t even try to push him away because you didn’t want him to leave; you never wanted him to. 

He finally closed the ever-decreasing gap between you two and kissed you, capturing your lips in his. You buried a hand in his messy hair and pulled him closer; as close as you possibly could, desperate for the way he made you feel so alive because he was the one thing keeping you anchored to the ground. 

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, he says over and over. You swore you’d explode, feeling him smile against your lips, tugging you even closer. 

the in-between

The chasm of grief, so cold and uninviting, seemed to open up and swallow you whole. 

You hated war. You hated watching the blood of innocent people being shed by the ruthless works of evil. You hated that you had survived while so many you had grown to know and love didn’t. They’re just kids. They’re too young. They didn’t deserve to die the way they did. They’re just kids. They’re just kids. 

You weren’t sure how you even survived. 

As soon as you locked eyes with each other, you, Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Parvati collapsed into one giant hug on the floor, tightly clutching one another. You had all been incredibly lucky to have made it through together.

Fred’s eyes carefully scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. When he saw you there in the corner, eyes squeezed shut and clinging to your best friends, he wanted nothing more than to approach and comfort you. But he knew you all needed this time together—you had lost many loved ones, and they were some of the only family you had left. So he let you be, leaning against the wall and watching from afar. 

Over the next hour or so, people slowly started trickling out of the Great Hall—parents coming to pick up their kids, families reuniting—until it was just you, Harry, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, Fleur, and the Weasleys. There was an unspoken feeling of gratitude lingering in the air and you could sense the relief all-around. 

Your heart clenched as you watched Harry embrace his godfather. Your mother had died when you were young and your father had suffered a similar fate as the Longbottoms, so watching families reunite always sent a spear through your chest. 

“Hey,” you heard, feeling someone intertwine their fingers with yours. You didn’t need to look over to know it was Fred. “Sickle for your thoughts? Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Leaning into him, you closed your eyes, attempting to will the tears away. “I don’t…I don’t know.  I just hate war. While I’m glad this is over, I can’t help but think how unfair it all is. People losing each other, being torn apart…Voldemort’s gone, I know, but it just feels like he took a part of me to the grave with him.”

“I hope it’s not the part that made you fall in love with me,” Fred joked, and the corners of your lips quirked up in a grin.

“Of course not…” you murmured, “you’d have to pry your heart out of my cold, dead hands to try and take it from me. I’m here now, whether you like it or not.”

“For good?” 

“For good,” you stated, reaching up to kiss him softly. “I love you.”

“And you know I love you more.”

epilogue (it’s a new spring with you)  

With the Dark Lord gone, there were many loose ends to tie up and much-deserved resting to do. You had stayed behind to help start with cleaning up the castle grounds, before deciding to take the Hogwarts Express back home all togehter—for old time’s sake. 

“What about the shop?” you asked George as you sat down between him and Fred. “Don’t you two need to be there?” 

“We reckon it’ll be just fine—it’s not just us there anymore, remember?” he said, “but, Freddie thought you were more important. That’s why we’re here.”

Resting your head against his chest, you gazed up at Fred and smiled. “You left for me?” 

“You know all that I do is for you,” he explained as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Ew my teeth, they’re going to rot from the cheesy sweetness,” Ron groaned. “You’d think that the war would wipe all that out.” 

“Oh shut it, Ronald,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let them live.” 

You drifted off and slept through the entire ride home, feeling a tad bit more refreshed when pulling in to King’s Cross station. It was a blur from there: taking the Floo network, carrying bags, washing up, and whatnot. You felt as if you were on autopilot with a barely functioning Muggle battery. All you wanted was to collapse on the floor and sleep forever, but you wanted to sit around the living room floor with your friends and catch up like you always did during the summer. 

Lupin and Tonks had gone home to take care of Teddy while the rest of you were settling in. Chatter filled the Burrow as you spent time unpacking, and you found that you’d missed all the noise more than you initially thought. Dinner was an equally chaotic but also peaceful affair, filled with plenty of toasts, extra servings, and laughter, of course. 

While Sirius was busy telling the table about the Mauraders’ antics, Fred squeezed your hand, jerking his head behind him to indicate that he wanted to go out back. 

Now? What is it? you mouthed. 

Fred nodded. Yes, now, so come on. 

He took your hand and led you out the back door to the orchards, crescent moon shining overhead. A faint smile graced your face as you thought back to the days you spent together under the giant apple tree, reading stories from Hermione’s books to one another, skipping stones by the lake, and tending to the chickens. 

A familiar tune started drifting through the air, and Fred extended a hand towards you.

“May I have this dance?”

You were immediately hit with a wave of déjà vu at his question, and allowed him to sweep you up into his arms. He placed his hands on your waist and you felt sparks shoot up your spine at his touch. Your arms wound their way around his neck as you swayed to the melody, losing yourselves in a dreamy lullaby. Though you had done this with him before on several occasions, it still felt like you were falling in love all over again. 

You swallowed hard as you thought about how you had both been forced to grow up so fast. Moments like these—of pure bliss and childlike innocence—were far and few between, so they were to be greatly cherished. It was easy when he was twirling you around like this; effortlessly guiding your motions, to forget that anything and anyone else existed. 

Closing your eyes, you focused on the feeling of his warm hands through your sweater and the soothing sound of his soft hums, allowing them to carry you away. 

At one point, he briefly stops before spinning you outwards—but this time, he doesn’t pull you back in to catch you. You’re about to be confused but then, you turn around to see him down on one knee, a glittering diamond ring in hand. You froze in place, completely shocked. 

“A diamond, perhaps…” you echoed, recalling that one winter night when you had kissed him for the first time, feeling like your heart was going to explode out of your chest. 

“It’s always been you,” said Fred in a simple, soft tone of voice. “Always has been and always will be.”

Your eyes began to water. “You’re bloody kidding me…”

“Y/N, I know I joke around a lot—hell, I opened a whole shop with Georgie…but one thing I’ve never joked about is the way I feel about you.”

“Fred…”

“...Will you marry me?”

You opened and closed your mouth but no words seemed to come out. All you could manage was a small nod before tears fully blurred your vision and you stepped forward, hand shaking as he slid the diamond ring on. 

When his lips brushed against yours, time seemed to splutter to a stop, and you felt your weary heart slowly but steadily stitch itself back together. 

Except, he was the one holding the needle and telling you that there was no need to be anxious or scared because he’d be by your side for the rest of your life. 

So don't let me wait Come to me tenderly in the June night I stand at your gate And I sing you a song in the moonlight A love song, my darling A moonlight serenade

tags: @htchnr @arkofblake @xhanthexzoria @antriimx @pinkdaiisies @lovely-whale-is-lovely

[mariasont]

My Boss Won't Be Happy About This - A.H

a/n: back to bimbo brain rot!!!! inspired by the first season that one episode (you know the one) where hotch is all macho man with elle in jamaica

masterlist

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pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you’re wrongfully arrested and hotch is not happy about it

warnings: creepy officer, inaccuracies of how law enforcement works, hotch being sexy

wc: 1.3k

"Listen I'm not the type of girl to tell someone how to do their job, but I just don't think you're doing it right."

You were speaking to an empty room, or at least, you were speaking to the mirror in front of you. It's the kind of mirror you had seen in countless interrogation scenes, the kind you usually image Hotch standing behind. You let your gaze linger, wondering if eyes are studying you from the other side, listening to your monologue.

"Well, that, and I also just don't think it's very nice." Your brand spanking new heels were tapping against the dirty floor. 

You weren't happy about that. You weren't happy about any of this. Your feet ache, but the fear of the germs lurking on the floor paralyzes any thoughts of relief by removing your shoes.

"And hey, shouldn't I get a phone call? That's a rule, I think," you mumble, lips turning downward in an unusual frown. It seems like the right time for it. "My boss is not going to take this well. I mean, he's got this look, you know? The kind that makes you want to apologize for things you didn't even do."

You conjured up his daunting expression and released a jittery laugh, all while striving to disregard the biting cold blasting from the AC vent, which seemed determine to freeze you into place. 

You were seriously out of your element, not just in surroundings but in dress--so form-fitting it left very little to the imagination. It seemed to be a good idea for a date. That was before you realized said date would be a complete disaster. Now, it felt like a trap. It had been a spectacle for a man unworthy of the effort, and as you sat in this rigid chair, you found yourself tugging at the hem every other moment, a futile attempt to preserve some semblance of modesty.

"So, when he hears about this little error... Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be in your shoes." Six hours had passed in this dreary space, and you could feel your sanity fraying at the edges. You muttered, half to yourself, "Not that they're as cute as mine, but you get the point."

The door hinge's creak made you sit bolt upright, a silent supplication for Hotch's rescue echoing through your mind. But today, it seemed, the gods were indifferent. The officer who had arrested you stepped in.

"Having fun talking to yourself?"

You flashed your sweetest smile. "Oh, tons! But I'd have much more fun if you'd uncuff me."

He said nothing, folding his arms over his chest as he dragged his gaze up and down your body in a way that made your skin prickle in discomfort. You attempted to dispel the creeping dread, but it stubbornly lingered.

You did what you could to cover up, despite the awkward angle of your arms. "Listen, this is all just a big mistake. I work for the FBI," you insisted, though it was clear the officer's attention was fixated on your tits rather than your words. "Well, I mean, I'm an assistant for the unit chief of the BAU unit. You've heard of Aaron Hotchner, haven't you?"

The officer's mouth closed without a word, as the door was thrust open yet again, and this time, your heart leapt in recognition. Your knight in shining armor with a lethal expression.

His eyes instantly zeroed in on the officer with a look that could curdle blood, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that you weren't the object of his anger. He approached you wordlessly, his every motion precise and determined.

He carefully shed his jacket, a gesture he seldom made, and draped it across your shoulders. The fleeting caress of his hand against your skin was enough to make you lean into his touch. You let out a breath that you had been unconsciously holding back. 

You watched as Hotch turned, his voice a low, steady force, his words carefully chosen and tinged with an unsettling peace. "Officer," he began, the title spoken almost as warning. "I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding. This woman is not only an esteemed member of the FBI, but she is also under my direct supervision."

He stepped closer, encroaching on the officer's personal space. You watched, almost in slow motion, as the officer's expression morphed into one of sheer terror, his earlier confidence dissolving like sugar in hot tea.

"Six hours," he continued, his voice never rising yet somehow it took up all the space in the confined room. "Six hours of unwarranted detention, without due process. I expect her immediate release. And make no mistake, this lapse in judgment will have its ramifications."

The officer was mute, his fingers clumsily unlocking the handcuffs, his movements hurried, his hands trembling. A twinge of pity flickered within you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the memory of considering the table as a makeshift blanket.

The moment the metal clicked open; you wasted no time. You flung your arms around Hotch, the pent relief and biting chill of the past few hours pouring out of you. You were desperate for warmth, specifically his warmth.

He stiffened, caught off guard by your actions. You feel the anger radiating through him, practically pulsing through his skin. As you clung to him, you felt the draft on your legs as your dress slid up, and without missing a beat Hotch's hand discreetly adjusted the fabric, all while keeping his eyes locked on the officer, a silent warning in his gaze.

Once he was certain you were decently covered, he allowed himself to draw him into his arms. One arm secured around your waist, the other weaving through your hair. You were cold. It renewed another tide of rage through his bloodstream.

With the officer's departure, the room's oppressive atmosphere lightened a touch, leaving you still latched onto your boss.

"Oh, sir, you wouldn't believe it," you started, his hands tracing up your spine and sparking a trail of goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill. "They kept asking me about a heist, as if I'd know anything about that! And then they show me this picture, and I mean, sure, she had my hair, but that's about it."

You rambled on, and he let you, the absurdity of the situation pouring out in a stream of consciousness. Hotch's hold on you tightened. You could sense the coiled tension in him, a tempest of anger held a bay.

"And the room, it was so cold! I mean, I'm sure you can tell. My teeth were chattering, and all I could think of was how I'd rather be filing your paperwork or listening to Reid's factoids about the quantum mechanics of coffee beans."

You felt Hotch's breath on your hair as he let out a sigh. 

"I'm just glad you're here now," you whispered, finally allowing yourself to relax in his embrace.

Hotch gave a curt nod, his jaw set. He was itching to confront the officer, to unleash a tirade not meant for your ears. But he was well aware of how much you needed him right now, and that trumped everything in his book.

Hotch took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "This isn't just incompetence; it's negligence. I will have this place reevaluated for its standards, or lack thereof."

You took a step back, hands still resting on his arms, and he maintained his grip on your waist. "I bet this is the last time you'll let me go on a date without a full background check on the guy, huh, sir?"

Hotch's hold on your waist firmed just a fraction. "Maybe it's the last time I let you go on a date, period."

He was only half-joking.

"Not even with you?" You tilted your head to meet his gaze, drawing his jacket closer around you.

Hotch just simply gives you that look, the one that says a thousand words without a sound. He's telling you to tread lightly.

"Alright, I'll be good," you giggle, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Can you take me home now, please?"

He nods, "Yeah, let's get you home."

And then he leads you out, thinking to himself that the next person to take you out will be him, but that's for him to know and you to find out later.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[sexhaver]

okay so you know how living with autism means having frequent mind-blowing realizations about seemingly contradictory social norms that allistic people learned as children and consider obvious, like "you're probably not actually expected to show up exactly at the listed start time of a large house party" or "you're pretty much expected to lie in job interviews and also the questions the interviewers asks are looking for specific amswers"? ive got this half-baked theory based on observations on this site that there are two main ways for autistic people to resolve this

the first, most common way is to get mad about it, because none of it makes sense and nobody is saying what they actually mean. "if you invite me to show up at 5 im showing up at 5" mentality. i do sympathize with this school of thought, because it's objectively correct and i would love to see what society would look like if everyone said exactly what they meant, but the attitude wears on you after a few years and eventually becomes grating

the second way that i seem to have settled into is feeling relief, because, like, you already navigate through social scenarios the same way the guy in the Chinese Room thought experiment "speaks" Chinese: blindly consulting reference material you don't understand but know is correct. learning a new social faux pas is therefore just more reference material to consult. the fact that it doesn't make any sense is irrelevant because none of the other social norms you've been following make any sense either, and they've served you just fine. and crucially, because you have no personal attachment to any of these social norms, you can just abandon them whenever they become too inconvenient OR if it would be funny. this is the kind of autism that produces stuff like Nathan For You

[c-is-for-circinate]

Man I think there are two Great Tragedies of Tim Drake, and the second is how hard fandom refuses to engage with the first in favor of their own made-up fanon version of angst. There's plenty of angst in the actual text!

Like the thing about Tim -- actual, pre-Robin, training-to-be-Robin, start-of-his-Robin-run Tim -- is that he sets out on his vigilante journey with two things literally no other batfam member has had before. Tim is normal, and he is happy.

Early Tim, you'll hear a lot in some circles, is meant to be a bland self-insert: look at this kid, he's a Batman fan, just like you! Only he's got more money AND more freedom than you, which means that he gets to have the coolest hobby ever, and when Batman gets in trouble this kid can actually help him out. So cool!

Dick, Jason, Cass, Damian -- they all come to vigilantehood after backgrounds that're various levels of implausible, tragic, and traumatizing. Batman, and their ability to don a cape beside him, rescues them. Their lives get better when they put the uniform on.

Tim's doesn't. Through coincidence or fate or force of plot, Tim agrees to be Robin and his life immediately gets worse. Tim's mom (who canonically loves him and he loves dearly, who's gone more than maybe she should be but a good mom when she's there) dies. Tim's dad's in a coma. Tim's life is upended.

Tim gets strangled by Azbats. Tim almost dies of the Clench. Tim gets all the typical vigilante/sidekick suffering stuff. Tim gets fucked with and fucked over by an increasingly paranoid Bruce.

Tim tries to leave to go back to his normal civilian life but he can't any more, because he is the Normal One, he's been the Normal One for so long that he's missed how much he's changed until he has to fit all of himself inside one single box of normalcy. He tries to leave and it follows him. It haunts him. It stalks him. It kills his friend. It kills his girlfriend. It kills his dad.

(That's the Tim that Jason runs into in Titan's Tower, for fucksake. The orphan living alone in Bludhaven, who's been Robin for years, who left it and then came back because nobody else could live up to him, who's been taking care of himself for ages. The one with half his life and identity pinned not on being granted the opportunity to playact as impostor-syndrome Robin -- that's Tim of two or three or four years ago, just starting out, before he started accumulating loss -- but on being Robin, and being damn fucking good at it. Jason thinks Tim stole his job. Tim thinks he's been doing this goddamn job for four years and if one more person tells him that it's not his, he's going to show them why he doesn't need to turn into Gun Batman to be scary.)

His best friend dies. His other best friend dies. 16- to 17-year-old Tim McFucking Loses It, even before Bruce also dies and pushes him right over the edge, but the tragedy of the Red Robin run isn't just Tim's general sense of self-worth and belief in his ability to be loved. It's stepping back, looking at it in context, and realizing that this was all preventable.

Dick Grayson was never going to be normal, before or after his parents died. Jason was never going to be fine. Cass was doomed long before Bruce ever got to her. But Tim chose this shit. Twelve years old, looking at Batman, too smart for his own damn good but in a way that never once stopped him from making friends and fitting in just fine before -- Tim chose. And he kept choosing, until long after it stopped actually being a choice, until it became all he had, all he had left. Tim made himself into the sort of creature of power and grief that most of his teammates and family had no choice but to be.

What a cool story. (What a very Barbara Gordon story, but that's a conversation for another day.) What a goddamn shame fandom would rather give him the UwU Tragic Backstory and comically terrible parents than tell it.