#Headless in AWS

[lucid-outsourcing-solutions]

Headless - Serverless Computing In AWS

[metalobrukht]

[herbertpocketsfidgettoys]

Ok I might be stupid but I’ve been wondering about this for a few years now but like Gregory is 8 years old but says he went to yardale (basically a parody of Yale university + harvard) is he really that smart or does he want attention

This could just mean in the sp universe yardale is just a very fancy elementary school that only wants smart kids or something

[thesarahshay]

Instagram mutual I haven't interacted with in years: "So the thing about my cat Ichabod is..." Me: Sliding into their DMs to ask if they've seen Headless

[dellinah]

One of the best horror movies of all time. And I mean this unironically

The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad (1949)

[arcade-confetti]

Awaugh I love his design here...

[doux-amer]

I think it's a very bad sign that the last two goals we got across four matches were both penalties by Mo. Not to mention this is our first match won in 14 days except we're knocked out of Europe so it doesn't even really count as a win.

Oh, cool. Just went on Twitter to see that a friend shared a tweet that says we haven't scored from open play in six hours. Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool cool.

[cromerholt]

aw man guys please make sure you do NOT look up 'headless dead body corpse guts gore limbs off real dead body with guts out real death exsanguinated bones removed' on google images. this is the worst april fools of my life

[monster-mash-m]

Soaked

Yandere!Merman x chubby!gn!reader

Cw: possessiveness, yandere behavior, almost drowning, breeding, biting, dead fish, weird merman dick, marking.

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A merman noticed a human drowning, how’d this poor creature get stranded in the middle of the ocean. Awh! Look at their little legs flailing in a panic as they try to stay afloat. How cute… Soon too much water filled your lungs and exhaustion stiffened your lungs as your body gave out in the thrashing waves. The male swims closer in a sense of curiosity, not out of good will. His silky arms wrapped around your torso, gods you were so cold. He tutted as you lay limply in his arms, keeping your head above water as he swims you to his little hideaway, a cove only he knew of. You were just too cute to let drown!

You woke up with a burning feeling in your chest and a pounding in your head, sitting up like lightning and coughing out sea water with a pained expression. As you grasp at the sandy floor- sandy floor? You look around. What? All you remember was that you were on a boat with your family, next thing you know, you fell overboard and the waves were just too aerated so you couldn’t swim. Now… you’re here, in a cave, with glowing moss and crystals. Along with glowing plankton in the pool that leads out to the sea. You would’ve been in awe if you weren’t freaking out and mortified to notice you were only in your torn up shirt and underwear.

“Such a skittish creature…” I low voice called out from beside you. A man, well no a merman. You soaked in his appearance trying to accept the fact that mermaids and such were real in such a short span of time, “look at you, shaking all scared, just like a sea pup that’s lost its mother..” he hummed fondly. The fondness however was laced in condescension.

“W-where am I? Who are you?” You glare at the merman and shuffle away defensively. Wincing at your aching joints. He simply grins “You’re in my very own cove, little human, and as for me? Well I’m your rescuer.” He hummed out. Lifting himself out the water to sit on the sandy floor “I brought you some food, fresh from the hunt.” He threw a headless fish at you, how thoughtful. You grimace and look at the fish you just about managed to catch in your marred hands. “I…” you look awkwardly at him.

“I can’t eat raw meat, I mean I can technically… I just don’t think I could get this down without a fight…” you frown. He huffed and crossed his arms “you humans are so fussy.” He nodded his head over to a pile of random human stuff. “There might be something in there to cook your fish.” He said with an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on. “Oh… thanks.” You smile awkwardly and crawl over to the pile and look for anything… flammable.

Soon you find a rusty lighter, giving it a few experimental clicks, it lights up. And so do the eyes of the merman, watching you intently. You then see some dried out drift wood and placed it away from the pile of human stuff. Setting it alight. Then you place the fish on the burning wood, it was’t a high quality meal, but at least it would be more edible… hopefully.

Soon the fish was properly cooked and you started to pick at it and look at him “Why did you save me?” You asked hesitantly. He just gave you a wide sharp toothed grin “I thought you were a cute little thing so I swept you up and brought you someplace safe.” That made you sputter. “Oh I see…”

“Well… after this, could you return me to mainland?” You ask reasonably.

“No” he responded bluntly and immediately. “I found you, I keep you.” He said as if he was stating the obvious. Your brows quickly furrow “that’s not how it works… you can’t just keep me here-“ he shakes his head “oh but I can, I saw you flinging around like a panicked mackerel out there, I know you’re not a strong swimmer little human.” He hummed in an amused tone. Your heart sank. “I don’t think you could escape here without my help, and I’ve been awfully lonely, especially since it’s mating season…” he said the last part with a purr from deep in his throat.

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Oh, no. Or maybe oh yes? You couldn’t tell what you felt right now. A hot fish man is insinuating he wants to breed you, but he also seems like he’s not going to let you go. Hm…. Well if you can’t beat ‘em join em! You glare at him with precaution “I’m not sure what you’re implying…” you say with faux obliviousness. He smirks as a wet hand grabs your ankle yanking you towards him. His hands immediately landing on your plump hips. “Mmm, you’re quite warm human…” he practically purred again. “I’m implying that I want you as my mate…” he said lowly as his hands trail down your big squishy thighs, giving them a squeeze “I won’t care if you bare my young or not, I’ll breed you regardless…” his grin only widens.

Your breath hitches at his words, and his hands that seem to be far too eager to be on you. “So go on.. tell me you’re mine… let me claim the treasure I found in the sea hmm?” He asked though it sounded much more like a demand. Although despite his eagerness to stuff himself in you, his words held no malice despite his creepy demeanor, it looks like he was stalling his movements, ready to get off of you if you said no. But you didn’t. Instead you look him up and down and think ‘I’ve done worse’.

Slowly you sigh and look back at his face “you… can mate with me..” you look away awkwardly after saying so. Oh and that was all the confirmation he needed before his cold lips started attacking your neck. Your breath hitches as you feel his sharp teeth graze against your neck before biting down rather harshly, making you gasp out. He snickered into your skin as he lapped up the bruising skin “Gonna look so pretty decorated in my marks, no one will dare touch you, everyone will know you’re mine…” he growled possessively.

That’s when you felt something wet and slimy bulge out of the slit on his tail, pressing against your inner thigh. “That was quick…” you gasp out as you feel him rut against you, his cool scales feeling rather soothing as his tail ran up and down your legs as he nudged his needy cock against your clothed sex, “ugh…” he gritted out “I need to be in you, turn over on your front right now human…” he growled out and flipped you over with ease.

You gasp, slightly winded as his slippery cock immediately pressed against your ass as he continued his rutting “going to stuff you full just like a good mate….” He huffed out and moved your underwear to the side. He impatiently spat on his hand, rubbing his spit in on his fingers. Not a second any longer and he was already stretching your hole out. Making you bite your lip and suppress a startled moan. He chuckled lowly “that’s it, taking my fingers like a good mate…” you only let out as small moan as he continued to work you open so you can take his cock.

After what he felt was an eternity, he was satisfied with how stretched out you were. Immediately angling his pretty blue dick against your entrance. His hands dug into your plush hips “mmmh, humans are much softer than any sea person… so supple and squishy… perfect…” he growled as he rambled into your ear. His cock slowly entering. Your tight hole clenching eagerly around his slimy cock as he bottoms out in you. He groaned out loudly as he ducked his head into your neck and began to mark you more.

Soon he was completely inside, his slit pressed up against your ass. He was big… the unusual shape filling you in all the places you never knew you needed. Your back arches as he began to move his hips slowly “fuck so tight for me human..” he gritted out. His long hair tickling your back with every slow thrust. His sharp claw like nails digging into your fat. “I can’t hold back dear treasure… must fill you to the brim with my seed…”

And with that his hips began to hump into you at a feverish pace, lewd squelches and fwops echoed throughout the cave as he continued to use your tight hole like it was his new favorite toy. Soon enough you felt a knot in your stomach built up. He grunted “I’m close…” it seems he had the same build up as well. His thrusts became more erratic and clumsy as he fucked into your sloppy hole in desperation,

A mix between a hiss and a moan left his lips as his warm thick cum gushed into you, giving you no time to react as your orgasm hit you in waves. The merman continued rutting into you to ride out his orgasm, milking every last drop for you.

Once you both came down from your highs, he pulled out, a soft pop followed. Turning you back on your back as you breathe heavily. He looked at you with desire and that same unsettling smile that strangely turned you on. He panted heavily as he moved a few strands of hair that clung to your forehead out of the way. “You’re mine forever now… little human… we mated, you’re mine for life…” he whispered with a cocky smirk,

“I’ll make sure I’ll keep you well fed and squishy for me.” He said in satisfaction as he continued to let his hands explore and squeeze your body. You don’t know how you’re gonna cope with a clingy merman for the rest of your life….

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Whoop whoop whoop! Mermen! Kinda hit right?!

[spencersmopbucket]

Another Man's Treasure | Fred Weasley

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Summary: You're Cormac McLaggen's girlfriend — but Cormac pays more attention to Quidditch than you. Shame, shame.. Fred just can't let you go to waste.

Warnings & Themes: fluff, NSFW (oral!fem receiving), cheating on partner

When you'd begun dating Cormac, it was different.

He was attentive, sweet, mindful. But now? The man was a complete git. Most days, you sat on the bleachers of the pitch, feeling absolutely bloody dejected and watching him fly around on a broom for hours practicing for a team he was only a reserve on.

It was pathetic, truly. You and him. You sat waiting for a guy who couldn't show less interest in you if he tried — and he absolutely sucked at Quidditch yet continued to ignore a gorgeous girl for it.

It didn’t help that Cormac never introduced you to anyone either. You weren’t “his girl” at Gryffindor parties — just some girl hanging around him until someone asked who you were. You weren’t on his arm, weren’t in his conversations, and apparently weren’t important enough to even walk with to Hogsmeade.

You were Cormac McLaggen’s girlfriend in the way someone might say they “have a cat” and never feed it.

So, yeah, sitting in the stands while he zoomed around like a headless Hippogriff? It was just your Tuesday.

Sighing, you opened a book, frowning at the pages in front of you. You might as well get comfortable. It would be a while.

Below you, Fred and George Weasley stood, getting gear on to begin practicing. It was a gorgeous day and some of the Quidditch players actually had a solid reason to get out and practice.

Because again, only some had a productive spot on the team.

You felt eyes on you. Glancing down, you saw Fred. You rolled your eyes as he waved at you, wiggling his fingers in a flirtatious fashion.

You knew Fred and George. Everyone did. Every girl especially — they were tall, muscular, Quidditch stars, and incredibly easy on the eyes. You felt a warmth spread across your cheeks at his wave, despite how much you tried to ignore it.

You also tried to ignore the girlish excitement you felt. You were spoken for after all. What would you look like entertaining another man? A right slag, that's what. Waving back nonchalantly, you turned back to your book.

Fred sighed, clipping his helmet onto his head.

“Shame,” he addressed George. "That is a right shame. A crime, really."

George cocked a ginger eyebrow as he adjusted his gloves. “What is?”

Fred nodded subtly toward the stands. “Her. All alone. Looking like that. For him.”

George followed his brother’s gaze, lips tugging into a smirk once he spotted you. “McLaggen’s girlfriend?”

Fred glanced back up at you. You were back absorbed into your book, e/c hair blowing in the soft wind. Every once in a while, you glanced gloomily at your boyfriend, who once again didn't spare you a single ounce of his attention.

"She's the fittest girl at Hogwarts. Easily. Why is she with McLaggen?"

George scoffed under his breath. “Because looks clearly aren’t everything. Or maybe she’s got a savior complex.”

Fred frowned.

"He's not even good at Quidditch! He's bloody awful. Look at him," He gestured to the pitch, where Cormac was wobbling about on his broom. "Doesn't even look like he's playing. Looks like he's doing an interpretive broom dance."

George burst out laughing, nearly dropping his bat. “Merlin’s beard, you're not wrong. That’s not flying — that’s flailing with purpose.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “And somehow that is the bloke she waits around for every damn day like he’s the bloody star player.”

George snorted. “You’ve been keeping tabs, then?”

Fred gave him a look. “You telling me you wouldn’t notice her? Sitting there every day, looking like a dream and getting treated like a backup broomstick?”

“She’s not our problem, mate.”

Fred didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked slightly as he watched you glance up at Cormac again, a flicker of hope in your eyes — one that died almost immediately when he didn’t so much as wave.

“She could be someone’s world,” Fred said quietly. “Instead she’s waiting for scraps.”

George eyed his brother, something more serious settling between them. “You’ve got it bad.”

Fred didn’t deny it. Instead, he said, “I’m just saying… if it were me, she wouldn’t be sitting up there alone. She’d be on the broom with me. Or on my shoulders. Or—hell, anywhere but forgotten.”

George paused, then smirked again. “So what’s the plan, Casanova?”

Fred grinned, a familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Easy. Show her the difference between being looked at and being wanted.”

He kicked off the ground again, but this time with a different kind of determination.

He was set to embarrass the shit out of McLaggen. One, for being ungrateful. And two.. He was kind of hoping you'd get the ick.

George cackled as Fred shot into the air, weaving expertly through the sky while McLaggen hovered below like a confused Bludger.

“Oi, McLaggen!” Fred called loud enough for half the pitch to hear, voice full of feigned cheer. “You practicing for the ballet? Thought Quidditch involved a Snitch, not pirouettes.”

A few laughs echoed from the other players. Even George barked a laugh, tossing a Bludger up with a wicked grin.

Cormac scowled from midair, wobbling slightly as he turned toward Fred. “Bugger off, Weasley!”

Fred cupped a hand around his ear. “Sorry — couldn’t hear you over the sound of mediocrity!”

You peeked over the top of your book, startled by the sudden exchange. You tried to hide your amusement, but Fred caught the slight twitch of your lips. His chest swelled with triumph.

Phase One: Humiliate the knob. Phase Two: Make her smile. Phase Three: …Well, he hadn’t figured that bit out yet. But he would.

Fred flew another circle around Cormac, performing an exaggerated, showy dive that ended with a perfect landing — just below the bleachers where you sat.

He pulled off his helmet, glancing up at you with that telltale grin.

“Hope you’re taking notes,” he called, slightly breathless. “In case your boyfriend ever wants to learn how to actually fly.”

Your mouth parted slightly, a laugh escaping before you could catch it. “Are you always this cocky, or is today special?”

Fred’s eyes gleamed. “Only on Tuesdays. And when a pretty girl’s watching.”

He winked, then turned and jogged back onto the field — leaving you flustered, smiling despite yourself, and just a little less devoted to the prat in the air.

You didn’t know it yet, but Fred Weasley had just started rewriting your entire love story.

Of course, Cormac had opted to go over plays in the locker room after the incident at the pitch instead of walking back to the dorms with you. Typical.

You walked back alone, carrying your book and pulling your jacket tighter — the wind had started to get chilly as the day went on. You hummed to yourself as you got closer to the castle.

“Oi! Bookworm!”

You turned, startled, and there he was — Fred Weasley, jogging up beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hair was windblown, his cheeks still pink from the chill, and his smile was… well, unfair, really.

“Didn’t think it was nice to let you walk alone,” he said, matching your pace. “Seems your rogue Bludger of a boyfriend forgot where the castle was.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were already smiling. “He’s not my Bludger. He’s just... my boyfriend.”

Fred made a face. “You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, choosing not to respond right away. The path toward the castle was quiet, apart from your footsteps on the gravel and the low whistle of the wind. It felt weirdly intimate — the kind of silence that made you feel seen.

Fred didn’t push. Just walked with you, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“You know,” he said after a moment, glancing sideways at you, “I wasn’t joking earlier.”

“About what?”

“About you being the prettiest girl at Hogwarts.”

Your heart skipped embarrassingly. “That so?”

“Swear on George’s life,” he said solemnly. “And I only say that when I really mean it. He’s very dear to me.”

You laughed again, surprised at how warm it made you feel — not just the compliment, but the effort. The way he noticed you, even in a moment as small as this.

“I’m not used to people saying things like that to me,” you admitted quietly.

Fred slowed his pace slightly, studying you. “Well, get used to it.”

You looked at him, brow raised. “Why?”

He smirked. “Because I’m not done saying them.”

And as the two of you crossed through the castle doors, brushing shoulders, warmth blooming where he accidentally touched your arm — you realized something:

You hadn’t thought of Cormac once since Fred showed up.

"I have a boyfriend, Weasley," you snorted. "I doubt he'd take kindly to you doing this."

Fred just grinned, undeterred. That infuriating, charming grin of his — the kind that made your stomach twist in a way Cormac's never had.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, all wide eyes and mock-surprise. “Walking you back? Complimenting you? Being decent? Merlin forbid.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You know what I mean.”

Fred leaned in a little, voice lowering — not teasing now, but sincere, softer. “I know. And I know you’re with him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see what he doesn’t.”

You blinked, startled by the seriousness that slipped into his tone.

“He takes you for granted,” Fred continued, holding your gaze. “Doesn’t mean I have to.”

The hallway was suddenly too quiet. Too warm. You opened your mouth, but you weren’t even sure what you were going to say — luckily, Fred filled the silence with a familiar crooked smile, stepping back and releasing the tension.

“But hey,” he added, casual again, “if he ever stops being the luckiest git alive... I hope I’m first in line.”

Then he winked — not flirty this time, not entirely — and turned toward the Gryffindor staircase like he hadn’t just lobbed a Confundus charm straight into your chest.

And Merlin help you...

You kind of wished he already was first in line.

—

The first Common Room party of the year always hit immediately after the first Gryffindor quidditch win.

Only 6th and 7th years were invited, of course — there was Firewhiskey and other alcholic beverages involved. If the younger students were invited, the festivities may get out to the professors. If that happened, everyone was being hexed by McGonagall and buried in a hole on the quidditch field.

You got ready with Hermione and Ginny Weasley (who you'd just met the same night). Hermione was your closest friend. After you'd confided in her about having a slight crush on Fred, she'd immediately introduced you to the ginger girl.

Hermione curled your hair gently as you giggled, listening to a story about Ron bubble from Ginny's lips.

“…and then Ron actually tried to hex Malfoy with a mouth full of treacle tart,” Ginny said, laughing as she swept some glitter onto her cheekbones. “Honestly, I’ve never seen treacle shoot that far.”

You snorted, barely managing to stay still as Hermione tugged the curling wand through another section of your hair. “Did it even work?”

“Of course not,” Hermione huffed from behind you. “He said ‘slug’ instead of ‘slugulus.’ All he managed to do was make a very sticky mess.”

You grinned into the mirror, cheeks already sore from smiling. There was a lightness in your chest tonight — the kind that hadn’t been there in weeks. You knew why.

Fred.

Even the name fluttered through your chest like a secret. It often switched between feelings of excitement and feelings of guilt.

You glanced down at your outfit — Hermione had loaned you one of her sleeker cardigans and Ginny insisted you wear her black mini skirt (“You’ve got legs, use them”), and your own boots tied it all together. You had to admit… you looked good.

No. You looked better than good. You looked like someone who was not dating Cormac McLaggen anymore — which wasn't true, but you looked it. You knew Cormac wouldn't approve of your outfit. You also knew he might not even pay enough attention to you to care.

Hermione raised a brow at you through the mirror. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling.”

“Not like that you’re not,” she smirked, handing you a tube of lip gloss. “You’ve got the look of a girl who’s about to fall.”

Ginny tilted her head. “For Fred?”

You rolled your eyes.

"Gals! I have a boyfriend."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, and he’s busy playing Quidditch, while Fred is right here, right in front of you, actually noticing you.”

Hermione shot her a look. “We’re not encouraging this, Ginny.”

You blinked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror again. The truth hit you like a ton of bricks: Fred had been noticing you for days. And you'd been noticing him right back. You'd even caught yourself imagining what it would be like to kiss him, to have someone actually see you instead of just waiting around for scraps.

Your fingers tightened around the lip gloss Hermione handed you, unsure of how to respond. The guilt felt like a heavy cloak you couldn’t quite shake off.

“I have a boyfriend,” you muttered, voice quieter this time. "But—"

“You're not blind," Ginny finished for you, that smirk still in place.

Hermione shot her friend a glance, looking more thoughtful than mischievous. “It’s just... if you’re not happy in a relationship, it’s okay to rethink things. Just don’t rush into anything.”

You met her eyes in the mirror, her voice striking a chord. You weren’t happy. You hadn’t been for a while.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you said, the words feeling heavier than you intended. “But I also don't want to keep pretending everything’s fine.”

Ginny reached out, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to pretend. And besides, if Fred’s interested, you should at least see where it goes.” She raised her glass of pumpkin juice. “No harm in that, right?”

You forced a smile, feeling a weight lift from your chest. “Yeah, I guess. No harm.”

Hermione let out a sigh, but there was no disapproval in her tone. "Just don't make any decisions you aren't ready for. But do what makes you happy, alright?"

"Alright," you nodded, feeling strangely reassured.

As you stepped into the common room, you tried to shake off the heavy thoughts clouding your mind, but they followed you like shadows. Cormac hadn't even noticed you when you walked in, his focus entirely on the latest Quidditch match stats he was bantering about with Seamus. You approached him with your arms crossed, smiling kindly when he finally glanced down at you.

"Hi, love."

He smiled back briefly, leaning down to peck your cheek.

"Hello, darling."

The brief kiss on your cheek didn’t feel like it used to. It was routine now, nothing more than a formality. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, trying to ignore the empty feeling settling in your chest.

“How was the match?” you asked, hoping for some kind of real connection.

Cormac shrugged, already turning his attention back to Seamus, clearly eager to get back to the conversation. “Ah, you know, same old, same old. Quidditch, mate. Nothing to worry about. I’m already focused on the next game.”

You wanted to be nasty. You wanted to be rude.

How would he even know how the match was? The git didn't even play in it. He sat on the bench.

You bit your lip to stop the words from spilling out, but they hovered at the tip of your tongue, demanding to be said. The frustration you’d been holding back for weeks was threatening to pour out like a flood. How could he be so blind? How could he be so wrapped up in his own world that he didn’t even notice how much you were trying?

Instead of lashing out, you forced a tight smile, biting down on your irritation.

“Right,” you said, your voice slightly sharper than you intended. “You’re focused on the next game. Of course.”

He didn’t catch the sarcasm, of course. He was too busy regaling Seamus with more stats, as if that was the most important thing in the world.

You stood there, arms crossed, and felt yourself growing smaller in his shadow. The longer you stayed in his orbit, the more you realized just how little you mattered to him anymore. It wasn’t even about Quidditch anymore — it was about how he couldn’t be bothered to even acknowledge you, let alone make any effort.

You shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling like you couldn’t stand there another second. You could practically hear Fred’s voice in your head — You deserve better than this — and for the first time, it actually felt true.

With a last glance at Cormac, who hadn’t even realized you were still standing there, you walked off, a burst of energy propelling you away from the dullness of him. You didn’t know where you were going, but anywhere felt better than standing there like an afterthought.

And then you spotted Fred.

Of course, he was watching. He always seemed to be watching.

His lips quirked up when he saw you, and the glint in his eyes was almost enough to make you forget how awful everything had just been. Almost.

“Looks like that went well,” Fred remarked, crossing his arms as you stopped in front of him, feeling the weight of everything on your shoulders.

You almost didn’t know how to respond, but somehow, Fred’s presence made it easier. “Well, he’s still talking about Quidditch,” you said, your tone almost too calm for how you were feeling inside.

Fred laughed, glancing over at your boyfriend.

"Quidditch, yeah? The same Quidditch game I played and won today?" He asked playfully. "That's funny. I don't remember seeing a Cormac McLaggen on the pitch."

You couldn't help but laugh at the way Fred's tone had an edge of mockery, and the way he made Cormac sound so utterly irrelevant. You glanced at your boyfriend again, who was still in his own little world, bragging about his Quidditch expertise. It was honestly pathetic.

"Exactly," you replied, rolling your eyes. "I don't think Cormac would know how to hold a broomstick properly if it bit him."

Fred's grin widened, clearly pleased with your response. "Well, at least one of us appreciates Quidditch the way it was meant to be." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice, "And just so you know, I don't mind playing for two."

You met his gaze, a teasing smile curling on your lips. "Two?"

"Yeah, for you." Fred said it with such casual confidence, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, but the way his eyes lingered on yours made your chest tighten in a good way.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying not to let your thoughts run away with you. Cormac was still your boyfriend — kind of. But standing there, in Fred's orbit, you couldn’t ignore the growing pull between you two, a magnetic force you hadn’t expected.

"I don't think Cormac would appreciate you sharing the spotlight," you teased, but even you could hear the lack of real conviction in your words.

Fred chuckled, his voice lowering in that way that made it feel like there was no one else around. "Who says I’m sharing? You’ve got a lot more going for you than just his attention."

For a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, and everything else — Cormac, the party, the chatter — disappeared. It was just you and Fred, and the undeniable chemistry that had been building since the first time he’d shown up at the pitch.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said softly, unable to pull your eyes away from his.

The party went on. You didn't even waste your time glancing at Cormac anymore. Instead, you took shots with your friends and cast every spare glance at Fred.

As you got drunker, your feelings got stronger. They always did. You sat with Hermione and Ginny, singing a song loudly and giggling. Before you knew it, Fred was back again, smirking.

Fred leaned casually against the table, his smirk never faltering as he watched you and your friends. He crossed his arms, but his eyes were all on you, gleaming with mischief and something else — something that made your pulse race just a little faster.

"Still here?" you teased, a playful challenge in your voice as you looked up at him from where you sat.

"Wouldn’t miss it," he replied smoothly, his tone low, yet dripping with that signature charm. "Besides, I don’t think you’d want to be stuck with Cormac for much longer."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was undeniable. “I’m fine without him,” you said, feeling the heat of alcohol start to cloud your thoughts, but only in the best way possible. "And maybe I’ve got better company right here.”

Fred raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a half-smirk. "Better company, huh? What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing."

The tension between you both was electric, palpable. It hung in the air, thick and unspoken, but you could feel it in the way Fred’s gaze never wavered from you.

Ginny, always the observant one, caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere and grinned. "Alright, you two," she said with a knowing look. "You both should just kiss already."

Your heart skipped, and for a split second, Fred’s eyes flickered to yours, his smirk turning into something more sincere, something almost... hungry.

You nearly choked on your drink, laughing in an attempt to mask the sudden heat on your face. "Ginny!" you protested, though it came out breathlessly. "You’re drunk."

Fred chuckled, his voice barely audible above the noise of the party. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”

The moment was interrupted. Cormac cleared his throat, a glare on his face. His friends stood behind him.

The air in the room instantly thickened, the playful energy dissipating as Cormac’s presence loomed over you like a storm cloud. He didn’t even glance at Fred; his eyes were fixed on you, his expression harsh, almost accusing.

“Everything alright here?” Cormac’s voice was low, the kind of tone that suggested he already knew the answer but wanted to make sure you felt the weight of his disapproval.

You shrugged.

"You seemed fine in your corner of the room."

Cormac’s jaw tightened at your response, and his friends shifted uncomfortably behind him, sensing the brewing tension. He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’re drunk,” he muttered, his gaze flicking to the drink in your hand as though it was some kind of proof of your irresponsibility. “And you’re with him.” His eyes shot a pointed glare at Fred, who simply raised an eyebrow and leaned back casually.

“I’m allowed to talk to whoever I want,” you replied, keeping your tone steady, even though your heart was pounding. You could feel the eyes of the entire room on you, but this time, it didn’t bother you as much as it usually did. You were done hiding in Cormac’s shadow.

Fred smirked and took a step back, hands in his pockets as if to give you space, but still within reach should you need him. "Looks like someone needs to get a grip," he said lightly, his voice teasing, but there was an edge to it.

Cormac’s nostrils flared, and he took a step closer, his face reddening. "You think this is funny, Weasley?" His voice was low, threatening. "Stay out of this."

Fred’s grin never wavered. “I think it’s hilarious, actually. But hey, if you want to keep playing the jealous boyfriend role, go ahead.”

You could see Cormac’s hands twitch. He stepped forward. Fred raised an eyebrow, standing from his seat. He was easily a head taller than Cormac, maybe more.

"Stay away from my girlfriend, git. I hear all the whispers around this school. Fred Weasley flirting with my girlfriend. You're flirtin' with a right ass kicking next."

Fred’s eyes darkened slightly, but his smirk remained, though now it was colder, sharper. He stood tall, his posture effortlessly confident, an undeniable contrast to Cormac’s flustered and aggressive stance.

"An arse kicking?" Fred snorted, actually having the guff to laugh in Cormac's face. "Oi, Georgie! Did you hear that right? McLaggen wants to deliver me a 'right arse kicking'."

George, who had been leaning casually against the wall, looked up with a grin that matched Fred’s. He crossed his arms and took a step forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “An arse kicking, bloke?” he echoed, his tone full of sarcasm. “Oh, I do hope you’ve got more than just the threat of bad breath and an overinflated ego, McLaggen.”

The laughter between the twins only served to make Cormac’s face redden further, and you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. It was clear that the situation was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and yet, Fred and George didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Yeah, mate,” Fred continued, his voice dripping with amusement. “Not sure you’ve got the goods for that kind of threat. How about you take that bad attitude and go sulk somewhere else before you really embarrass yourself?”

There was a palpable tension in the room as Fred’s eyes locked onto Cormac’s, but despite the threat of violence, Fred seemed completely unfazed. He just stood there, his smirk wide and his posture so relaxed it was as though he was daring Cormac to take the first swing.

Cormac got closer, him and Fred almost nose to nose.

"Stay. Away. From Y/N."

Fred’s smirk didn’t falter, though there was a noticeable shift in the air. His posture didn’t tense, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes now. He leaned forward just slightly, closing the gap between him and Cormac with a confidence that almost made it seem like he had all the time in the world.

“Make me,” Fred said softly, his voice low and almost casual, like the entire confrontation was a minor inconvenience. The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, daring Cormac to try something — anything.

Cormac’s face was mere inches from Fred’s, his breath hot and heavy in the silence that had enveloped them. For a moment, it seemed like neither of them would budge, like the tension was going to snap in a violent clash. But then Cormac’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration evident in the sharpness of his jaw. He was seething, but Fred wasn’t backing down, wasn’t giving him an inch.

Finally, the dam broke.

Cormac lunged at Fred, but his friends were too quick, grabbing ahold of him. Your eyes widened.

Fred burst into laughter, his eyebrows raised.

"Oh, my! The froggy did jump. Let him go, boys. Let's see what he can do, yeah?"

The tension in the room reached a fever pitch as Fred's challenge hung in the air. Cormac’s friends, clearly unsure, hesitated for a second before releasing him, but there was no mistaking the fury in his eyes. He was seething, ready to lash out, but Fred didn’t flinch.

Fred’s laughter rang out, loud and carefree, like he was genuinely enjoying this absurd situation. He stepped back a little, hands in the air as if to say, “Come on then.”

“Go on then, McLaggen,” Fred taunted, his tone light, as though he were merely encouraging a schoolyard squabble. “Show me what you’ve got. But don’t go crying to your mates when it doesn’t work out.”

You could feel the eyes of everyone around you, the whispers and the stares. Some of the students were backing away, not wanting to get caught in the middle of this. Fred’s confidence was unmatched, but you could also see the moment Cormac’s resolve started to crack.

Fred’s posture was still relaxed, his smirk in place, but there was something more now — the challenge had shifted. The onlookers were waiting to see if Cormac would actually follow through.

For a split second, Cormac looked like he was going to make a move. His hand twitched, as if contemplating it, but then he stopped. His chest heaved with anger, but his eyes were calculating now, as if trying to figure out if it was worth throwing the first punch.

Fred raised an eyebrow, mocking him. “What’s wrong, mate? Too scared to even throw a proper punch?”

Cormac’s face was a mask of fury, his pride clearly wounded. He looked like he was about to explode, but after a tense pause, he began to walk away.

"I want you back in the dorm by one, Y/N." He hissed. Then, he left.

The moment Cormac’s voice cut through the tension, it was like a cold splash of water. You were still frozen in place, your heart pounding in your chest. His words echoed in your mind — the command, the possessiveness. You felt your stomach twist, the anger bubbling up once more.

But Fred, as always, didn’t seem fazed. He leaned against the table casually, his arms crossed over his chest, looking after Cormac with a raised brow. “Is that right?” he muttered under his breath, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

The air was thick with the aftermath, the party resuming its usual hum of conversation, but the dynamic had changed. Everyone could feel it.

Fred turned his gaze back to you, his eyes softening, though the sharpness of the encounter still lingered in the air. “You don’t have to listen to him, you know.”

His words hung there, simple but loaded. You knew it wasn’t just about Cormac anymore. It was about what you wanted, what you were going to do next.

You met Fred’s eyes, trying to steady your racing heart. “I know.”

But even as you said it, part of you felt a strange pull, a sense of responsibility to Cormac’s words. You could feel the control he tried to exert over you, like a tight grip on your very being. It wasn’t right, but the thought of confrontation still made your stomach churn.

Fred didn’t push. He didn’t need to. He stood there, waiting, giving you the space to process.

After a long pause, you finally spoke, your voice quieter now. “I don’t want to go back to the dorm tonight.” It came out almost like a confession, and you immediately regretted it. But Fred’s gaze softened in understanding.

“Then don’t,” he said simply, a warmth creeping into his tone. “You’re not his to command, Y/N.”

His words were a reminder — not just that you were free, but that you deserved more. You deserved to make your own choices, to not be controlled by anyone.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of that. Fred’s presence had shifted from playful to something deeper, something more protective and genuine.

Without a word, he reached out, offering his hand to you. His gaze didn’t leave yours as he waited, his smirk gone, replaced with something that spoke volumes.

“You’ve got options. You can stay in my dorm, or we can go somewhere else. Your call.”

The offer was simple, yet it felt like the world was in your hands. Cormac’s control, his possessiveness — it felt a lot smaller in comparison to the choice Fred was giving you now.

Ultimately, you decided to go to Fred's upon the promise that he'd sleep on the floor and you could have the bed.

When it was time, you crept up the stairs sneakily, knowing you weren't supposed to be there. Before you'd left, Hermione and Ginny winked at you, mouthing 'use protection'. As usual, you'd used the lame quote you always did.

"I have a boyfriend!"

You stepped into Fred’s dorm with a mix of nerves and curiosity fluttering in your chest. The room had the unmistakable scent of boy — a mix of broom polish, something vaguely like cinnamon, and just a hint of mischief. Quidditch posters were slightly crooked on the walls, a pair of socks hung from the corner of his bedpost, and a few Zonko’s wrappers were scattered on the floor like confetti after a prank well done.

Fred closed the door behind you with a quiet click, then turned, watching your expression closely. “Alright, I know it’s not exactly five-star,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, “but I promise the bed’s clean-ish. And I’m told the floor builds character.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the corners of your lips twitched up. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor, you know.”

Fred raised a brow. “You’re not about to suggest we share, are you? Because that might make your boyfriend — sorry, our resident caveman — a bit twitchy.”

You laughed, the sound soft and surprising even to your own ears. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Fred said, flopping down on the bed for the moment and tossing a pillow to the floor like it was a throne, “you’re here.”

You stood there for a second longer than necessary, watching him. For all the jokes and smirks, there was something undeniably warm about him — like you were safe in a place you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

“I’m only here to avoid a fight,” you said, not really believing it yourself.

Fred looked at you, unbothered. “Then I hope it was worth sneaking past McGonagall and the protection squad.” He mimicked Ginny and Hermione’s voices with a dramatic flair: “‘Use protection!’ — honestly, I feel like they’re rooting for me.”

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. “I hate that I keep using that same excuse. I have a boyfriend… it sounds weaker every time I say it.”

Fred’s voice was quieter now. “Then stop saying it.”

The room fell into a soft silence.

You lifted the pillow just enough to peek at him. “That’s not fair.”

He met your gaze with something softer than a smirk. “Neither is the way he treats you.”

There was nothing flirty in his voice this time — no edge, no teasing. Just truth.

You could feel how close you were. His thighs were resting next to yours, only an inch from touching. You were sad you couldn't share the bed without it being wrong.

Fred must’ve felt it too — the closeness, the tension that wasn’t born from a fight or an argument, but from restraint. The unspoken something that had been hanging between you two for weeks now. Maybe months. Maybe longer.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence like a magnetic pull, and it wasn’t fair. Not because of the situation, or the rumors, or even the rules — but because being near him made you feel calm. Real. Understood. Something you didn’t even realize you’d been starving for.

“I hate this,” you whispered, not even sure if you meant the situation, your relationship with Cormac, or the fact that you couldn’t just... let yourself fall into this moment.

Fred didn’t move, but his voice came low. “What part?”

You hesitated. “The part where I have to keep pretending I don’t want more than this.”

He looked at you then — really looked. All the mischief and bravado faded in a blink. There was something in his eyes that made your breath catch, something heavy with meaning, but gentle too.

“You don’t have to pretend with me. I won't squeal.”

Your eyes softened. You felt yourself almost melting.

Fred leaned forward, almost testing how far you'd let him go.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away.

His hand found the edge of the bed, steadying himself, his knuckles brushing lightly against your knee. It wasn’t bold or pushy — it was cautious, careful, like he was giving you every opportunity to stop him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

His eyes never left yours, and in them, you didn’t see a boy looking for a joke or a cheap thrill. You saw someone who meant it. Someone who knew exactly what you were risking and was willing to meet you there anyway — with patience, with warmth, with that steady, maddening confidence he always wore so well.

“You sure?” he asked, voice a whisper now, nearly swallowed by the hush of the room. “Because once I know you want this too… I don’t think I can go back to pretending either.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached out, fingers barely ghosting over his wrist — and that was all he needed.

Fred closed the space between you, slow and certain, his forehead gently resting against yours. No kiss. Not yet. Just that shared breath, that promise suspended in the air.

"I don't think I've ever felt this way in my life."

Fred let out the softest breath, like the weight of your words had struck something deep inside him — something real. His fingers brushed your knee again, this time more firmly, grounding himself as he searched your eyes.

“Me either,” he admitted, his voice barely audible, like speaking too loud might break the moment.

His thumb skimmed your wrist, tracing slow, reverent circles as he kept his forehead against yours. “It’s not just a crush. Not some passing thing. I feel it — here.” He moved your hand gently, placing it flat over his chest where his heart thudded steadily beneath your palm. “Every time I see you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was full. Full of every glance, every smirk, every quiet moment you’d shared that hadn’t made sense until now.

Fred leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes again, searching for the final piece of permission. His voice cracked just slightly when he whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

Fuck it.

"Please?" You asked, your voice a quiet whimper.

That was all it took.

Fred closed the distance without hesitation, one hand coming up to cradle your cheek with such care it made your heart ache. His lips met yours gently at first, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth, the feeling of finally having you this close. It wasn’t rushed — it was reverent. A kiss years in the making, built from tension, longing, and all the moments you’d spent denying it.

But once it started, there was no going back.

The second kiss was deeper, slower but more desperate — his fingers slipping into your hair, your hands clinging to his shirt. It was like something had finally broken free between you, and now that it had, neither of you could stop. The need in the room shifted from hesitant to hungry in an instant.

Fred pulled back only slightly, his forehead pressed against yours again, lips brushing as he spoke. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that — instead I got to watch moments like this wasted on some talentless git."

He kissed you again before you could respond — soft, then firm, like he couldn’t get enough. His voice came in a breathless whisper against your lips: “Say the word and I’ll stop, yeah?”

You didn’t say a word.

Instead, you pulled him back in with a grip that left no room for doubt. Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as you kissed him harder, need surging like a flood. Fred groaned softly into your mouth — a low, desperate sound that seemed to vibrate right through you — before his hands found your waist, tugging you into his lap like you belonged there.

You did.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his touch suddenly more urgent, more claiming. His mouth moved along your jaw, down to the edge of your throat, where he lingered with soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch. “You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, “how mad you make me, every time you call that idiot your boyfriend.”

His hands ran under the hem of your shirt now, slow and reverent even in the heat of it all, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you this way.

Fred's hands paused just beneath the fabric, fingertips brushing your bare skin like he was memorizing the feel of you. His breath was hot against your neck, the restraint in his movements contrasting the intensity of the moment. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push.

“You shouldn’t have to settle for someone who only wants to own you,” he whispered, lips brushing your collarbone. “You deserve to be worshipped.”

Your heart pounded at his words — not because of the heat, but the sincerity behind them. Fred didn’t just want you. He saw you. All of you. Every piece you’d tucked away, every part Cormac had ignored or tried to control — Fred was holding you like none of that scared him.

He pulled back enough to meet your gaze again, thumbs still stroking lazy circles into your hips. “I meant what I said. You call the shots. We stop whenever you say.”

His voice was still low, husky with want — but his eyes held nothing but respect, waiting for your permission, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

You felt yourself squirm under his touch, the heat between your legs almost becoming uncomfortable. You weren’t even sure if you’d feel guilty for doing this anymore. Fred was the most exquisite thing you’d ever tasted, a forbidden fruit.

Fred noticed the way you moved against him, the quiet, involuntary squirm, and his hands tightened slightly at your hips — not to restrain, but to ground. His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze dark and reverent, as if he could already feel the shift in you, the slow unraveling of hesitation.

“I want to take care of you. Will you let me, love?” He asked, his brown eyes darker than ever.

Your breath caught at the tenderness in his voice — the contrast between his raw need and the reverence in his words made your heart ache. There was no arrogance in the way Fred looked at you now, no teasing or bravado. Just a quiet, aching sincerity. Like this had never been about just desire — it had always been about you.

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Fred smirked, the hands on your hips lifting only to slide under the waistband of your skirt. “That’s my girl.”

You shuddered as his rough, Quidditch conditioned hands met the skin below your belly button, your e/c eyes glued onto him. The brisk air flooded your hips, thighs, and legs as he pulled the skirt off.

He tossed it to the floor quickly, his eyes raking over your body in awe.

“You’re gorgeous. Absolutely bloody perfect.”

His thick fingers trailed along the waistband of your underwear, toying with the thin fabric. He eyed the wet patch on the front, an amused smile on his lips.

“Betcha Cormac McLaggen never caused this mess, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, attempting to close your legs. He pushed them back open, chuckling.

Quickly, he tugged your panties down your legs too, his eyes darkening even further at the sight of you. Your pussy was perfect, glistening in the dim light of the moon. He ran a finger down the length of it, watching your essence collect onto it.

You exhaled, the cold breath hitting Fred.

“Pretty. So, so pretty.”

Before you knew it, Fred was repositioning himself, his body sliding down the rest of the bed. He positions himself between your thighs, pushing them further apart. His eyes look eagerly up at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Gonna take care of you, yeah? Show you an unselfish bloke, since you’ve never seen one.”

You could’ve cried.

With a firm squeeze on your thigh, he dives in.

He licks a thick stripe up the middle of your heat, eliciting a moan from your lips immediately. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle against you — you definitely felt the vibration of it.

He laps at you eagerly, like a dog that just found water in the desert. Your clit gets most of the attention, but he occasionally goes where your essence has collected most, cleaning you up as he works.

“Oh my Merlin—” you gasp, a quiet whimper leaving your lips as your hand trails down to him, threading through his hair without even thinking.

This only pushes him further. He focuses on the most sensitive part of you, the cute little bundle of nerves, until you feel like you could pass out.

All it takes it one more push. He sucks at you, a loud sluuuurp, just enough pressure.

You come undone immediately, a lewd moan leaving your lips. You’d almost be embarrassed at how quick it was if you could even think.

“Fred!”

He doesn’t stop, leading you through your release. Your hips buck as you attempt to push him off, but his broad hand forces your hips down.

All that’s left now is to clean you up. He can’t let you go to waste.

Licking up every drop of cum you’d let slip, he came up off from you. The lower part of his face glistens sinfully.

Your jaw is still wide open in both bliss and disbelief as you look at him, a loud exhale exiting your mouth.

Quickly, as if it was perfectly normal, a typical part of his evening, he wiped your release from his face and sucked it from his fingers, humming gratefully.

He looked down at you with a lazy, satisfied grin, eyes soft but gleaming with something deeper. “See?” he murmured, brushing your hair from your face with the gentlest touch. “That’s what you deserve, love. Not the bloody Quidditch mascot.”

You laughed, breathless and flushed, your brain fuzzy.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Fred let out a dramatic groan and threw his head back against the pillow. “Merlin’s bloody beard, not again.”

You giggled, half buried in his chest, still breathless and dazed. “It’s a reflex at this point.”

He turned his head to look at you, one brow raised and a teasing smirk forming on his lips. “Yeah? Well, reflex or not, love, you really need to update your status. Because your boyfriend didn’t make you sound like that.” His fingers traced lazy circles over your spine. “I did.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself closer to him. He wraps his arms around you tightly, curling you into his chest.

“Goodnight, Weasley. You’ve turned me into a sinner.”

Fred chuckled, the sound low and warm against your ear as he buried his face in your hair. “Then I’ll happily be the reason you fall from grace,” he murmured, voice laced with something both teasing and devastatingly sincere.

His arms tightened around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, and the fading ache of the night’s confessions lulled you into a peace you hadn’t felt in ages. And for once, you didn’t care about tomorrow — not about guilt, not about consequences.

The next morning, you still felt the same. No guilt. No shame. That’s how you knew for sure that your relationship with Cormac had run its course and that you needed to end it — ASAP.

And after his brutish behavior the other night, what better way was there to break it to him but through the very Weasley that had shown you the greener grass on the other side?

You entered the Great Hall, Fred’s arm thrown around your shoulder.

You didn’t even try to hide the smug satisfaction bubbling beneath your skin.

Fred was relaxed, smirking like he knew exactly the kind of storm you were about to unleash. His arm hung heavy around your shoulders, protective and possessive in a way that was unmistakably deliberate. You leaned into it — not for the drama, but because it felt good. Right.

The hum of morning chatter in the Great Hall dulled the second you walked in. Heads turned. Students smiled, cheered even. And at the Gryffindor table, Cormac McLaggen froze mid-bite, eyes narrowing as they locked onto the two of you.

You gave him a look that was cool, almost bored. “McLaggen,” you said lightly, as though you were passing a stranger on the street.

Fred didn’t stop walking, guiding you toward your usual spot like nothing was amiss. But as you slid onto the bench beside him, his arm stayed firmly in place, and his hand brushed your shoulder with just enough intimacy to make the message clear.

Cormac was already on his feet. “What the hell is this?”

Fred looked up at him with a smile that was too calm to be kind. “This?” He gestured lazily between you. “This is her making a better choice.”

Cormac’s jaw clenched. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” you cut in, voice steady, unfazed. “We’re over, Cormac. As of last night, officially. Your behavior lately? That was the last straw.”

He looked between you and Fred, fuming. “So you’re just gonna — what? Run off with him?”

You didn’t blink. “No, I walked away from you. And he was already standing there.”

Fred leaned back, hands behind his head now, relaxed as ever. “She simply decided she preferred gingers. And blokes that don’t pretend to be good at Quidditch. And blokes that brush their teeth.”

The Gryffindor table burst into scattered laughter, a few muffled snorts and gasps echoing down the line. Even George, two seats away, choked on his pumpkin juice, coughing into his sleeve with a wide-eyed, delighted grin.

Cormac’s face flushed a deep, angry red, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is funny?” he snapped, eyes locked on Fred. “You think you can just take her from me and humiliate me in front of everyone?”

Fred didn’t move, his tone still maddeningly casual. “Mate, I didn’t take anything. You lost her all on your own. I just happened to be the better option when the dust settled.”

You saw it — the twitch in Cormac’s jaw, the way his shoulders squared as if ready to swing. But this time, Fred’s eyes sharpened, just a little.

“Don’t,” he warned, his smile fading just enough to let the tension creep in again. “I’d hate to embarrass you twice in one week.”

Cormac turned, glaring.

“Whatever. I deserve better than some stupid slag, anyway.”

Fred was on his feet before anyone else could react.

There was no teasing in his expression now — no witty retorts, no lopsided smirk. Just pure, cold fury. The kind that silenced the whole hall in an instant.

“What are you—”

Fred’s fist connected with Cormac’s jaw before the insult could fully leave his mouth.

The sound was sickening — a sharp crack that echoed through the Great Hall like a thunderclap. Heads turned. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Even the enchanted ceiling seemed to flicker for a moment, as if the castle itself recoiled from the blow.

Cormac stumbled back, dazed, clutching his face with wide eyes and bleeding pride. He didn’t fall — not quite — but the damage was clear: his lip was split, and his ego shattered.

Fred didn’t follow it up. He stood over Cormac, shoulders heaving, eyes burning. “Long overdue, you absolute waste of space prat,” he growled. “Try that shit again and see what you get next, mate.”

McGonagall’s voice suddenly rang through the hall like a whip. “Mr. Weasley!”

Fred didn’t flinch. He only turned slightly, shielding you behind him again with a hand at your hip. “Sorry, Professor,” he said, still glaring at Cormac. “Slipped.”

—

The tension from the Great Hall carried all the way into detention, where Fred now sat slumped at a desk in an empty classroom, idly tossing a quill from one hand to the other. He looked more annoyed than remorseful — not at the punishment, but at the hour wasted inside instead of with you.

The door creaked open.

He glanced up — and there you were.

McGonagall had given you permission. She was an advocator for women, and you’d explained the entire situation to her. She was slightly reluctant, but ended up letting you enter with a ‘just this once’ slipping from her lips.

“You’re not in trouble,” he said, brow lifting in amused confusion as you shut the door behind you.

“No,” you teased, strolling toward him. “Figured if you’re gonna sit here sulking, I might as well brighten the place up a bit.”

Fred grinned, eyes following your every step as you hopped up to sit on the desk in front of him, legs swinging playfully. He reached towards your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I can’t believe I can call you my girlfriend now. Never thought I’d see the day you gave up on the bench warmer.”

You smirked, gently nudging Fred with your knee as he leaned forward, resting his chin on your thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Gave up on him the moment I realized I was already in love with the guy who actually showed up for me,” you said, fingers sliding through his hair.

Fred beamed, practically glowing. “So you’re saying I’m your hero? Finally getting the credit I deserve?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the fond smile tugging at your lips. “More like my very chaotic, very ginger hero who got detention for punching my ex.”

Fred looked far too pleased with that title.

“Don’t forget, love. I also devoured his girlfriend in my bed two doors down from him.”

You raised your eyebrows, laughing as you lightly smacked his shoulder. “Fred!”

He grinned shamelessly, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “What? Just making sure history remembers me properly.”

You shook your head, but the smile on your face wouldn’t budge. “You’re unbelievable.”

Fred leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, voice dipping to something softer. “And yet… you still chose me.”

You exhaled, heart full. “Yeah. I did.”

And as he kissed you — slow, certain, and impossibly warm — you realized that, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t regret a single thing.

[pathologicalreid]

and it feels like home | s.r.

in which Spencer confesses his love to you at the oddest of places - your sister's wedding

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: could be angst if you know what's coming next, jareau!reader, down bad!spencer, yearning, reader feels unlovable, spencer drinks champagne, reader does not drink, reader is shorter than spencer, reader wears a dress and heels word count: 1.93k a/n: and just like that, margovember is over (i have one more request for it technically but it's an episode rewrite so that'll take me longer to write). i was in need of some good yearning - this covers a request for their first kiss and for a fic with francesca by hozier levels of yearning.

You allowed yourself to be led away from the party. The past twenty-four hours had been amassed of you running around like a headless chicken, trying to put together your sister’s one-step-below shotgun wedding. Now that the party was in full swing, you willingly followed Spencer through the garden, a few remaining speeches going on in the background as the two of you rounded a corner, out of sight of party guests. “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were leading me away from everyone to kill me,” you said offhandedly, adjusting the way your shawl fell over your shoulders.

Instead of looking up at Spencer, your eyes homed in on the way he was holding your hand as if he were about to lift it and press a kiss to your knuckles. Butterflies flurried in your stomach at the thought, but you quickly dewinged them, trying to focus on the issue at hand.

Something was wrong with Spencer; you could see it in the way he was shaking his hands. It looked like he was trying to get excess water off of them or if there was energy trying to exit via his fingertips. You were worried about him, sometimes he fidgeted when he was craving—though you’d only seen him in that state once before and you couldn’t ascertain what would have triggered him.

“I have to talk to you,” he repeated the same words that he’d told you when he first took your hand back at the gazebo. He had to be preparing to tell you something awful, you could tell from the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you finally glanced up at him. Deep brown irises flittered around, noticing each small detail that you and Dave had plotted out, but he never noticed you.

The blue dress that you had picked out to go well with the flowers and your hair was previously pinned to perfection but had since fallen out while you tried to sort out a last-minute issue with the caterers, but he didn’t seem to take mind of any of it. For better or for worse, you supposed. “What do you need, Spence?” You asked him, cocking your head and trying not to notice the twinkle in his eye when you called him ‘Spence.’ You promised yourself months ago that you’d stop waiting for someone who would never want you back.

You just couldn’t seem to get away from Spencer Reid.

It wasn’t that you saw yourself as undesirable, but a small part of yourself was under the impression that if he hadn’t made a move yet, it was never going to happen. He knew too much about you; he’d been the one to pick you up off of the floor when your last relationship fell apart. You wondered if he felt the same way, recalling the night you spent on his bathroom floor because you were terrified of finding a needle in his vein.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Spencer finally spoke, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at you nervously. You eyed him curiously, the question faintly reminiscent of something a man would ask you if he were making small talk.

Foolishly, you had thought that you and Spencer had been well past small talk at this point, “No,” you answered, dragging out the vowel. “You already knew that, though,” You had talked to him about it last night when the subject of weddings came up, naturally.

He nodded in confirmation, “Right, yeah. Yes, I just needed to make sure before I started this conversation.” Spencer glanced over his shoulder as if he were being watched, or maybe he wanted to make sure no one saw the two of you in close vicinity.

You squinted at him, trying to get a feel for what he wanted to talk about without outwardly profiling him. “What conversation?” You asked, feeling like you were enveloped in a spiraling line of questioning—like you’d never get a straightforward answer.

“Do you remember this time last year? We’d just finished that sex trafficking case, and we were finishing paperwork late in the office, and you asked me if I’d ever been in love,” he said, panting like he was running a marathon. “I told you no, and at the time that was the truth. However, the circumstances have changed.”

Your stomach flipped, surging well past butterflies at this point as your face warmed—what was he trying to say?

He finally dropped your hand, resorting to placing each of his hands on your waist, stopping you from pulling away. Spencer felt impossibly close to you, even though the two of you had irrefutably been closer together, but not even an embrace would match up with the look he was giving you now. “I couldn’t let myself love you, not while you were in a relationship. It felt cruel to me, and it felt cruel to you because you had a boyfriend. It feels like we’ve already lived a lifetime together when we’ve never truly been together,” he told you, gently squeezing your waist as he spoke animatedly.

Instinctively, you took a step back from him, your breathing faltered slightly when you saw hurt flash in his eyes, “Why?” Your voice was no more than a breath, an appalled, exasperated breath. “Why here? Why now, Spence? We’re at my sister’s wedding,” you placed a hand on your chest “Please, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Spencer was shaking his head before you’d even finished speaking, “No, it has to be now. I need to do this now,” desperation crept into his tone as he stepped forward, practically caging you against the siding of Rossi’s mansion.

You didn’t feel trapped, though, even with Spencer’s arms on either side of you, he was still Spencer. “Why now, Spence?” You peered up at him through your mascara-covered lashes. Maybe this was a consequence of his environment, surrounded by an evening that was sure to involve declarations of love, so he elected to make one of his own with you as a victim.

“Because I thought you were in that building,” he said exasperatedly, wide brown eyes watching you as if the answer had been completely obvious the entire time.

Realization dawned over you as you recalled the events from a few days ago: the bank robbery turned explosion that somehow ended in a marriage proposal. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you eyed Spencer curiously, “You thought I’d gotten hurt.”

Spencer sighed, “I thought you were dead.” His eyes were trained on yours like there was nothing else in the world for him to look at, “For a moment, I lived my worst nightmare because I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, and I was stuck in Quantico with no way to reach you.”

Everything about the explosion was hazy, everyone was shouting for someone else, and you thought you’d imagined someone calling your name. You’d convinced yourself you were hearing things, some sort of after effect of the blast, but Spencer had been looking for you. “Spence,” you whispered, unable to gather the words you were so desperately searching for.

He shrugged helplessly, “I can’t go another day without telling you I love you.”

You felt like you were being stabbed in the chest repeatedly, unsure if you were on the verge of laughter or tears. “You never showed… I didn’t think—”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who I have a hard time reading, and I thought… I thought that if I waited for you someday, you’d realize that you love me too. I sat and I waited, and I helped you get over your ex and I am so grateful for you and your friendship, but it’s not enough for me,” he told you, no longer panting. This was Spencer completely levelheaded, emphatically declaring his love for you. “I need more of you and I can’t wait any longer.”

Eventually, the jig would be up. Someone would jump out from the bushes, and they’d let you know that you were indeed being Punk’d, but right now you were just looking into the eyes of someone who loved you. It would seem that no one else had ever truly loved you before, because the look Spencer was giving you could only be defined as love, yet it was unfamiliar to you. “You love me?” You asked, your voice no more than a whisper.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at you, “I love you in ways that no one has ever loved anyone before, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay,” you breathed, eyes studying his expression for any hint of regret.

“Would you allow me that?” He stepped away, dropping his arms at his side, “I know I cornered you tonight, and it’s perfectly fine if you don’t have an answer for me tonight, but I’d wait years for you if that’s what it took.”

You were shaking your head as you took the opportunity to step toward him, propping yourself up on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his, the picture-perfect moment for the two of you. Perhaps you startled him at first because it took him a moment to wrap his arms around you, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he pulled your body flush with his.

His lips tasted like champagne, and the soft tinge of the alcohol on your mouth only served to intoxicate you further, even though you yourself didn’t drink from a flute.

The universe had a funny way of working in your favor, and this time, it had given you your first meeting with Spencer almost four years ago. You had nearly two years of friendship under your belt now, which is why it was so easy for you to pull away from him slightly, grinning against his lips as you whispered, “I love you too.”

Spencer kissed you again, moving one of his hands to gently cup your jaw, moving his velvet soft lips against yours with purpose and care. Your arms were thrown over his shoulders, elbows crossing at the nape of your neck to support you. You’d have to get used to the height difference, and you’re sure you will.

“Hey, Y/N,” Someone called out, and the two of you bolted away from each other like opposite charges, “I think it’s about time to cut the cake, your— Oh.”  

It seems the two of you did not move fast enough, for you were now faced with Emily and her knowing gaze. Your eyes flickered over to Spencer just briefly before you looked back at Emily, “Okay,” you responded to her, your voice hoarse, “I’ll let the caterers know.” You started your trudge to the backyard, picking up your feet so your heels wouldn’t dig into the grass. “Are you coming?” You turned and faced Spencer; a watercolor pink brushed across his cheeks.

“I’ll be right there,” he answered, giving you a soft, patented Spencer smile.

You looked nervously over at Emily, dreading the fact that this thing between you and Spencer was barely fledgling and the team was already going to be aware. “You know,” she started, and you braced yourself for the teasing, “London’s a pretty good place to keep a secret.”

Mouthing a thank you to her, the two of you stepped forward, turning around only when Spencer called out your name one last time, “Save me a dance?”

You laughed slightly at the dopey grin he bore on his face before nodding, “For you? Always.”  

[strayingawayy]

the parenting pro...

...where you're flabbergasted by how good jeongin is at being a father

it was a typical saturday morning, and you were trying to survive your new life as a parent. your baby girl was crying, her tiny fists flailing around like she was preparing for a boxing match. you stood there, holding her awkwardly, wishing for some magical parenting wisdom to hit you. you thought you'd be the one running around like a headless chicken, but nope. that honor? apparently, jeongin’s.

he walked into the living room like it was a walk in the park, holding a bottle of milk in one hand and a clean diaper in the other.

“jeongin, i-” you started, but he was already in full-on baby whisperer mode.

“don't worry, babe, i got this,” he said, giving you a confident little finger wave like he was in charge of a multi-million-dollar business, not holding a crying baby. you stared, eyes wide, as he proceeded to feed your daughter with one hand and change her diaper with the other.

you didn’t know whether to cry or laugh at the absurdity of it all. your daughter was blissfully drinking from the bottle, while jeongin hummed a lullaby and expertly switched between diaper-changing wizard and snack provider.

“how...?” you managed to say, almost in disbelief. was this some sort of magic?

jeongin looked up, completely unbothered. “oh, i helped raise my little brother. no biggie. basically, i’m a parenting prodigy.”

“you… raised your brother?” you asked, blinking rapidly as if you were hearing some wild story from another dimension.

“yeah,” he said, like it was as normal as breathing. “my mom was a little busy, so i was basically his second dad. changed diapers, made him sandwiches, taught him how to walk, swear. no biggie.”

you stared at him, dumbfounded. how was this the same jeongin who couldn’t even find his own socks five minutes ago?

“wait, wait,” you said, still processing. “you...you’re like, good at this. you’re... a dad genius.”

“yep.” jeongin said, popping the 'p.' “i’m basically the da vinci of diapers.”

you were trying to hold back a laugh but failed miserably. “you’re a literal parenting genius. i'm over here trying to figure out if she’s crying because she’s hungry or because she's plotting world domination.”

“i mean, both seem like possibilities,” jeongin said, deadpan, as he rocked the baby to sleep with one hand, casually flipping through his phone with the other. “but i think she just needed a nap. oh, and don’t worry, i also packed her snacks for when she wakes up. you're welcome.”

you stared at him, in awe and total confusion. “you've got snacks for a baby? like... pre-planned snacks?”

“obviously,” jeongin said, as though that was the most basic thing in the world. “they’ve got to be prepared for snack time. it’s a crucial part of the schedule.” he paused, glancing at the baby now peacefully asleep in his arms.

you were speechless. you felt like you were in the presence of a parenting deity. “jeongin, i... i’m genuinely in shock right now. you’re amazing.”

you laughed, defeated but relieved. “i'm marrying this bro.” you whispered to yourself, already wondering how you got so lucky.

as jeongin continued to rock the baby to sleep, you couldn’t help but think: maybe this whole parenthood thing wouldn’t be so bad... as long as jeongin was in charge.

"...babe, did you just call me bro?"

[saltcxrcle]

some blood and a feral grin ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: you need to clean up after a hunt, sam can help with that

pairings: sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, canon level violence, blood, fluff, smut: shower sex, oral fem! receiving, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, aftercare word count: 5.3K a/n: new fic layout!! i was inspired by @rubyvhs for the new layout hehe! also a huge shout out to my irl friend nicole for being the inspiration behind this fic LOL enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3 sam winchester masterlist

MOONLIGHT FILTERED in from the stained windows high on the walls as the sounds of grunts and squelches echoed all around you. Your arms were poised above your head before they came down one last time—letting out a guttural scream deep from within you and then, there was nothing. 

Your ears were ringing from the abrupt silence, and your chest heaved heavily from exertion. The long dagger that was hidden in your boot was caked in blood as the body beneath you was mutilated beyond recognition. You slowly stood and picked up the machete that you had dropped earlier. Your body had come to an upright position from hovering over the headless vampire you killed moments ago. 

Your muscles were burning, and you could already feel a deep ache beginning to settle into your bones, but you ignored it. You took a deep breath and stretched, shaking out your arms as you tried not to wince at the pain in your sides. The coppery scent of blood and the musty air of the dilapidated warehouse filled your nose before exhaling with a small sigh. You trudged towards the front of the warehouse, maneuvering through some headless bodies that you had taken care of earlier. You could feel the sting of the cut on your forehead and the bruises forming on your ribs, but you continued your trek through the warehouse. 

It felt like forever, but once you made it through the front door of the building, a familiar black car pulled up in front of it. You couldn’t help the smirk on your face when the headlights turned off as you slowly approached the Impala. 

“I think you’re a little late to the party boys.” You teased as they looked at you with surprise filling their expressions. 

You saw how they looked you up and down, and you could only imagine what they were thinking as the Winchesters took in your appearance. 

Wayward strands of hair fell from your updo and into your face. Drying blood that soaked your clothes and smeared on your face. Your machete was held limply at your side as you waved at them with your bloodied dagger and shot them a crazed grin—the blood lust and adrenaline that had filled your veins had just barely receded as your body began to relax. 

Sam couldn’t help but stare at you in awe. He’d seen you covered in blood; it comes with the job, but the glint in your eyes was something that he had never seen before. He thought you were always beautiful, but seeing your hair askew and practically drenched in blood with the pale moonlight highlighting your features and making the wide smile that you had plastered on your face even brighter than usual—well, he felt something in him stir, something primal in him had awakened. Sam subtly adjusted himself, relieved that his lower half was covered by the open car door. He cleared his throat before averting his eyes to the warehouse you had just come out of. 

“You took care of the nest all by yourself?” Dean asked you, skepticism coloring his tone.

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh and nod as you slowly approached the two brothers. You finally reached the taller brother as Dean rounded the car and stood next to him. 

Sam crossed his arms and looked down at you, an unfamiliar look in his eye. “You, of all people, should know that was reckless.” He lightly scolded you as his gaze strayed from your eyes to the cut that was near your hairline. Sam had to resist the urge to brush over the injury—wanting to take your chin in between his fingers and scan for any more open wounds you may or may not have. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to sit on my ass like some damsel in distress and wait for you guys to come and save me.” You shrugged. “Besides, it was a few vamps. Nothing that I couldn’t handle myself.” You shot Sam a wink and a slight grin. 

Sam pursed his lips, trying not to smirk when you sent him the smug smile his way.  He shook his head and sighed. “Has anyone told you that you’re difficult?” Sam asked with a cocked head. 

“Plenty of times, by you and your brother.” You said cheekily before taking a step back. “But, as much as I want to continue this lovely conversation, I need a shower and some food. I’ll meet you boys back at the motel.” You told them as you slowly walked backward in the direction of your car. 

Dean gave you a thumbs up and walked to the driver's side of the Impala as Sam just shook his head again, letting the smile that he was holding back emerge on his face as he saw you turn around and continue walking to your car (his eyes definitely didn’t follow the way your hips swayed and trailed downward to see good your ass looked in the jeans you were wearing). 

Sam finally ripped his gaze away from you when he heard a comically loud cough come from Dean. Sam’s head snapped towards the driver's side of the car to see Dean raising an eyebrow at him. 

“You going to stand there and stare all night or can we get back to the motel so you can finally spill your heart out to her?” Dean asked with a knowing smirk on his face as he wagged his eyebrows at his little brother. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just get in the car,” Sam grumbled before opening his door. He didn't wait for a response from Dean, so he climbed into the Impala. 

Dean got in and started the car, the Impala erupting in a loud roar. Dean looked at Sam before driving. “You didn’t say no.” Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face and began to drive, pulling out of the gravel driveway of the warehouse and toward the direction of the motel where the three of you were staying. 

Sam glared at Dean but offered no retort—he wasn’t willing to dignify Dean’s taunting with a response (but he knew deep down that his brother was right, he didn’t want to hear the ‘I told you so’ comment from him because Dean would be annoying about it).  

Driving back to the motel was slower than you anticipated but you blamed it on the drying blood on your hands and jeans that restricted your movements (and it definitely wasn’t from the pangs of pain you felt coming from your ribcage). So it wasn’t a surprise to find the Winchester’s Impala parked in the lot of the motel. 

You pulled up next to their car, turned it off, and headed towards their room, which was coincidentally (not) next to the brothers. You quickly entered the room, not surprised by the sight of the Winchester brothers, having given them the spare key to your room two days before, sitting at the table near the kitchenette at the back of the room. 

It was comical how both Sam's and Dean’s heads snapped in the direction of the door, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the action. 

Dean got up from the chair, patting Sam’s shoulder in the process. “Great, she’s back! I’ll grab us some food.” Dean grabbed the jacket he shrugged off earlier and put it back on. 

“It'll be a while, I gotta make a beer run as well.” Dean said as he shot Sam a pointed look before shooting you a smile, brushing past you in the doorway and making his way to his beloved car. 

“But I have-” You were cut off by the slamming of a car door and the roar of the car. You looked back from the near-empty parking lot to look at Sam with a raised eyebrow, having noticed the look Dean shot him. 

“Is your brother okay?” You asked Sam as you moved further into the room, closing the door behind you. 

“I think he’s had one too many concussions to answer that objectively.” Sam kept his eyes trained on you as you moved through the room. 

You let out a laugh at Sam’s words. “Right, that was the wrong question to ask.” You peeled off your blood-soaked flannel, leaving you in a blood-stained tank top. You let down your hair before cracking your neck and letting out a small sigh of relief. 

You paid no mind to Sam, who was still sitting at the table, as you made your way to your duffle bag to grab some clean clothes before you went and showered the glaring red remnants of the hunt off of you. But as you rummaged through your bag for your pajamas, Sam had gotten up from his seat and silently made his way over to you. 

With your pajamas in hand, you turned around and jumped slightly when you saw Sam right behind you, blocking the path to the bathroom. 

“Sorry.” Sam looked a bit sheepish as he apologized. “You should probably clean that before you shower.” He gestured to the cut on your forehead. 

You cocked your head at him. “Wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose of a shower?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to clean it twice.” 

You huffed a small laugh through your nose. “I suppose.” You hummed out before maneuvering around Sam and making your way toward the bathroom. But before you make another step, you feel a warm hand wrap around your wrist, stopping you momentarily and making you look back at Sam. 

“Let me help.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I can do it myself Sam, I’m a big girl.” You joked. 

“I know.” Sam smiled. “But you took out the nest of vamps when we asked for your help, so this is the least I can do to repay the favor.” 

I know another way that you can repay that favor. 

You purse your lips, trying to shake that thought from being blurted out as you look at Sam. Earnesty shone in his hazel gaze. 

You sighed. “Fine, you can help even if it's a small cut.” 

Sam smiled at you again, and without letting go of your wrist, you led him into the bathroom. It was small, to begin with, but it barely fit you and Sam. It was clear that this room wasn’t designed with someone of Sam’s stature in mind (but then again most things weren’t made to fit 6’4 giant men). The door shut with a soft click as you placed your clothes on the closed toilet lid, and Sam grabbed the first aid kit you had stashed in the medicine cabinet. 

Sam grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack, dampened it with warm water from the sink, and gestured for you to stand in front of him. The two of you maneuvered around the bathroom so your back was facing the mirror and sink while Sam stood in front of you. 

“Can I…” He trailed off, his free hand hovering awkwardly in front of your face. 

You nodded, and he took your chin between his forefinger and thumb. You almost flinched at the feeling of the warm cloth brushing against the skin surrounding the wound. You were gripping the edge of the porcelain sink to resist any urge to touch Sam that may rise. 

You were looking at Sam as his eyes were trained on the cut, making sure he didn’t accidentally hurt you as he wiped away the dried blood, the white hand towel slowly being stained red. Sam was gentle with his movements, and it was soothing—your eyes fell shut on your own accord, leaning into Sam’s touch. 

With your eyes shut, Sam took the opportunity to really look at you. He was used to admiring you from afar, so this was his window to take in your beauty. The towel had strayed, no longer cleaning the blood from your forehead but now the rest of your face. There was blood splattered across your cheeks, nose, and lips. Sam wiped away the blood, and the towel lingered on your lips. 

You couldn’t help how your breath hitched slightly at the feeling of Sam’s touch on your lips. The towel fell from your face, and you opened your eyes to find Sam staring at you with an intensity that you’d never seen before. The air was charged around the two of you, and both of you started to lean towards one another. 

Sam’s gaze flicked from your eyes and lips rapidly, and his grip on your chin changed to span the length of your jaw—his thumb resting on your cheek. You let go of the sink to lightly grab his wrist and rest the other on his chest. The two of you were close enough to feel his breath fan over his lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” Sam whispered in the shared space between you. He felt like he was at the end of his rope when it came to giving in to his desires. 

Instead of responding, you brushed your lips over his, and before he pressed his lips against yours, you pulled back slightly with a teasing smile on your face.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight of yours, but he wasn’t having it with your teasing and dropped the towel he was still holding, gripped your waist, and pulled you into a passionate kiss.  

It felt like liquid-hot desire was injected into your veins when Sam pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was demanding and urgent like the world would end in the next five minutes, and all Sam wanted to do was devour you whole. 

You and Sam have always had this underlying tension since you met, but you have never acted on it because the cards never seemed to align for the two of you—until now. 

The edge of the sink dug into your lower back as Sam leaned into you. Your hands moved to wrap around his neck, pushing up on your toes to match the fervor that Sam was kissing you with. Sam’s hands moved down your body and stopped at your thighs. He lifted you up with ease and placed you on the porcelain surface. You let out a small yelp from the sudden change in position, and you felt Sam chuckle against your lips. 

Sam swiped his tongue at the seam of your lips, and you let him breach your mouth, tongues dancing with one another and letting the taste of him consume you. You felt his hands squeeze your thighs before dragging up your legs to the hem of your tank top, his hands slipping under the fabric and resting on your bare skin. 

You broke the kiss, pulling back as your lungs screamed for air, but Sam didn’t want to stop kissing you, so his lips trailed down your cheek to your jawline and led down toward your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. You let out a soft moan at the feeling. 

Sam couldn’t help but groan at the sound of your moan and the scent that overtook his senses. You smelt like musk and the coppery scent of blood, but he could smell the perfume that you usually wore. 

You managed to pull him away from your neck by grabbing some of the long hair at the nape of his neck. 

“As much as I want to continue this, I’m covered in blood and dying for a shower.” You said a little out of breath from the kiss/mini makeout session that the two of you shared. 

Sam’s slightly swollen lips formed into a pout, but he nodded in response. He went to move, but you grabbed the loops of his jeans before he could pull away from you completely. 

“But, you’re entirely welcome to join me.” You had a sultry smirk on your face as you looked up at him. 

“Are you sure?” Sam met your gaze, a concerned frown on his lips. 

“One hundred percent.”

Sam leaned in and softly kissed you, a contrast to the initial kiss from earlier. He kept the kiss sweet as his hands pulled up the tank top you were wearing, breaking the kiss as he pulled it over your head and leaving you in a bra and jeans. Sam let his hands trail along your curves as he admired you. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Sam breathed out as his hands rested on your hips. 

You could feel yourself getting shy under his intense stare but fought through the impulse to cover up. 

Sam tapped on your clothed hip and backed up to give you room to slide off so you could take off your jeans. You slid off of the sink counter, unbuttoned your jeans, and shimmied out of them as best as you could, but they were stiff from the blood that they soaked in. You had to use Sam’s shoulders as leverage in order to kick them off, leaving you in your bra and underwear. 

You quickly turned away from Sam to turn on the shower and wait for the shower to get warm. You turned back around to see Sam shedding the flannel and shirt he was wearing, leaving his upper half bare for you to stare at. 

It was like Michelangelo himself sculpted him—your eyes flicked to various areas of his torso and arms. You had always imagined what he hid under all of those layers, but it seemed like your imagination paled in comparison to the actual thing. 

Sam’s chuckle made your eyes snap up to meet his amused smile. “I think the water should be warm now.” 

You could feel your cheeks heat up, but instead of responding to his teasing, you reached behind you and unclipped your bra. You let it slide down your arms and fall to the floor before taking the hem of your underwear and stripping those off as well, leaving you naked in front of Sam. 

You sent him a smirk before pulling back the curtain and getting in the shower, letting the warm water hit your sore and blood-covered body. You let out a sigh of satisfaction, momentarily forgetting that Sam was in the room with you until you heard the familiar sound of a belt unbuckling and rustling of jeans before the curtain was drawn back, and Sam entered the shower. 

If the bathroom could barely fit the two of you, then the shower was way too small for Sam and you to be in. But you paid no mind to it as you stared at Sam, keeping your gaze from straying downward toward his naked legs. 

Sam shot you a soft smile before grabbing the shampoo and pouring some into his hand. He gestured for you to turn around, and he began to wash your hair. You leaned into his touch, letting out a satisfied hum at the feeling of his hands massaging your scalp. You almost let out a moan of protest when you felt his hands withdraw from your head, but he gestured for you to turn around and wash out the soap. 

Then he took the conditioner and combed it through your hair before repeating the same process. By the time he grabbed another washcloth through the curtain, you were almost dead on your feet from the head massages you received. Sam couldn’t help but smile at your almost blissed-out smile. He took some of your body wash, slathered it on the washcloth, and began to gently scrub down your body. 

Sam started with arms and back before moving down your legs, getting down to his knees to wash them. He tapped your hip to signal you to turn around to face him. Sam washed your torso diligently, lingering on your breast for a moment before moving the washcloth down your waist and hips to your thighs. You started to breathe a little heavier in anticipation—seeing Sam on his knees in front of you was making a heat pool in your core, and you could feel yourself getting wet.  

Sam nudged your feet, spreading them apart so he could fit in between them. He dropped the washcloth on the shower floor with a wet thwap, grabbing one of your legs and throwing it over your shoulder. You leaned back onto the cool shower tile as you felt him press gentle kisses on your inner thigh, trailing up toward your heated center. 

“You got such a pretty pussy baby.” Sam murmured into the soft skin of your thigh. “Wonder if it tastes as good as it looks.” 

Your head fell back and a soft moan left your lips as you felt him press a soft kiss to your clit. A hand wove through the damp strands of Sam’s hair as he began to lick and kiss at your cunt. 

Your moans and whines filled the steamed-filled bathroom as Sam ate you out. He sucked and licked at your clit before his tongue made its way inside of you, darting in and out—collecting your sweet essence and spurring Sam on to taste more of you. He let out small grunts and groans as you tugged at his hair, the vibrations providing you more pleasure to your sensitive cunt. 

“Fuck, you taste so good honey.” Sam pulled away for a moment, making you whine slightly, which made Sam nip at your thigh. “Don’t be greedy just yet baby, I’ll make you cum. I just want to admire you.” He said while looking at your cunt hungrily. 

Sam blew cool air on it, making you clench around nothing. He chuckled darkly before diving back into your cunt. 

A keening whine left your lips as he ate you out like a man starved. “F-fuck! Oh Sam!” 

You started to chant his name like a prayer as you felt yourself hurling closer to cumming. 

Being spurred on by your moans, Sam sucked your clit into his mouth and slowly inserted one of his thick fingers into you. Sam quickly added another finger when he felt little resistance when he put the first finger in. 

His fingers worked in tandem with his mouth, and you were quickly shoved over the edge of pleasure when he crooked his fingers just right and hit your g-spot. You clenched hard around his fingers, Sam letting out another groan in your cunt, adding to the pleasure that coursed through your body. Sam only slowed his ministrations, helping through your orgasm until you had calmed down. 

Sam left one last kiss on your sensitive clit before trailing up your body, the soap no longer on your skin, before pressing his lips against yours. You melted into the kiss, resting your hands on his chest before one of them trailed down to brush against his raging erection. 

Sam grunted against your lips when he felt you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. He pulled back from the kiss but rested his forehead against yours as you started to stroke him slowly. 

Then Sam pulled away suddenly and turned off the water in the shower. He quickly lifted you up in his arms, pulling another yelp from your lips. You had no choice but to wrap your legs around his trim waist as he made his way out of the bathroom and into the empty room, toward the nearest bed. 

He practically threw you on it before getting it on the bed himself, slotting himself in between your open legs and pulling you into a fiery kiss. Sam couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue dominating your mouth as his hand found your center again and began to tease your clit, rubbing soft circles on it. 

You moaned into his mouth before he pulled away and began to attack your neck, biting and sucking marks into it. One of his fingers started to trail up and down your slit and chuckled into your neck. 

“You’re still so wet. S’all for me honey?” Sam pulled back from your neck to hear your response. 

“Y-yeah, all for you, fuck!” You could barely string that response together—not when Sam had inserted his fingers back into you. 

Sam let out a dark chuckle before leaning down and sucking a nipple into his mouth, ripping another moan from you. 

“You’re doing so good for me honey. You feel so good around my fingers, sucking me right in.” Sam crooned, freeing your nipple from his mouth as he kept fingering you. He kept it at a slow pace, wanting to drag it out. 

“Please, go faster Sammy.” You all but whined out.

Sam said nothing but quickened the pace of his thrusts and started to thumb at your swollen clit. He leaned up and drew your lips into a kiss, but you could barely kiss him back, moans leaving your mouth with every thrust of his fingers. 

Sam could feel you clench around his fingers. “You gonna cum for me baby?” 

All he got was a loud moan in response, making him smile at how wrecked you were from just his fingers. 

“Good girl, come around my fingers and you’ll get my cock.” 

The praise from Sam made the coil that was wound up in you snap, and you came around Sam’s thick fingers. Sam whispered praises in your ear as you came down, having withdrawn his fingers and tracing the skin on your hips soothingly.

“There she is.” Sam said with a gentle smile once you calmed down and opened your eyes. 

“You ready?” Sam asked as he lined his tip to the entrance of your soaked cunt. 

You nodded. 

Sam clicked his tongue at you before slapping the tip of his cock on your oversensitive clit, making you jump at the feeling. 

“I need words, baby.” The low gravel of his lust-fuelled voice made your cunt pulse, and you could feel how wet you were. 

“Yes, I’m ready.” Your voice was slightly hoarse from all of the moaning and whining that Sam pulled out of you. 

“Thank you, baby.” Sam leaned down and kissed you. While he was kissing you, he slowly penetrated you. The stretch of his thick cock was teetering the line of pain, but it felt so good as he filled you up. 

Both of you let out moans when he filled you up to the hilt, and you clenched around him involuntarily. 

“Shit, honey, you can’t do that.” Sam told you in a strained voice. 

You noticed how his jaw was clenched and couldn’t help but tease him like he had been doing to you and clenched around him again. 

Sam stared down at you, a serious look on his face as you looked at him with a playful look in your eye. Then Sam pulled out until the tip was left inside of you before plunging back into you roughly, a sharp moan leaving your mouth at the sensation. 

Sam began his pace slow but hard, slamming into you with enough force to shove you up the bed. You had to wrap your legs around his waist and brace yourself against the headboard. Your moans and Sam’s groans filled the room as he fucked you. He shoved his face into your neck and started to suck at the skin, leaving his marks all over your neck and chest. 

You weren’t far from coming again, and Sam noticed, shoving a hand in between your legs and rubbing on your clit. 

Sweat coated your body as the heat in your core grew and grew. You could feel tears escaping your eyes from the amount of pleasure Sam was giving you. He finally pulled away from your neck and noticed your wet face. 

“Awe baby.” Sam cooed as he used his free hand to cup your cheek and wipe away some of the tears. “You gonna cum soon?” He asked with a slightly strained voice, Sam was so wound up, but he could hold off until you were close. 

You sputtered out a ‘yes,’ but you were overwhelmed with pleasure that you could barely speak outside of his name and ‘fuck’. 

“Come for me and I’ll fill you up, okay baby?” 

You clenched hard around him at the thought of him coming inside of you, and Sam noticed. 

“Fuck, you like that don’t you? You like me filling you up with my cum?” Sam rubbed at your clit even harder. 

“Yes!” You sobbed out; you were so close to coming. 

“Come around my cock honey,” Sam commanded, and his voice sent you over the edge. Stars exploded behind your eyes as you came around Sam. His thrusts faltered before shoving himself inside of you one last time, and you felt warmth fill your cunt. Sam all but collapsed on you, and you couldn’t be bothered to shove him off; the weight of him bordered on suffocation, but it was comforting to you. 

You wrapped your arms around Sam’s neck and started to card your hands through his hair. He relaxed further into you as the two of you calmed down. Sam eventually pulled out of you and got up from the bed. You threw an arm over your eyes as you tried to gain executive function in your legs, but they felt numb. 

You could hear Sam running the water from the sink. You jumped slightly as you felt a damp cloth on your tender cunt. You pried your arm away from your eyes and saw that Sam was cleaning you up, and your heart warmed at the action. You smiled softly at how focused he was. 

When he was done, Sam placed it on the nightstand, intending to take care of it later, and gestured for you to sit up. You did, albeit confused, because you didn’t know what he wanted. 

Then he lifted you up into his arms bridal style (again, you yelped) and carried you into the bathroom. 

“What is with you and carrying me?” You asked when he sat you down on the toilet so you could go to the bathroom. 

Sam smirked. “Would you have made it to the bathroom if I didn’t?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Shut up.” You grumbled before shooing him out of the room. 

Sam sauntered out of the bathroom, chuckling—though he left it open, it gave you an ample view of his perky butt. You realized that your clothes were still in there, so you got dressed after you were done peeing. Once you were done with the bathroom, you all but waddled out of it. 

Sam started to laugh at the sight of you; he was dressed in some comfy pants and a plain black shirt. You glared at him, but you couldn’t help but laugh with him. Once you guys calmed down, both of you settled into the other bed, and Sam took the time to check his phone and saw that he had some text messages from Dean. 

You had better make a move when I’m gone, or I’ll make it for you.  Sent an hour ago  FINALLY! I’ll be in our room with the food. ...jeez, you guys are loud Sent 15 minutes ago 

Sam rolled his eyes at his phone before turning to you. “Dean texted, he said he has our food in our room.” 

“Ooh, yes! I’m starving.” You got up from the bed excited and put on your shoes half-hazardly. 

Sam let out a small snicker at your eagerness, got out of bed, and put on his boots. As the two of you left the room, Sam swung an arm around your shoulders and made the short walk to the Winchester’s room, where the two of you were greeted by Dean’s shit-eating grin and dealt with his teasing for the rest of the night until Sam was fed up with him and dragged you back to your room to sleep the night away. 

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[iamgonnagetyouback]

HEYYY LOVEIEE i got sumn in the trope corners its best friend to lovers with Mattheo riddle im sucker for this trope with him even though its not that common

YOU LIKE ME? I LIKE YOU.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ M. RIDDLE

SUMMARY ৎ୭ ever since you met mattheo, you've sworn he was the most oblivious idiot alive. but when nearly headless nick’s deathday party brings jealousy, stolen glances, and one too many lingering touches, you start to wonder—maybe you’re just as clueless as he is

WARNINGS ಇ. jealousy, mutual pining, idiots in love, a bit of angst, lots of fluff, brief insecurity, and mattheo being absolutely insufferable but in a lovable way

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,259

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The Great Hall was transformed into something otherworldly, the usual golden glow replaced by dim candlelight flickering amidst the mist that curled around your feet. It was Nearly Headless Nick's annual Deathday Party, and the place looked eerily beautiful in a way only Hogwarts could pull off. A perfect fit for an autumn evening, where the crispness of the air mixed with the smell of burning wood from distant fires.

You shifted uncomfortably in your long, emerald green robe, fidgeting with the Slytherin crest on your sleeve, glancing over at Mattheo Riddle, your best friend since first year. His hair was tousled like he’d just stepped off a broomstick, eyes flickering with his usual mischief, but there was something different about him tonight. Maybe it was the way the soft lighting brought out the sharp angles of his jaw or the way his dark eyes seemed to find yours in the crowd every other second.

It was probably nothing, right? You'd been telling yourself that for months, ignoring the warmth that filled your chest whenever he smiled at you. It had to be nothing, because that was Mattheo—your Mattheo, your best friend.

"Oi, Y/N, you okay? You look like you're about to pass out," Theo's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, as he sidled up next to you with Pansy, Blaise, and Draco. Mattheo was a bit farther off, talking with a group of seventh-year girls you didn’t recognize.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the slight twinge of jealousy creeping up your throat. "I'm fine, just… tired." You smiled weakly, but your gaze involuntarily flicked to Mattheo again. His head tipped back in laughter, the sound lost in the murmurs of the ghostly party, but it hit you right in the gut.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at you. “Tired, huh? You’ve been staring at Riddle for the past five minutes, love. What’s really going on?”

You nearly choked on your pumpkin juice. "I—I haven’t been staring," you stammered, but Pansy raised an eyebrow, an all-knowing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. The others, thankfully, were too busy gossiping about something Blaise had said to notice your flustered state.

Pansy leaned in closer, her voice low. "You know, denial looks awful on you."

You opened your mouth to protest, but her words struck something deep inside. You couldn’t deny that lately, things between you and Mattheo had felt… different. Every touch, every glance seemed to linger just a little too long. But he was your best friend. You couldn’t risk losing that.

Still, a part of you wondered—was he feeling it too? Or were you just seeing things that weren’t there?

"Pans…" you began, hesitating for a second before finally asking, "How did you know you loved Luna?"

Pansy's eyes softened at the mention of her girlfriend, and she smiled fondly. "It was… gradual. Like one day, I woke up and the thought of her just made sense. All the teasing, the butterflies, the little moments—they all came together. It was terrifying, but once I admitted it to myself, it was like the pieces clicked into place. Why do you ask?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as her words sank in. Maybe it was more obvious than you wanted to admit, but you were still afraid—afraid of what it might mean, afraid of what you might lose.

Pansy didn’t push, but she squeezed your hand reassuringly before turning to join the conversation Blaise and Theo were having about the latest Quidditch match. You were left with your thoughts—and the sight of Mattheo getting just a bit too close to that seventh-year girl.

Jealousy flared up in your chest, and you couldn’t stop the frown from pulling at your lips. Why did it bother you so much? He was allowed to talk to whoever he wanted, right? But something in you twisted, bitter and sharp, at the way she leaned in, her hand lightly brushing his arm.

You stormed away, deciding to head toward the refreshment table for some air—or at least as much air as you could get in a room filled with ghosts. You were halfway there when a hand gently grabbed your wrist, pulling you to a stop.

"Hey, what’s wrong?" Mattheo's voice was soft, concerned, and way too close for comfort. He had followed you.

You turned, trying to hide your frustration. "Nothing's wrong, Mattheo. Why would anything be wrong?"

He gave you a look that told you he didn’t buy it for a second. "You looked like you were about to murder someone. Come on, Y/N, talk to me."

You bit your lip, feeling your resolve start to crack under his gaze. This was Mattheo. He always knew when something was off. But this wasn’t something you could just blurt out. How were you supposed to explain to him that watching him flirt with someone else was breaking your heart?

"You looked like you were having fun with… her," you muttered, immediately regretting it. You weren’t supposed to care. You weren’t supposed to be jealous.

Mattheo blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before a slow grin spread across his face. "Wait. Are you jealous?"

Your cheeks flamed, and you yanked your wrist out of his grasp. "I’m not jealous! I just… I—" You couldn’t find the words, too flustered and embarrassed to form a coherent sentence.

But Mattheo was still grinning, stepping closer to you, eyes gleaming in that way that made your heart race. "You are jealous," he teased, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Why?"

You wanted to scream. He was so infuriating and so clueless, and yet… Merlin, you loved him.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, "Because I hate seeing you with other girls, okay?"

Mattheo's grin faded, replaced by a look of surprise and confusion. "Y/N…"

You shook your head, cutting him off. "I don't know when it happened, okay? But it did. I like you, Mattheo. And it’s been driving me mad because I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. But seeing you with someone else… it hurts."

The silence that followed felt suffocating. Your heart was pounding, your hands shaking, and you were already mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

But then, after what felt like an eternity, Mattheo finally spoke, his voice soft but steady. "You idiot."

You blinked, taken aback. "What?"

Mattheo shook his head, a small laugh escaping him as he reached out, cupping your cheek in his hand. "I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you for months. I’m crazy about you, Y/N. I just didn’t want to mess things up between us."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you stared at him, completely stunned. "You… you like me too?"

He grinned again, the warmth in his eyes melting the last of your doubts. "More than you know."

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in the softest, sweetest kiss. It felt like the world had tilted, like everything had clicked into place, just like Pansy had said. The jealousy, the confusion—it all melted away, leaving only the two of you, finally together.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Mattheo rested his forehead against yours. "So, does this mean I don’t have to flirt with seventh-year girls to get your attention anymore?"

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. "If you ever do that again, I’ll hex you."

He chuckled, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you as the autumn air swirled around you both. "Deal."

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[the-passenger-if]

Hey, gang. How is it going? It’s been a while since I last posted, and although at first it was because I was working on my new projects, as of late it had to do with a medical emergency regarding my partner. I don’t usually talk about him (I think I’ve mentioned him once or twice on my personal blog) but we’ve been together for a long time and last December I thought I was going to lose him.

It shook me hard, gang. And it’s only now that I feel more or less ready to open up about it, and take care of my socials while at it. The thing is, everything that went down has left us a bit uncertain about the future. So much so, I’ve been contemplating creating a Patreon.

It’s still too soon to tell, but I guess I wanted to let you all know in case someone is interested.

I’ve also written down a snapshot of December-January. Call it group therapy.

Hope everyone is doing fine, for my part I’m feeling better. Lots of hugs!

It’s 3 AM when I wake up. In the dark, something huge plummets from the sky like the blade of a guillotine falling in slow motion. A plane, I’m sure of it (I’m always sure of it) and it’s coming down to crash on my two-room home.

I stay motionless in bed, staring at the dark, my heart about to burst out of my chest, and I wait...

And I wait…

But the plane sails away, the baritone screaming of the blade following behind.

I don’t leave my bed until I can’t hear it anymore.

Later on, I tell my parents and grandma about it at lunch. “I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

“Something like what?”

“Dumbest answer? A plane is going to crash down on my house. Less dumb answer, el Flako is going to have a car accident.” A blade made out of a car roof or door, slashing the air, slicing through the tender flesh of his neck. His head flying out of the cabin of his truck, or falling on the passenger seat.

I laugh because at 1 PM it sounds stupid and I can almost wipe out the awful image of his headless body from my mind. My aphantasia is nowhere to be found whenever I picture the most horrific deaths of the people I love.

My mom gives me a blister pack of my grandma’s anxiolytics. “Take a quarter whenever those thoughts appear.”

When el Flako comes from work I tell him I can’t wait for December to end. When he asks me why that is, I tell him it’s a shit month and that everything bad always happens in December.

I take a quarter of a pill whenever I feel like bad news are around the corner. I’m jumpy. Car honks make my skin itch all over, a kid scream makes my heart race. It’s worse at dawn. Planes keep playing chicken with me.

It’s December 24 and el Flako and I spend christmas eve camping in front of the Río Talabera. We drink pear cider and beers while stargazing. No planes follow me here. I didn’t take my anxiolytics with me.

We travel back home. My dad is sitting out when we arrive. A single look at his face tells me something is very wrong. He looks old.

“What happened?” I ask.

“The water tank fell through your roof.”

It fell on grandma, I’m sure of it. “Is everyone alright?”

“Yes.”

Then why do you look like it killed someone? I want to ask. Instead I push, “For real?”

“Yes.”

My muscles relax. Yeah, it sucks. It’s the third water tank that gets obliterated—the first one burned down before we could even install it, the second one flew off the roof in the storm of December 17, 2023. This one was full, and a faulty base couldn’t withstand one tonne of water. Death by fire, air, and water; this shit is really starting to look like the avatar of water tanks.

It’s fine I tell myself, nobody is hurt, it could’ve been so much worse. Sure, it broke a more or less small part of my very new roof, but I’m sure we can fix it.

Innerly, I let out a sigh of relief. This is it. This is why I’ve been fearing something falling down on me. Case closed.

December ends in a week from now.

My anxiety drops for exactly 5 days.

It’s 5 AM on December the 30th andI’ve just sat on the toilet when my phone starts ringing. It’s el Flako’s brother. “Don’t fret,” he begins, “[el Flako] passed out at work. Another trucker called an ambulance and is with him at the hospital. I’m about to go see him.”

“Could you pick me up first?” I ask. If he can’t, I’m taking an uber, but he can.

We spend the entire hour-long trip to the hospital assuring each other el Flako is fine; he never has breakfast before going to work, not even mate or mate cocido. It has to be that. We purposely avoid discussing what his coworker said about el Flako being unable to speak, or stand by himself. Or how he couldn’t follow the paramedic’s instructions while on the ambulance.

When we finally arrive, we zip through rows and rows of tired, scared looking people waiting for news of their own relatives in the Emergency wing.

“There he is,” says el Flako’s brother, and I spin my head around waiting to see my life partner. Instead I see a late thirties, early forties guy sitting on a metal chair. He is rubbing his eyes.

He is crying.

He is not crying.

He is crying because el Flako is dead.

He is a coworker, not even a close one.

He turns to see us approach, and my stomach drops. He looks like my dad before he told me the water tank had taken a piece of my roof with it.

He stands up.

I can’t feel my legs.

He is crying. His eyes are red.

I feel like I’m walking on stilts, or like all my joints have fused together.

“Hey,” he says. They give each other a dap, and when he tries the same with me, I go for a greeting kiss. I always accept daps, but there’s only one thing in my mind at the moment.

Is he dead? I want to ask. “Is he awake?” I ask instead.

“Yes,” he replies. I think I say something, I think I give thanks to something—the universe, god, the devil—I’m not sure. I’m not religious but I was born in a catholic country and that stuff is hard to shake off. “The doctor wants to talk to a relative.”

“I go,” I say, and el Flako’s brother gives me the go ahead. I’m not el Flako’s relative, I am his partner. Our anniversary is in 2 months: 17 years since I asked him to be my boyfriend. But we aren’t married. His brother doesn’t mind, though; he isn’t married to the mother of his children either and they’ve been together for almost 20 years.

The doctor tells me el Flako had a brain hemorrhage. He asks me if el Flako takes drugs. No, he doesn’t. Does he drink? We had some wine last night, I say. The doctor looks confused.

“How old is he?”

“34,” I reply, and, “What is the worst case scenario?” Because my anxiety is killing me, and I need to know there’s a roof to all of this, a limit, something. I’m drowning in the middle of the sea here.

“Worst case scenario, he slips into a coma,” the doctor tells me.

Not death, my mind takes a hold of that fact like it’s a rope ladder someone threw at me from a helicopter.

And maybe because the doctor realizes I haven’t understood the severity of the situation, he adds, “It’s a lot of blood pushing against his brain. It’s shifted his longitudinal fissure—the ‘crack’ of the brain between the two cerebral hemispheres.”

The doctor tell us “relatives” to go in and talk to him. El Flako is awake, and the moment I see him it feels like I can breath again after having my head underwater. He says he’s fine, but half of his body lacks strength, he’s speaking as if drunk, and so low I have to lean in really close to hear him. His brother tells him to stay calm and that everything is going to be OK before leaving.

“You were right,” my life partner mutters. “About your gut feeling. Something bad did happen.” We laugh. We kiss. Then he is crying.

El Flako is a sensitive guy, but I haven’t seen him cry since we were in our teens and would have dumb fights which culminated in both of us crying. He is doing it now in that silent, tears sliding-down-your-cheeks way. He is scared. I am too, but I hug him and kiss him over and over again. “You are here with me,” I tell him. “You are alive and being taken care off. They got you just in time, don’t fret.”

I have to go. I don’t want to go. I don’t feel like myself when we are apart. We were 17 when we met and started dating, the same span of time we’re about to celebrate in our next anniversary.

I sit in the waiting room feeling like a gutted fish, hollowed up inside, like a carcass, like half of my soul is locked away. It sounds so dramatic, and I’m never been particularly romantic, but I swear there isn’t another way to properly describe it. I’m half-empty.

That first night I return home at around midnight. My mom brings me food and checks on me. I haven’t cried the entire day. I don’t cry with her in the room, but I do cry in the shower, and I cry harder when I get into bed.

Why him? Why? He is one of the most good-natured people I know. He doesn’t deserve this.

But who does? Life doesn’t work that way.

I fall asleep, but I don’t dream.

On the next 3 days we learn El Flako has an arteriovenous malformation, and that it can be treated with a procedure called a brain embolization. It costs 20.000 dollars, and I’m already thinking about asking for donations on this blog, but I don’t need to; his obra social* takes care of it.

They transfer him to their sanatorium that same day. The ambulance trip is uneventful, and while they take him to the ICU, I stay down in the lobby to fill in forms.

He spends the next 10 days in that room before the medical supplies arrive, and he can’t be more done with the situation by this point: all of his roommates are comatose, two of them pass away of horrifying injuries while he’s placed in there, the urinary catheter hurts him, he can’t have his phone with him and obviously he can’t watch TV in there. They keep sedating him, so every day I visit someone that looks like my Flako but is maybe half of the person I know. He wants out. I want him out of there too.

His neurosurgeon asks to speak with a relative before the procedure and I’m half-way to the elevators when I look back at el Flako’s parents. “Go ahead,” his mom tells me. The surgeon is so young, and he says the procedure should go well, but there’s always the possibility of rupturing an artery and leaving el Flako in a worse state. He’s been getting better ever since; the strength in his muscles is coming back, and he doesn’t speak slurring his words anymore, although the slight stutter he’s always have has worsen. “Any more bleeding is bad news for him,” the neurosurgeon tells me, “But if we don’t do it, you can be sure his brain will bleed again.”

I sign the papers.

“You can talk to him before we bring him here.”

I do just that.

“It is what I want,” el Flako tells me. “I’m tired of being coop up here.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“No.” He thinks about it. “Can it go wrong?”

I wonder if I should lie, but only for a second. “Always. It’s a medical procedure. But if you don’t do it, then it will definitely bleed, and we will be back where we started.”

“Yeah.” He grabs my hand and I give it a tight squeeze.

They take him away. I’m incomplete again. I take half a pill.

I fall asleep in the waiting room. I don’t dream. I haven’t since December the 30th. I think the part that handles my dreaming sticks to him.

Four hours later, at half past 10 PM they call us up. I am waiting outside the operating room alongside el Flako’s dad. The neurosurgeon, steps out and offers both of us his hand to shake. “It was a success,” he says and I feel like I need a wider face just so I can smile a bigger smile. Then to me, he adds, “Everything I say could go wrong, didn’t. He’s just waking up from being under.”

He opens the door and I catch a glimpse of el Flako and the people in charge of keeping him alive and well. A group of five women and men get at the feet of his bed. “One, two, three,” they say before pushing it out of the room. I lost count of how many Thank yous I shoot their way, and they beam at me as they accept them.

El Flako is still dazed, but he holds up a hand when his dad and I wave enthusiastically at him. He doesn’t put it down even as the orderlies roll him into an elevator.

He is discharged from the sanatorium 2 days later. We get married a day after our 17th anniversary.

I’m dreaming again and I only take anxiolytics whenever it starts to feel too much like the last five minutes of a Nightmare on Elm Street movie. I guess that stuff won’t get magically fixed, but we’re taking it one day at a time.

*I can’t find the English translation for “the agency in your job that takes care of your hospital bills”. In Argentina it’s Obra Social, and every month they take a part of your payment so they can pay for your medical bills (and your partner’s and children’s) should you need it down the road.

[blvdprn]

GLOOMY STALKER

# shroud idia ; シュラウド イデア ) x dom male reader

synopsis somebody has been following you around for a while, but every time you look behind you all you were able to come across was an empty space. that is until you corner the perpetrator and he has no other choice but to face you.

warnings handjob, grinding, consent IS there it just wasn’t mentioned, stalker!idia, self-deprecation (it’s idia guys), popular!reader, reader is kinda into it, semi-public?, no actual sex

wc 1.0k

Again, just like every other day, the feeling of eyes following your figure accompanied you everywhere. It’s been weeks since this started. The irritation on your face whenever you felt the unknown presence made your friends concerned, worriedly asking if you were alright. You always made sure to tell them “Yes, everything’s fine, I just haven’t slept well.” At some point, they knew that was a lie, but they kept asking the same thing, hoping you’d tell them the truth.

One day, you had the great idea of separating yourself from your friend’s side. Your lack of presence goes unnoticed, for a short while, that is. And while they were running around like headless chickens trying to find you, you were already far gone, almost sprinting to an abandoned hallway —one that held rumors of ghosts haunting it.

Hiding behind an old, and dirty human-like metal armor, you waited until you were able to hear the footsteps of the one you were excited to catch. With their back turned toward you, all you could see was that they had their hood up, blocking their hair from view. They were also skinny and quite tall, but their hunched shoulders made them look smaller.

With them looking the other way, they didn’t notice you inching closer. Now, with you a couple of feet away from them, you could hear their heavy pants, almost like they weren’t used to running a lot.

‘Unathletic.’ You noted.

Hurriedly, you took long silent strides, slamming your left hand over their mouth while the other arm wrapped around their waist, dragging them back into the quiet corner.

Turns out, the somebody was the resident's gloomy house warden. He’d been following you around like a lost puppy, either by looming over your shoulder or by watching you through the hallway cameras. That would explain why he followed you in here. He didn’t know about this place, seeing as there were no cameras for him to use.

For weeks, he tried hard to get rid of his crush on you. Often spying, he hoped that he caught a slip in your persona, thinking about how nobody was that perfect. Sometimes, Idia wanted you to catch him, to reveal an awful side of you so the one-sided crush he had would forcefully fade away with the humiliation you would surely show him. After all, he was nothing but a gross otaku. An ugly loser virgin that was nothing compared to you.

This is why when he ran after your silhouette, the last thing he expected was for a deity like you to do something out of a hentai.

Which is what brings you to now, hand deep in somebody else’s pants, his face buried into your shoulder.

Your dick was hard, begging for some attention. Right now though, you were too busy making the third-year moan in pleasure, seeing as he’d never experienced something like this with somebody else.

“Mmh…” Idia let out, biting your shoulder with his sharp teeth, making you hiss at the pain.

“Tch,” you clicked your tongue in annoyance. “Don’t hide your moans, you don’t deserve it after what you did.”

He whined in embarrassment, reluctantly releasing your shoulder from his shark-like teeth. Instead, he tried to stop his sounds by thinking of something else, but that quickly failed when your thumb rubbed around his tip.

“Ah!”

You huffed. “Pay attention to me. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Mmm— ‘M sorry..”

Your remaining hand then went inside his pants, grabbing the base of his cock. Rubbing it up and down, the other twisted at the top, your wrist aching a bit with all the movement.

“Ngh! Ohhh!” With Idia’s face in clear view, hood down, you could see the way his hair changed from blue to pink, eyes rolling back a bit.

‘Shit, he’s so cute.’

Not being able to take it anymore, you pulled out your hands and released his dick. Grabbing him by the waist, you turned Idia around so his face was against the wall, back arched towards you.

“O-ow.”

Quickly, you resumed what you were doing.

With Idia’s ass facing your direction, you pushed your hips against it, instantly liking the way his round ass and both of your pants created delicious friction. Rolling your hips and grinding, you saw the way Idia struggled with deciding on what to do. On one end, all he wanted was for your hands to jerk him off until he couldn’t cum anymore. On the other, he wanted and craved the way the outline of your dick just barely rubbed in between his ass.

Gosh, he couldn’t believe this was even happening. How could someone like you do this with someone like him? Were you not disgusted?

“What did I say about paying attention?” you groaned, increasing the pace of your thrusts and hands.

“S-sorry didn’t mean to.”

Hips shaking, you knew Idia was close, the twitching of his cock and the way his hair flared up gave it away. As if it wasn't enough, his moans and whimpers also grew in volume, and you saw how Idia’s nails scratched the thin wallpaper in front of him.

Your grinding against him turned rapid and damn near savage. One of your hands slid down, playing with the heavy set of balls below his dick. Not even five seconds later, Idia let out a pleasurable scream, feeling his orgasm come from the set of skilled hands that were still working.

With Idia’s hot cum all over your palms and fingers, you rutted your hips against him. Letting out a fat load inside your underwear, you could do nothing but wish that it was instead inside your stalker’s hole.

“HaaaAh— Please, it h-hurts!”

‘Oh shit.’

You forgot that you were still fisting his dick.

Hands instantly letting go, you had to wrap your arms around his waist so he wouldn’t collapse onto the floor. All you could hear were his loud gasps, echoing around the empty hallway.

Later on, you’d come to hear about a new set of ghost rumors. Ones that contained weird noises coming from the hallway you two were in.

notes: idia is so cute i need to give him a sloppy handjob and hear him cry about it. 😕