#and asks for food with bright red ears and eyes that refuse to meet the older mans in shame

[luv4freddie]

Polaroid Love - F.W

Fred goes to work with his father and comes home with a muggle Polaroid camera, deciding the best use of it would be to take horrendous pictures of his girlfriend.

Fred x fem!Muggleborn reader, established relationship, reader gets red, house and age not specific, tooth rotting fluff bc I love lovesick Fred, 1.2 k words

Being a muggleborn at the Weasley household was an experience, to say the least.

In the last week since you’ve been at the Burrow, you’ve explained what rubber ducks are for, how to operate a microwave, and Pythagorean theorem.

Today Aurthur took the boys to work with him, so you were currently helping Molly cook dinner.

You had yet to understand the witchy way of cooking, so you were stuck mixing a bowl by hand while Molly sent knives, pots, and pasta flying all across the room.

You ducked a flying cutting board right as the group of rowdy boys entered the front door, your boyfriends voice in particular carrying over the noise of clattering dish ware.

“Honey, we’re home.” Aurthur calls, and Molly meets them all at the door, asking you to ‘keep an eye on’ the multitude of activity in the kitchen.

You look around with wide eyes, imagining all the magical pots dropping to the floor and spoons stopping their stirring, Molly walking in and wondering how you were so incompetent that you would never be able to cook and therefore would be a horrible wife to her son.

You’re only snapped out of your reverie by a flash of light in your eyes, and you tumble back to your current environment— all the dishes are still floating, the spoons were still moving, and Fred was staring at you with a giant grin on his face.

“Hi Freddie!” You light up at the sight of your boyfriend, but don’t allow his attempt at hugging you, too focused on not disappointing your (hopefully) future mother-in-law.

“They’re not gonna stop working unless mom makes them, these things are always going.”

But you refuse to budge, and Molly walks in to see you holding your boyfriend away with one hand on his chest while you continue trying to stir with the other.

She lets out a laugh, telling Fred to leave you alone and go wash up before dinner.

“One kiss? Pleaseeee?” He gives you puppy eyes, and your face goes bright red.

“Not in front of your parents!” You hiss, but he steals a one anyway before running up the stairs and out of the way of the punch you tried to throw at him.

Molly pretends not to have seen, and you let your face cool down before asking what she wants you to do next.

Fifteen minutes later you’re sat at the large table, sandwiched between the twins while Ron talks to you from across the table.

“It was pretty fun, and we all got muggle souvenirs afterward, can you explain to me what this is?” He asks, holding up a PEZ dispenser with a cartoon character head on top.

You laugh, explaining how to get the candy out and watching as a few of the Weasley’s around the table stop to watch, Aurthur positively beaming at the discovery.

“Take a bite before dad can ask you something,” Fred whispers urgently in your ear, and you go to say something back but see Aurthur open his mouth on the other side of the table and you quickly scoop as much pasta into your mouth as you can fit.

You hear Fred laugh at you, and you turn to give him a glare; although it’s less scary due to the copious amounts of noodle hanging out of your mouth.

A flash once again momentarily blinds you, and you finally realize what it is when you see the small Polaroid camera in your boyfriend’s hand.

You go to yell at him, but still have pasta in your mouth so you settle for an angry groan and another smack to his arm.

You watch in horror as a piece of film comes out of the camera, which your boyfriend takes gingerly and looks at expectantly as it develops.

You finally manage to swallow your large bite, and you snatch the photo from his grasp, immediately being greeted by your own face, round with food in your cheeks and wide eyes while strands of pasta hang down your chin and sauce sits on the corners of your mouth.

“Freddie,” you groan in annoyance, but he just takes the photo back from your hands and looks at it proudly.

“It’s a lovely representation of you, darling.”

“It is not!!”

George is laughing too, and you turn back to your plate, trying not to think about the fact that your boyfriend now has two horrible pictures of you for keepsakes.

You try to help clean up after dinner, but Molly insists that someone else does it since you helped cook, so you head upstairs to your boyfriend’s room while Ron and Ginny grumble.

“Evening, love,” Fred greets as you enter the twins’ room.

“Y/n,” George greets as well, tipping his nonexistent hat to you before turning his back to you so he can start a letter to Angelina.

Your boyfriend uses the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I missed you today.” He mumbles into your hair.

“It wasn’t even a full day,” you laugh, the sound muffled by his chest.

He scoffs, sitting down on his bed and pulling you onto his lap.

“So what, I’m not allowed to miss my girl?”

You feel your cheeks warming at the claim of being his, and you give him a teasing smile, “well when you say it like that..”

Before you can even move there’s another flash and you immediately groan, burying your head into the crook of your boyfriend’s neck.

“I’m really starting to resent your dad for getting you that.”

You feel his shoulders shake with laughter, but all he says is “I think it’s my second favorite possession.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, pulling back so he can see it.

“Second favorite?”

“Yep. After these pictures.” He grins, now holding up all three photos he’s taken of you since being home.

“Why can’t you just take pictures like a normal person?” You ask, looking at the two new photos, the one from earlier of you with a wooden spoon in your hand and eyes looking around while bowls float around your head, and the newest one of you sat on Fred’s legs with pink cheeks and a grin on your face.

“Normal people don’t get to keep your happy face in their pockets though, now do they?”

You watch as he puts the photos back, and you melt at the thought of your boyfriend wanting to document your joy to keep as his own.

“I’m always wearing my happy face when I’m around you, Freddie.”

He grins (ignoring George’s gagging) and pulls you down onto his bed, smothering you in kisses until he can no longer keep himself up and your face is brighter than his hair.

“Guess I’ll have to get more film then.”

And he does.

In fact, by the time you get back to Hogwarts from the holidays he’s got a whole wall of polaroids .

You in his Christmas sweater with a proud smile on your face and an F across your chest, you being squeezed by his mother in the worlds tightest hug, you on a broom in his backyard and a quaffle in your arms, you asleep on his bed, even one of you puckering up as if to give the camera a kiss.

And no matter how many times he looks at them, Fred still stares at the photos with a lovesick smile on his face, absolutely in awe at the ability to capture pictures that are so you, so full of light and love that he feels like the luckiest man on Earth to get to be yours.

[aeash]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ park wonbin × fem!reader ˎˊ˗

warnings : smut , jealousy!wonbin , softdom!wonbin , unprotected sex , that's all ( ? ¿ ) mdni .ᐟ .ᐟ

author note : this is my 1st blog, and im js learning how to write something like this.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

– who was it? – wonbin raises one eyebrow in displeasure, sitting at the table and putting down the fork he just ate with.

– mm.. who are you talking about? – on the way, you take off your coat and put it on a chair, approaching your boyfriend.

– the guy gave you a ride. – he glanced displeased at your hands, which you wanted to wrap around his neck and twitched, hinting that you should not touch him at all.

– ah, it's a colleague. what is it? – you put your hands on his shoulders again and reach for a kiss.

– what kind of idiot colleague is this? did he just give you a ride or something? – he looks at you with displeasure again, as if looking for something to cling to. yes, we were on our way, he lives in the opposite direction, but today he was on his way to his girlfriend. by the way, she lives across the house from us. – you gave your boyfriend a smile and leaned into his ear. – are you jealous? – hot breath burns his skin.

– yes. don't mess with him. i'll meet you myself.

– okay, whatever you say. – you put your hands on his shoulders again, and this time, finally, he lets you do it. you leave a quick kiss on his lips, after which a trace of red lipstick remains on him.

as soon as you want to go to rest, because you just came home from work, wonbin grabs you tightly by the waist and does not let go. makes you fall on top of him, you end up in his lap. he kisses you quickly, with a flourish and passionately, crushes your lips with his own, smearing bright lipstick. grabs the hair at the back of your head and pulls it back, which causes you to tilt your head to the top. he leaves kisses and bites on your thin neck, leaves a trace of your own lipstick, in response you sigh heavily, holding back moans.

his hands descend on your buttocks, squeezing them hard, making your eyes widen, and you groan sharply and loudly. your hands are gripping his shoulders with all the strength you have. wonbin's lips descend lower, ending up near the buttons of his shirt. he unbuttons them as quickly as possible and throws your blouse off to no one knows where, and the kissing trail continues. when he reaches your chest, the guy unbuttons your bust and covers your chest with kisses. quiet sighs can be heard in your apartment, the food that wonbin ate before you returned has been cold for a long time, and there is terrible pressure and aching in the groin area.

finally, his hands reach your skirt. he unbuttons it, ridding you of the extra thing, and pushes the panties away. immediately enters you with two fingers, stretching. you moan, grab his shoulders, ask for a kiss, and he kisses you. he can't refuse his baby. you begin to sit on your lover's fingers yourself, as he pulls them out and finally replaces the fingers with his dick. he holds your hips and helps you move, pushing deeper and deeper on him. you can only hear soft sighs and half-moans from the park, when you moan as loudly as you can, not hesitating to show your pleasure. a couple more sharp and deep thrusts, you reach the peak of pleasure, and he pours inside you.

[soseojade]

Hey! Just came across your blog and your writing is amazing! I was thinking of a Han fluff where you meet him in the studio where he’s busy making music and you encourage him to take a break, then you decide to sit on his lap giving him a lot of affectionate and he’s just teasing you and making you blush aksksks <3

MAKE ME - Han Jisung

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A/N: hello! I’m so happy you came across my blog and you are very welcome here 😊 this idea was so cute and I hope you like what I’ve done with it!! I think I made it a little suggestive oops, I hope that’s okay!

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warnings: pet names, kissing, depictions of overworking

genre: fluff, very slightly suggestive, overworked sungie x reader

wc: 1.4k

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“You need my opinion on something? I’m not the one who’s all educated in music or whatever, Ji. I really don’t think it’s a good idea-” you tried to reason. Your boyfriend called you at 2:00am, asking you to drive to the studio so you could give him your opinion on a song he was working on, but you didn’t want the fate of his music in your hands, and were trying everything in your power to refuse.

He replied to you in a groggy, tired voice; one that the both of you had since it was so late, “Okay…. but- what if…. I really don’t need your opinion and I just want to see you?”

You melted at this. He always managed to say some stupid cheesy comment in the middle of your distress that made everything better. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see him too. He was supposed to be home three hours before, but he always prioritized work over being home on time. You knew this, however, and accepted it as it was.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” You asked, putting on your shoes after deciding to go.

“Well, I guess I didn’t want you be be all like ‘you need to be more focused on your job’ or something like that,” he answered, creating a voice for you by speaking in a higher pitch and adding a strange accent you didn’t even have, “but you know, I decided seeing you was worth the risk.”

You rolled your eyes, “shut up you are so cheesy.”

Jisung laughed at your comment, not bothered in the slightest, “but you like it! See you in 5?”

“See you in 5. I love you!”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible,” you answered, hanging up immediately before he had a chance to reply.

Entering his office, you found Jisung way worse than you expected him to be: slouching in his chair to hang over his desk (which was decorated with forgotten fast food and unopened water bottles), his eyes were barely focusing on the computer screen while he sluggishly moved his mouse to select something on the screen. His mouth hung open and his hair was unkept, looking to be one with his headphones, which he had moved one side of to the behind of his ear, the ear being bright red from having the headphones on for so long. He didn’t even hear you as you knocked on his door. He was too focused on the music he was making - no wonder he wanted to see you.

You made it your goal to get him home as soon as possible. He would argue like hell, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stand seeing him like this. He needed rest, food, water, and lots of love.

“Ji?” You asked, finally gaining his attention.

“Oh, hi baby,” his voice sounded worse than it did on the phone, “lemme just finish up this one thing,” he said, not even looking away from the computer.

You sighed, knowing that that ‘one thing’ would lead to another and then another, and you weren’t planning on letting him stay for even another hour, “Ji?”

“Hmm,” he replied.

“Are you not gonna give me a kiss?”

He sort of mumbled some random sounds in reply, still glued to his screen. You would have to try another approach.

You walked over to his chair and swung one leg over his lap, now standing in front of his computer with his knees between your legs. You could tell from his expression that he was annoyed by this, but you didn’t care.

Jisung looked up to see your face, taking off his headphones before placing his hands on your hips, “what is it baby?” He asked so calmly while caressing your hips with his thumbs and looking into your eyes. He knew what this did to you, however, you remained completely still and calm, playing along with his game.

“Take a break, honey. You need some sleep and some food,” you bent down and kissed his forehead, “and some love,” you stood back up and put your hand on the side of his face while caressing his cheek with your thumb, knowing what this did to him. Jisung, however, was not able to stay calm and bit his lip while thinking up an answer.

“You want me to stop working, huh?” He was now unable to look you in the eye, and moved his head down to look at his lap instead with a big grin on his face.

You decided to tease him further and placed your hand under his chin, pulling his head up to look at you, “yes.” You said firmly, watching him stare into your eyes with his somehow calm expression again, looking completely unbothered.

“Make me.”

You weren’t expecting this, but you weren’t going to let your guard down either. Taking a deep breath, you lowered yourself down to sit on his lap and buried your face in his neck to kiss along his jaw. You could hear Jisung start to breathe heavily while his hands, still on your hips, stopped moving.

“You okay, Ji?”

“I- you know I was just kidding,” you leaned back to see his expression now, which was back to normal- a big lively smile with loving eyes offering you his complete attention, “I love my job but I love you a billion times more,” he told you before returning your gesture, kissing along your jaw. “Let’s go home, okay?” He mumbled against your neck before pulling away to see your response.

“Good. And you’ll eat? And sleep?”

“Anything you ask me to do… and I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t need to get this carried away, it’s just this song has been so difficult- but it’s no excuse. Now, I promise, all my attention is yours, okay?”

You brought your lips to his, kissing him before replying, “you don’t need to be sorry. You just need to take care of yourself. Let’s just head home, love.”

“No, no. I ignored you and I was supposed to be home,” he checked his phone for the time, “four hours ago. You deserve an apology and I wont except your refusal.”

You sighed, happy with how understanding he was. How could someone be so perfect? “Okay, I forgive you. But let’s head home now. You’ve needed a break for forever.”

“Yes ma’am. Oh and baby?”

“Yes?”

“I love you. Thank you.”

“Always. I love you more.”

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A/N: eeekkkk this is so sloppy. I sincerely apologize if it’s not good 😭 it is currently one in the morning. I hope this is okay though! The idea is adorable and thank you so much for the ask, idk what happened with the writing I’ll probably make some adjustments later. Love you!!!

As always, I am dyslexic and would greatly appreciate it if you see a grammar or spelling mistake to tell me so I can fix it!

And, of course, I love feedback whether it’s good or bad 🤗

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[writingbymoonlight]

For @suckerforsugawara! Thanks again for joining my 100 follower event!

ft: timeskip atsumu x reader

song #: song #17 on the playlist is "Butter" by BTS! i may have burst out laughing when i saw i had to write something for atsumu based on this song.

Miya Atsumu considers himself smooth.

When he was in high school, he was popular, but his celebrity status truly skyrocketed after becoming a professional volleyball player, which helped inflate his already enormous ego. 

And with so many eyes on him all the time, Atsumu thought he had perfected the art of being charming and suave.

But his world is rattled when he meets you at a party hosted by the JVA.

It is a charity event, where everyone, dressed in their best attire, socializes in an elegant ballroom while sipping champagne and snacking on miniature versions of fancy foods.

He is hanging out with Hinata and Bokuto, who are devouring some shrimp, when, out of the corner of his eye, he spots you.

You, the most stunning person at the event, and probably the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen.

You, for some reason unknown to Atsumu, are conversing animatedly with a tired-looking Sakusa, and he is positive that the outside hitter is plotting a way to escape the party early.

Hinata and Bokuto realize that Atsumu is staring at you, completely captivated by your presence, and the blond vaguely registers his teammates telling him that you are an up-and-coming sports journalist. 

Several questions start spiraling through his mind: why are you, a beautiful sports journalist, choosing to speak with Sakusa? If you wanted to speak with a volleyball star, why haven’t you approached him yet? 

He’s certain he would be significantly more fun to talk to than Sakusa. 

So, when Atsumu notices Sakusa stroll away, leaving you by yourself, he doesn’t waste a second in approaching you.

He has everything planned out: the opening line to use on you, the perfect cocky smile he’s going to give you, etc.

However, his strategy is instantly shattered because you discern him coming towards you and, before he can get a word out, you exclaim, “Well, if it isn’t the infamous Miya Atsumu!”

The setter is totally caught off guard, the rehearsed smile on his face falters and his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Infamous?” Atsumu repeats quizzically. “Doesn’t that mean being known for something bad?”

His bewilderment causes you to lightly laugh and the tips of his ears begin turning bright red.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you’ve done anything bad! It’s just that, when I hang out with Omi, I’ve had to occasionally listen to him vent about you,” you quickly respond. 

“Omi?” Atsumu asks, still very puzzled.

He is wondering why you’re so familiar with Sakusa and why his supposedly loyal teammate has been talking trash about him to a journalist.

“I guess he hasn’t mentioned me?” you speculate, based upon Atsumu’s perplexed facial expression.  “That’s not surprising, he doesn’t talk about his personal life a lot. I’ve actually been friends with him and Komori since high school.”

“Oh,” is the only answer Atsumu can manage to conjure up because he now cannot comprehend how Sakusa, his own trusted teammate, failed to inform him about his hot friend. 

You take his simple remark as an invitation to continue: “Yeah, when I’m with the two of them, Omi sometimes complains about what an annoying pain in the ass you can be and how you sulk a lot when your brother refuses to give you free onigiri.”

“I am going to kill Omi tomorrow,” is the only thing racing through Atsumu’s mind because he is horrified that this is the impression you have of him.

Mercifully, someone comes up to you, which allows your attention to be momentarily drawn away from the speechless setter.

The person whispers something into your ear, points at a group of people across the room then scurries away. 

When your gaze returns to Atsumu, you give an apologetic look and say, “Sorry, it seems that I’m needed elsewhere. But if you’re free later, I’d really like to get to know you.”

All Atsumu can do is gulp and nod his head eagerly at your suggestion.

“You’re really cute when you’re flustered,” you chuckle with a sly smile before heading off.

As he watches you leave, he can feel the heat rising to his entire face.

“Oh my god,” Atsumu whispers to himself because all it took was one conversation for you to break into his heart and turn him into putty in your hands.

[o-wise-corvid]

There is a Child

Chapter 1

The place where Jedi go to die, that was what Mustafar was called. It was hellish world, Plo Koon thought. The Force was thin here, like the air. Living things did dwell here but they were extremely hard to pinpoint. It was as if the ash storms held their own sway over what even the Force could convey. The sheer lack of moisture in the air, the inescapable baking oven of heat that rose from the ground itself… but he had to be here.

Why?

Well. The Force was why.

It had drawn him to the Outer Rim like a light in the darkest of nights. A beacon. But… for what? What was here that Plo Koon needed to see? Was the Force testing him? Trying to teach him something that he couldn’t learn in the comfortable, populated halls of the Temple on Coruscant.

“How to survive extreme conditions, perhaps?” the Kel Dor asked, opening his mind to the Force to try to perceive what he was so obviously missing. “Teach me, Master. I shall learn.”

Plo Koon was answered with the always-roar of the volcanoes in the distance, and the hiss of lava tubes just on the other side of the cliff side that he’d perched himself to meditate. He was very glad his rebreather blocked the scent of brimstone and sulfur from his scent organs.

But then something different reaching the Kel Dor’s ears. Clattering. Stone on stone. He looked up just as a… a bare foot? What was a humanoid without protective gear doing out among the lava flows?

Plo got to his feet, braced himself, and lept up to the plateau. He landed flat footed and whirled, looking for… anyone.

A panicked whimper drew his attention to an ash-blasted huddle of rocks near the plateau’s center that Plo quickly realized weren’t just rocks. There was a little figure hunched down behind one of them. A figure with bright, lamp-like eyes that peered up over the rock’s edge.

“Hello?” Plo called gently. “Hello, who are you? What are you called?”

The eyes blinked.

Plo was glad he didn’t have to remove his hood. They could be intimidating sometimes. He stepped closer and the creature behind the rock hissed.

“Easy. Easy there. My name is Plo Koon. I am a Jedi. Do you know the Jedi?”

The creature’s head shook. Once. They spoke Basic. Very good.

“I… am very surprised to find you here, little friend. Might I… get a better look at you?”

Nothing happened for a long moment. But then the creature straightened, somewhat, and hobbled toward Plo uncertainly.

It was a child. A boy, by Plo’s assumption. A little red-skinned Zabrak with tiny, pearly horns crowning his smooth scalp. The naturally amber eyes didn’t meet Plo’s face. Always downcast. Hidden in the black intricate black markings adorning him head to toe. Tattoos, Plo knew, were a Zabrak tradition, but these… Dathomiri, maybe?

But then Plo took in the boy’s clothes. Or lack thereof. He was naked; Plo guessed possibly his clothes had caught fire because the boy was holding a scrap of cloth in one small, desperate fist.

The boy was absolutely filthy. Not just from dirt and ask. There was… waste dried to the boy’s skin. And perhaps blood. Old, healing and fresh wounds marred the tattoos’ artistry.

And the boy was thin. So horribly thin.

“Little one… what are you called?”

The boy’s breaths were ragged, each one exposing ribs and collarbones and even his sternum. But he managed to gather enough air to speak after several long moments of panting. “D… Deenine call- calls m-me… Maul.”

It took an hour to get the boy to let Plo touch him. But the expression on the child’s face was so painfully desperate for… anything that the Jedi refused to just give up. The boy, Maul, kept mentioning Deenine. And The Man. That they would be angry. But Plo calmly and gently explained that whoever those people were, Plo would take the boy somewhere that they could never find him. Somewhere with food and a warm bath and cool drink.

Maul didn’t seem to know what a “bath” was. Plo wasn’t surprised. The boy looked like some degree of filth was how he’d existed all his life. There was no telling how old the boy was without tests; his emaciated state spoke of chronic starvation and dehydration. He might be as old as ten but be stunted due to this treatment.

Who would do this?

Why? What purpose could possibly be served by such cruelty? Anger rose in him and Plo hurriedly released it into the Force, which was difficult as there was more of it boiling up from his spirit.

Plo had no answers.

But when he was at last able to lift the boy, wrapped in his soft, brown robe… There was one. Maul was why he’d come to Mustafar.

Walking quickly back to his ship, Plo spoke softly and kindly to the boy. Maul just watched him. He looked frightened half to death. But… he wasn’t trying to get away. No. His fists were clenched around a fold of PLO’s robe so tightly that the diamonds on his knuckles looked grayish pink instead of black.

Once, Plo heard what he thought was a voice, shouting in the howling heat winds. But he kept going. And instead of trying to cast out with his feelings, Plo focused on shielding both himself and the boy. Whatever was happening on this planet, Plo didn’t want to stick around. When they were through the atmosphere and among the stars, only then did Plo relax his shoulders.

“Maul, there is a rat-“ But the sounds of tearing wrappers and greedy eating reached Plo’s auditory organs. The Kel Dor smiled. “Slowly now. Else you will be sick.”

There was a pause. Obedient. Quick. And then an adjustment in the sounds. Slower. More methodical. Plo winced. He hated the thought of the boy being so visibly hungry, but having to control himself even now. It was a cruelty, almost. But an unfortunately necessary one.

“M… Master,” came the earnest, hoarse little voice. Plo marveled at how polished the boy’s accent was. He almost sounded Coruscant with such clipped and proper tone; it was highly out of place.

“You may call me Plo, young one.”

There was a long silence.

Thinking. Much thinking.

“Plo…? I… can stay with you? I…” The boy’s voice trembled with sudden tears and Plo couldn’t restrain himself from reaching back to place a comforting hand on the boy’s head. Maul jumped under the touch. A flinch. Born of pain and terror. “I-I do not have to go back?”

“No,” Plo assured, turning to see the boy. “No, Maul. Never. You are safe now. Safe.”

The little boy cried. He cried until his sobs turned to hiccups and his eyes fell shut with tears still on his face. An exhausted, surrendering sleep overtook Maul and he slumped, finally against the passenger seat, wrapped snugly in Plo Koon’s robe. Plo passed feelings of comfort, safety and peace to the boy, pressing them down over any nightmare that may assail the little Zabrak’s so badly needed rest.

And then he activated his hyper drive. It was time to go home.

[rorapostsbl]

hollow cries of the heart -rambheem-

[ special thanks to all my sweets who commented here ]

━ ━ 🌟 ━ ━

ram had been agitated the past few days. bheem could tell, by the way he'd get out of bed early mornings to spend time boxing his life out on his punching bags, just to come home and refuse eye contact with bheem.

bheem knew something would be wrong, the minute he'd see the knuckles still poorly wrapped up in the white gauze and ram's eyes averted.

he'd make some excuse— "i'll take them out in the shower," he'd quickly mutter before trying to brush past the younger and head towards the bathroom doors.

it alarmed ram on how well bheem could read him— the hand stopping him from hiding his bruised knuckles wouldn't really shock him all that much. bheem would gently pull him back, infront of himself, and without a word begin to carefully unwrap the gauze.

he'd find exactly what he'd expected to find— bruised knuckles and half dried blood. sighing to himself softly, he'd tug ram towards the bathroom, settle him down of the countertop and situate himself inbetween the space of elder's legs.

he'd open his own personal box where he'd store the medicine he made on his own, a few extras always in hand for situations like these and collect some water in a mug, gently wash ram's hands properly, and begin to treat them.

with every pained hiss ram would let out, bheem would look at him in empathy, and kiss his fingertips— in an attempt to soothe the pain. ram would try his hardest not to blush, but the grin that would creep up the younger's face would let him know that he'd indeed failed at that.

it worried bheem when this started to slowly become a routine he wasn't happy of. the elder would keep his hands in control for a day — perhaps in the guilt of causing bheem much worry — but return to boxing to the point where his knuckles would get bruised, again.

ram himself, felt tired. the only way to let the storm of emotions brewing inside of him, was to let them punch their way out. peace came rarely to him, he didn't seek it, either.

the only times he ever felt relaxed, was when he'd crawl into bed, bheem already under the covers, arms open for ram. he'd snuggle inside them, place his ear right above the strong heartbeats of the younger, and fall asleep— to the sounds of bheem's breathing and the finger tracing patterns on his waist.

it became a routine, in which ram found great comfort. after a tiring day at work, he'd slip right into bheem's awaiting hands— try to ignore the way bheem would stare at him with concern and worry— and fall asleep, sometimes to bheem narrating his own day at work.

the younger was confused. he'd always learnt that to give people space— if they needed him, they'd ask for him, themselves.

he doubted whether that would apply to ram, the elder liked to overwork himself to exhaustion, without saying a word to the ones around him.

bheem watched, helpless, as days passed by and ram grew more and more frustrated— more tired. he'd come home, have the barest of foods, and collapse into bheem's arms, a tear or two wetting bheem's undershirt.

bheem would try his best to help, but never pushed ram to say what was tormenting the elder so much. his heart would break abit more everytime he'd see ram go to sleep with dried tears tracking down his cheeks.

all he ever wanted was to chase away the demons that troubled ram— and soon, he'd wish that he would've said more, done more. tried to understand what was happening— more.

━ ━ 🌟 ━ ━

the next morning, a series of knocks sounded on their door. the elder looked up from where he was buried inside of the newspaper— bheem signalled him to keep reading, and went ahead to get the door.

"is ram anna there?" the man asked, petite and holding a letter wrapped in bright red ribbon in his hand. bheem nodded, before letting the man come in.

"ram, someone has come to meet you!" bheem let the elder know, before heading towards the kitchen to fill a glass of water, for the man.

he reached in time to hear the conversation going on. he looked at the man, who was starting to fidget around before ram snapped at him and asked what's wrong.

bheem frowned at the elder's tone, before he caught the man's eyes dart towards him before muttering, in a shaky voice— "anna, the—the gun consignment you asked to deliver to the village— most of them turned out to be faulty."

bheem held in the shocked gasp that threatened to bubble up— it was the most important of ram's orders yet. and nonetheless to say, ram was seething.

"what?! didn't you guys check it properly before letting it dispatch?" ram's voice rose higher as he said the words, hands forming into fists.

the poor man seemed terrified, and before bheem could say something to calm down the situation— ram bellowed, "don't you understand how important all of this is for us? what's the use of keeping such useless workers here?" he questioned, eyes burning with the same fire bheem had once been in the recieving end of.

"you're fired. get out before i make you do it myself." ram threatened— no longer the one to keep quiet, bheem stepped in, eyes questioning and his demeanor collected as he tried to reason through ram's rage.

the poor man was already out of the door, he'd apologised profusely if ram had let him.

"ram. shouldn't you have listened to what he atleast wanted to say?" bheem asked, irritation rising at the way ram had mistreated the man.

ram's eyes locked with his, and bheem felt his paranoia rise like a wave— before it came crashing down with the words ram spoke next.

"this matters to me more than anything and anyone. nobody understands it either— so don't bother putting your two cents in, bheem."

━ ━ 🌟 ━ ━

the younger was understandably, angry the whole day. nobody understands, was what ram had claimed. maybe bheem really didn't understand— the need to take one's frustration out the moment they found a prey, was infuriating.

the whole day at work, bheem was distracted. lacchu seemed to notice, it attracted his attention when even during lunch time, the space wasn't filled with bheem's excited chatter. it was silent— and bheem was lost in his own thoughts. lacchu didn't say anything, he kept correcting the silly mistakes the other would leave behind in his trail.

ram drove himself to the edges of the hilltop, getting out of the vehicle and slamming it shut harder than necessary. he sighed, tired and drained, as his thoughts overtook his rationality again.

the sun would slowly start to set, he made notice of it. bheem was his own personal sunshine in a world filled with darkness. it was impossible to not get addicted to his selfless nature, his innocence, the way he'd care for the smallest of the smallest things when it came to ram.

but— ram knew this paradise won't last long. it wasn't in him to ever understand love, and it's ties around the heart. all he could see was him being the reason to why bheem would worry every single day, lines forming in his forehead due to the concern he had for ram.

ram felt as if the whole thing was, unjustified. his tantrums and his frustrations were his to deal with, and not bheem's. he'd been wrong to take it out on the employee that day— and then on bheem.

it was better to cut off ties, before everything ended the way it did in ram's worse nightmares. ram would rather have the younger hate him because of ram's concious actions, over anything else.

it was better to cut off ties before they started to choke the people themselves— ram decided.

he watched the sun set with a bittersweet smile, the world slowly plunged into darkness, with the moon to help it navigate the dark, and here was ram— trying to eliminate the only light in his dark world.

that night, bheem fell asleep waiting for ram, blankets halfway through his legs, hands barely holding up the book ram had been claiming to be the best ones, his head lolled to the side, a serene expression on his face.

the whole night passed, without ram in his safe haven, tucked away safe and secure from the monsters clawing at his back.

━ ━ 🌟 ━ ━

the next morning, bheem awoke the sounds of belts tinkling and drawers being shut and open slowly— it felt as if the person tried to be silent but the wooden drawers creaked anyway.

bheem blinked the sleep away from his eyes as he watched ram pace around, dressed ready for the day.

"what are you doing, ram? did you have anything?" bheem asked, head tilting to the side as he yawned, the sleepy voice making ram's heart skip a beat.

ram willed himself to answer— still searching for something. bheem looked at him in confusion, taking a once over of ram as his expression came to one of understanding— ram couldn't find his gun. the empty holster was a sure sign of it.

bheem got up, stretching and made his way to ram, his full intentions of trapping the elder in a bear hug thwarted when ram sidestepped him.

it stung harsher than a hundred bees stinging bheem together, and the younger frowned.

"ram—"

"there's riots going around. many places have been set on fire and they need me to come. i'll be back—" ram informed but before he could complete himself, bheem clutched his hand tightly.

ram looked up to meet his eyes and immediately regretted his decisions— seeing the pure fear run through bheem as he said, "no. you're not going anywhere."

before ram could protest— the prick in his heart making him curse inwardly, bheem repeated his words, as if to establish the fact, "you're not going anywhere, ram. no—"

"yes," ram cut in, "it's my duty, bheem."

bheem shook his head, crowding in ram's space as tears of frustration welled up slowly, "you can get injured ram, why don't you understand?" bheem questioned, his voice edging desperately as fear completely gripped him.

he couldn't let ram risk his life. not like this, bheem couldn't afford to lose ram, at all. not when they haven't even been able to properly be together the past few days.

"they're bloodthirsty, ram. don't go, please— don't," bheem choked on a sob halfway through as the tears fell down, one of which fell on the conjoined hands of theirs.

ram blinked harshly, taken aback by bheem's breadth of emotions before he closed his eyes, inhaling shakily as he freed his hand forcefully. each step away from bheem felt like a dagger to him.

he began, in what he hoped, was a calm and stern voice— "it's my duty, bheem. my nation comes before me, before you and before us. i will always, serve my country. if you can't cope with that, i don't want to stay with you longer."

ram squeezed the words out, throat closing in immediately after as he stepped away, legs shaky as he spotted the gun hiding beneath his bed table. he quickly got it, refusing to look towards bheem and stepped outside of the house.

inside, bheem stood, his world wobbly— before he made his way to the kitchen, tears still falling down as he tried to process everything that happened. his heart impatiently tugged at him to go behind ram as he always does, but his mind held him back.

bheem's eyes fell on the dinner that was left of last night— for ram. it was spoilt and untouched. ram didn't have dinner last night, either.

something in bheem shattered as the reality began to set in. he fell to his knees, warm tears continuing their tracks as bheem lay, sobbing his heart out. he let out a desperate cry, somewhere a shout and felt his throat close in on him— as he kept questioning himself,

what happened bheem? where did the strong, emotionally stable bheem go? who is this, the one who kneels to his knees at the thought of ram disappearing from his life? where is the gond protecter?

━ ━ 🌟 ━ ━

a/n; fuck u tumblr for not saving half the fic & making me rewrite the whole thing again.

i rate this a 5.5/10 bcz, i don't like how i make bheem seem so weak in hindsight. in my mind, bheem will always be the more emotional and open person. tbh, what i wanted to show is no matter how strong bheem is, ram's love makes him become a mess.

that's what love makes you do, right? it has the ability to make the strongest of the strongest kneel. okay got too deep

there's a pt 2 and believe me i will make ram suffer too.

tags; @rambheemisgoated @rambheem-is-real @alikokinav @yehsahihai @bromance-minus-the-b

@sinistergooseberries @thewinchestergirl1208 @jeonmahi1864 @azraelcuror @sivuda @lovingperfectionwonderland @mikabilis @eremin0109 @floating-mushroom @obsessedtoafault @icarus-f4lls @prdnya-blog @kashti15 @jjwolfesworld @iamhereforthefanfics

[ if i forgot someone i am sorry 🤧 and lmk if u wanna be tagged in my upcoming rambheem fics! ]

[ptergwen]

Can you do one where mj is keep telling the reader to confess to Peter that she likes him but the reader is too shy and doesn’t want to but Peter overheard their whole conversation then they confess their feelings and fluff?

w/c: 1,037

warnings: like one swear

a/n: hi omg this took forever for literally no reason i’m sorryjfhwdjs i hope u still enjoy <3

-

“fuck… i like him so much, mj. i don’t think you understand,” you gush, too busy venting to notice her eye roll.

the pair of you are sharing a pizza at the cheapest restaurant you could find. during your meal, your conversation naturally drifted off to peter because he’s all you care to talk about as of late. you’ve been crushing on him for a minute, and mj is who you choose to confide in.

she wishes you’d spill your guts already for her sake and yours. mostly hers, though.

you finish chewing a piece of pizza crust. “i like him more and more every day. it’s kinda insane, even feeling this way about someone.” grunting, mj puts down her glass of lemonade. “especially peter.” she squints at you from across the table. “i refuse to believe the kid gets you this hot and bothered.”

“stop, he’s so…” a dreamy grin stretches across your lips. just the mention of peter livens your life. “he’s so funny, you know? with his stupid puns. those actually make me laugh.” mj is unimpressed, sipping her drink with a blank expression. “so, he’s got jokes. big deal. what do you really see in him, y/n?”

peter suddenly strolls into the pizzeria. coincidentally, he’s there to pick up an order of takeout for him and may.

his gaze instantly sets on you and mj, more so you if he’s being honest. he smiles as he watches you animatedly chat amongst yourselves. you’re waving your hands around while mj huffs and puffs.

it’s cute, really cute.

he’s considering stepping off the pickup line to go over to you two. then, he hears his name come up. he doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but his enhanced hearing has other plans.

“peter just has this energy to him that i can’t get enough of,” you further elaborate. mj rips another pizza slice from the rack, needing the fuel to continue your chat. “like, he’s so warm and genuinely kind… it kinda rubs off on you. it’s really comforting.”

you’re anxiously tapping your fingers on the table top, now hyperconscious of your surroundings. it’s almost like you’re being watched.

mj hums. “right, but why are you telling me instead of peter?” she chomps on a particularly stringy piece of cheese, giving you a moment to ask yourself the same question.

why are you?

oh, that’s right. you’re absolutely terrified.

you aren’t too great at expressing yourself, so simply sharing this with mj is a challenge.

“because i don’t know how to tell him!” you whine, sliding down in the booth dramatically. mj kicks your leg under the table. “what’s the difference? at least he’s into all this mushy shit. i’m not.” you glare up at her. “yeah, but is he into me?”

peter gasps, earning looks from other customers on the line. his face burns bright red for a multitude of reasons.

you like him back? you like him back?

“ask him,” mj grumbles and takes another swig of lemonade. she’s reached her limit of peter discourse for the day. “are you insane? i could never!” you reject her suggestion. “when am i even supposed to-“ mj’s eyes widen, fixed on something behind you. “right now.”

confused, you frown. “what? like, over text? i dunno… you’ve had better ideas.”

mj shakes her head and points forward. you turn around to follow her gesture, your jaw immediately dropping.

surely enough, peter is making his way over to your table. he’s looking cuter than ever in his midtown hoodie with a blush coating his cheeks.

how the hell…

“peter? what’re you doing here?” you squeak, popping up in your seat. his lips press into a small smile. “hey, y/n. mj. just picking up dinner.” he glances between you and mj as he scratches at his gelled curls. “small world, right?” mj lets out a sigh. “a little too small for my liking. i’m gonna bounce.”

she raises her eyebrows at you, a clear signal that you choose to ignore.

“where are you going?” you speak, teeth gritted. already getting up from the table, mj mumbles her response. “bathroom. all that lemonade went straight through me.”

she makes a point to bump peter’s shoulder before she leaves, peter gulping.

the two of them share an unspoken agreement. peter needs to confess his feelings, and he better not screw up.

you mutter a few choice words under your breath when mj takes off. peter makes out some of them, chuckling lightly and sitting in her former seat. his heart is beating alarmingly quick. yours is somehow faster.

“so, uh…” peter licks his lips and rolls up his hoodie sleeves. “the food here any good?” you purse your own lips. “it’s alright. i wanted to go to delmar’s, but it was mj’s turn to pick.” peter’s grin widens. he’d been the one who introduced you to delmar’s bodega.

peter shrugs a shoulder. “well, i don’t blame you. you know what they say.” “best sandwiches in queens,” you two chime in unison, each giggling at the other. his cheeks flush once again. you bite back a smile, your knee accidentally brushing against his.

although you hastily back away and apologize, peter welcomes it. he moves in closer so both your knees are touching now.

oh.

“i was wondering, and only if you’re up for it of course… could i take you tomorrow?” peter asks, voice soft. he gives you his infamous puppy eyes. you meet them with shock in yours. “to delmar’s? like… like on a-“ “a date, yeah,” he clarifies and nods vigorously for emphasis.

his hand finds yours on the table, both your fingers lacing together and peter beaming at you.

“i like you, y/n. think it’s time i did something about it,” he finally admits. you nearly collapse on the spot as peter’s thumb runs along the back of your hand. “i like you, too. way more than you know,” you breathe out a quiet laugh. “it’s weird, i was just debating with mj whether i should tell you.”

oblivious to the fact that peter heard everything, you squeeze his hand tighter. the tips of his ears turn a deep shade of pink.

he’s got a lot to tell you.

[lightsovermonaco]

Body Shots (Pierre Gasly)

Inspired by (and beta read) by the amazing @limp-wrist-max​ thank you Mea! 

Masterlist

Word count: 3.5k

Recommended song: “Lucky You” by Sim Dane

Vacationing in Milan had its perks. Fine dining, luxury stores that were prime for window shopping, and the proximity to your best friend, to name a few.

When you'd touched down in Milan you had had no intentions of visiting Pierre. You had just finished your exams for your summer class and had a week before the next semester started up, so you had simply booked the cheapest ticket and boarded a plane. 

The intent had been to have some good wine, good food and unwind. Pierre saw your Instagram story minutes after you posted it and recognized the bakery you stopped at for lunch. And once he found out you were only a few minutes away from that weekend's grand prix, he had ideas that didn't involve you reading a novel all day.

Pierre had insisted that a last minute cancelation by a family friend had left a paddock pass unclaimed and had suggested you take it.

"You're my best friend, it'll be fun to have you experience a weekend through my eyes for once instead of sitting in the stands. Come visit me."

Something in the inflection of his voice made the simple request rub you raw. He missed you. It had been months since your last get together and you couldn't blame him. The last year had been rough for him and he  rarely had anyone physically at his side to help him through it.

Inviting you instead of one of his parents was about more than your current proximity to the track. He hadn't missed a beat in asking you, not hesitating to consider anyone else being with him this weekend.

Your stomach had turned as you climbed in a cab Sunday morning, not out of fear of something going wrong but because of the nagging feeling that something was about to change.

You'd known Pierre since you were kids. Your brother had raced in karting before pursuing another dream, but in the few short years you'd hung around European tracks you had managed to forge a bond with one of your brother's rivals. That friendship carried on regardless of the distance that separated you, kept alive by visits in the off season and once a year trips to the racetrack at Silverstone.

Pierre met you at the gates and you had barely seen him since.

A decent qualifying session saw the Frenchman start P10 on Sunday's race. He didn't hide the fact that he was disappointed, but come time for his final meeting with the team you'd never guess he was anything but ecstatic.

You had to be conscious about your mouth hanging open when Pierre stepped into the garage in his fireproofs with his suit half undone. The tuft of blond hair peeking through his backwards cap floats on an invisible breeze and he bounces on his toes. His brow furrows when he is handed a data sheet, listening intently to what the engineer points out.

Butterflies riot in your stomach when Pierre catches you staring and winks. You pray he writes the blush on your cheeks off as the heat and he must, because he raises his eyebrows and flexes a bit.

You laugh to cover the way you want to do nothing but strip him out of that tight fitted white shirt. Your crush was getting out of hand. Pierre's shameless, friendly flirting only escalated matters.

You told yourself it was nothing. He was like this with every girl he met, making a fool of himself to earn a laugh. You were no different, except maybe that you were a constant where most other women only got to enjoy his playful personality for a short time.

You're treated to a few long minutes of watching Pierre prep to climb into the car before he's heading out on track to line up at the grid. 

The race starts off fine, Pierre's pace is better than expected. One of the Haas's breaks down at the pit entry and Pierre's strategist decides to bring him in for a fresh set of tires. A kiss seems like the proper reward for their stroke of brilliance, which affords Pierre the advantage when the pits close soon after. 

Restarting on lap 28 is nail biting. Hamilton, Stroll, and Pierre make up the podium places. The entire garage gasps when Stroll goes wide at turn four. Hamilton serves his penalty and Pierre inherits the lead. Sainz jumps on the opportunity to attack.

Pierre defends brilliantly until the final lap. The team erupts when he crosses the line first, bringing home the win.

Red, white and green confetti sticks to his skin as he sprays the champagne over all of you. In the heat of it all, Pierre sits on that top step and shakes his head. You already know that the photos of him being snapped from all angles will be gorgeous, the sun shining down on the first French grand prix winner in decades.

A legend in the minds of his people and in yours.

You could scarcely believe it yourself. Your best friend had finally, after years of being pushed down, won a grand prix at the temple of speed. Red Bull had been wrong, just as you'd insisted when Pierre cried over losing his seat and his friend in one weekend. But god, did Pierre rise above it all.

Pierre catches your gaze just before he leaves the podium. A lifetime of emotion swirls around him like an enigma, begging you to find out what it was hiding. Your wave is barely more than a lift of your hand but Pierre notes it nonetheless, tipping his trophy in your direction.

You wait patiently on the sidelines as Pierre poses for pictures with his team on and off the track. His attention constantly falls on you, his grin widening each time he sees you tucked under the arm of an enthusiastic mechanic or crew member. Alpha Tauri was a family and you were an honorary member thanks to your connection to their driver.

An action packed hour of cameras passes before Pierre is able to break away. As soon as he's given the go ahead he passes his trophy off and marching to you. You're both practically running by the time you meet in the middle. You crash into him and he lifts you off your feet in a crushing hug.

"You did it," you whisper, overwhelmed by his success now that you've gotten the chance to celebrate with him. "I'm so proud of you."

Pierre laughs as he sets you on your feet. His smile is wider than you've ever seen it and you're sure his cheeks must be sore.

"Wish they allowed us to bring a friend up there," Pierre says softly, a smile melting into a sly smirk. "Seeing you doused in champagne is an image I wouldn't forget."

You shake your head, caught up in his ceaseless flirting. He had no idea that his honeyed words and gentle touches lit something inside of you, rattling your brain and making it impossible to form a coherent sentence. Instead you snatch the black and gold Pirelli cap off his head and place it on your own, earning you a peal of laughter.

"Looks better on you anyway." Pierre runs a hand through his sweaty, champagne doused hair, leaving bits sticking up at odd angles.

Someone calls Pierre's name, far enough away that there's no rush. Pierre's hands remain planted on your waist and yours stay wrapped around his neck. By the way his bright blue eyes bore into yours, you swear he's thinking the same thing you are.

"Thank you for believing in me," he murmurs, gaze falling to your lips.

"I knew it was just a matter of time," you tell him, inching up on your tiptoes. Tempted by his win, you want to ruin the best friendship you've ever had. You want to discover if the lips you spend far too much time dreaming about felt as soft as they looked. You want to know how it feels to be lost in Pierre, newly minted race winner, and find out just how he dealt with the adrenaline and euphoria of his incredible drive.

"Well done mate!"

Max Verstappen startles the two of you apart. You take a healthy step back and drop your gaze to the ground to hide your burning cheeks.

"Thanks." Pierre accepts the Dutchman's embrace and claps him on the back. "Sucks I didn't get to fight you for it."

"There will be more chances in the future. And I didn't expect to see you here, that's a nice surprise." Max knocks you with his shoulder, tipping you off balance. On instinct you latch onto Pierre's arm to steady yourself. You wait a heartbeat too long to remove your hand and both of you find anywhere to look but each other.

"So where's the party?" You ask, searching for a distraction from the way your palm still burns.

"Definitely not at Red Bull." Max shudders and you laugh because that's what you do when someone is being over dramatic. It rings hollow in your ears.

"I hear there's a few guys with adjoining rooms at the hotel who bought plenty of booze," Pierre says. "You and Dan wanna come by?"

"Is that really a question?" Max grins, already typing out a text as Pierre feeds him the details.

**********

"You should do body shots," Max suggests, which earns a roaring laugh from Daniel and a half hearted one from Pierre.

"I don't think so," Pierre says, "there's no one here I trust enough to let that happen."

"Not even your best friend?" Max gestures to you and shoots you a wink when Pierre glances over. "I think she's trustworthy."

"No thanks." Pierre holds up his plastic cup and salutes Max before draining it to the dregs.

Pierre's immediate refusal hurt more than it probably should have. You hadn't expected him to jump at the offer but having him shut the idea down so thoroughly hadn't been what you wanted either.

Max notes your pouty lower lip and speaks on your behalf. "Come on mate," Max insists. "You just won your first prix, live a little! It's not like you've got anything to lose, she's your best friend."

"That's exactly why-"

"Shut up, it would be fun! Wouldn't it?" Max says this last bit to you, a wild grin on his face.

Max expects you to turn red and object. That was his end goal. But what the Dutchman hadn't counted on was how drunk you already were on Pierre. On his smile. On his bright blue eyes, swirling in the aftermath of his unlikely triumph. And mostly on the not-so-sneaky way he glances at you every few minutes.

"Let's do it."

Pierre blinks, searching your face for any sign of distress. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not?" You shrug, suddenly fearing that you'd read him wrong and he really was against this whole thing. "Unless you don't want to-"

"Get the vodka," Pierre interrupts, nodding to Max though his stare remains pinned on you. Pierre latches onto your wrist and drags you around the room until he finds a table long and sturdy enough for his liking. 

"This a good height for you?"

The coffee table is low enough that you'd have to kneel. Luckily getting on your knees isn't something you'd mind doing for Pierre. You lick your lips without thinking. Pierre's pupils blow wide, black swallowing the swirling oceans of blue.

"Sure," is all you manage.

"Good." Apparently neither of you were able to focus on speech. You work together to clear the empty plastic cups and used napkins from the surface. Your hands brush when you both reach for the last cup and you just catch the way Pierre's breath hitches.

You and Pierre have danced this dance since you were teenagers. Each of you knows the steps by heart. The only difference is tonight neither of you were poised to bow out before the final lift.

"Beep beep, bitches!" You yank your hand away when Max's shout reaches you. Pierre's hand lingers in front of him,  outstretched as if your palm remained grazing his thumb. 

Max holds the bottle of vodka over his head as he wades through the crowd. "You're all about to be very, very entertained."

"Where's your chaperone?" You ask Max, searching for Daniel in the low lighting. You press your palm to your thigh, dissipating Pierre's lingering heat.

The Dutchman waves you off. "Went to get us more drinks. Pierre, isn't it kinda hard to do body shots if you're still fully clothed?"

"Who says I'm the one getting undressed?"

Max's grin dimples his flushed cheeks. "I mean you can ask her to take her shirt off in front of all these people if you want to."

"No," Pierre responds quickly. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Pierre strips off his shirt he gets more than a few whistles from men and women alike. That tended to happen when someone was built like a Greek fucking god, you supposed. Whoever voted for People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" and decided on Michael B. Jordan had clearly never laid eyes on Pierre, with his bronzed skin, endless expanses of muscle, and brilliant cheshire grin.

Michael B. Jordan who?

Pierre hands the team branded shirt off and lays out on the table. He pillows an arm under his head, bare bicep flexed as he gets comfortable. Leaning in to kiss along the hard muscle was out of the question, however tempting it was.

Pierre looks up expectantly. "You coming?" 

Holy shit, this was actually happening.

"Yeah, I'm coming." You sink to your knees and Pierre laughs.

"Up here." He pats his thigh with his free hand and beacons you forward. "Please."

Screw it, you've already thrown your friendship out the window. This night ended either in heartbreak or awkwardness, might as well get your money's worth.

A few whoops break out above the music. The bassline isn't the only thing thundering in your chest as you straddle Pierre's thighs, hands braced on his chest.

"Okay?" Pierre whispers for your ears only. You nod with what you hope is a charming smile.

"Alright move," Max says, shooing you back until you're resting on your haunches. Max flicks the cap off the bottle and you grab it to take a long sip.

Max gapes at you and you wipe a hand over your mouth. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Pierre's thighs tense beneath you in response to your bold declaration. Dozens of Pierre's friends and team members gather around. For all you care, Pierre is the only person in the room.

"Last chance to back out," Max warns. You're too busy tracking the drop of liquid that falls from the neck of the bottle to splash onto the crease of Pierre's abs to bother responding. 

"Pour it out." Pierre's chest sinks with his demand, doing nothing but sparking your imagination, creating images of him heaving beneath you. You'd sell your soul to recreate the way you're currently poised above Pierre's hips with a little less clothing and no audience.

Max gives up hope on you replying and dribbles the alcohol up Pierre's abdomen, stopping just below his pecks.

"Have at 'er-"

Your tongue is on Pierre's skin before Max has finished his sentence. You feel the muscle tense beneath your tongue, going rigid at the first contact. The burn of the vodka doesn't even register as you lap it up, catching the drips that fall over his sides. 

You aren't sure either of you is breathing. Salty sweat mingles with the sharpness of the alcohol, an afterthought barely worth mentioning.

Blame the liquid courage or blame the high from Pierre's win, but you were confident Pierre was enjoying this just as much as you. 

Planting a hand on Pierre's hip, you steal a glance up at him to find him locked on you. You take that as permission to continue, dragging your tongue flat up his stomach and continuing well past where the vodka had been poured. Up between his pecks, over the curve of his throat that bobs beneath your tongue, over his chin until you meet his lips, already parted and waiting. 

Neither of you pay the shouts cresting around you any heed. You've both waited too long for this, endured too many almosts and what ifs to let the opportunity slip through your fingers. Your sticky hands cradle Pierre's face, angling it in a way that's to your liking so you can explore more of his mouth. He tastes like whiskey and mint, the juxtaposition of hot and cold scattering your thoughts. One of Pierre's hands finds the nape of your neck when you gasp for air, refusing to let you end the moment.

And it's pure, unending bliss that floods your veins when he nips at your lower lip, swollen and surely reddened from his kiss. His thumb sweeps across the back of your neck while you both fight to catch the breath currently evading you.

Daydreams didn't hold a candle to the real thing. One taste and you were addicted, craving as much as Pierre was willing to give.  

"Hey," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a stupidly gorgeous smile.

"That was nice," you tease, tangling your fingers in the silky blond strands of his hair. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again."

"Me too. Maybe somewhere where it's just us though. I wouldn't want to scandalize my team any further." You manage to steal another sweet peck before Max hauls you off Pierre.

"Fucking finally," Daniel says, clapping when you're upright again. "Do you know how long I've been trying to orchestrate this? The two of you really are dumber than a box of rocks. I can't believe all it took was Max suggesting body shots to get you two to kiss."

The arm that wraps around your waist feels right. Pierre hasn't hugged you like this before, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his nose nuzzling your neck, but it already feels like home.

Pierre ignores Max completely in favor of pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. "Why don't we go back to my room? I'll pour more alcohol on myself if that's what it takes to convince you."

You're just about to take him up on the offer when one of his team members taps his shoulder. He glances at them impatiently, which the man thankfully doesn't take personally.

"They want some photos with you holding your trophy," he explains, handing a shirt and the star shaped interpretation of the Italian flag to Pierre. "It will only take a few minutes,  they promised not to keep you long."

Of course everyone knew exactly where your minds were. Sanity had long since left the premises, tangled up in crisp white sheets. Pierre's entire team and half the Red Bull garage had seen what had gone down while the prix winner was sprawled on that coffee table. There would be no chance of denying it in the morning. 

And while you'd never imagined that the first time you'd kiss your best friend would be directly preceded by licking copious amounts of shitty liquor off his super-heated skin, now that you'd experienced it any other way seems forgettable.

Pierre sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I mean, I already have my trophy, but…" your stomach lurches when you realize he means you. Pierre catches the way your mouth hangs open and he shoots you a grin before accepting the real trophy.

"You carry it," he says, not giving you much of a choice as he thrusts it into your hands. "I'm occupied."

You're about to point out that his hands are, in fact, free and that the more likely reason for insisting you carry the trophy was his usual post-race laziness when he slings an arm around your shoulders and tucks you tight to his side.

"Is this okay?" Pierre asks when you involuntarily stiffen. God, it was more than okay, it was perfect, it had just caught you by surprise. You'd only kissed him a handful of minutes ago and Pierre was already wrapped around your finger, smitten as if you'd been a couple for years.

"Yeah no, it's perfect. Simply lovely," you say quickly, stumbling over your words.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Your answer comes in the form of a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. You prop the trophy on your hip and smile up at your race winner.

"You don't have to ask that ever again. My answer is always yes."

[lumosinlove]

Well, this got longer than I thought it would, so I’ll have to publish in a few parts as I write...

But Happy Birthday, Finn, my favorite :)

Find it here on Ao3

~

Of Silence And Slow Time

part i of iii

~

New York City, 1920

~

Everyone told Finn that the statue looked like him, that he simply must go and see it.

“Really, Finn,” his older brother Alex said. “It’s the eyes, the face, it’s the mouth. It’s uncanny.”

Finn had just looked over Alex and the man and woman he seemed to always have at his side ever since the war ended. Natalie, a nurse whom he’d met in France, and Kasey a Canadian from another unit—they’d ended up in the hospital together.

“It’s in France,” Finn said flatly. “I know you’re forgetting about it all, but I’m not exactly keen on going back there. It took me ages to get home.”

It had taken everything for him to get home.

Alex, to Finn’s relief, nodded at Natalie and Kasey to go get themselves a drink at the bar down the street, told them that he’d meet them there. Finn stared down at the book open and unseeing in his lap. He wasn’t even sure what he was reading, on that he wanted to. His mind didn’t seem to follow him just right these days. Cars became bombs sometimes. Sleep was all dreams.

Alex sat beside him on their parents’ old sofa.

“Fish,” Alex said softly, and moved his hand slow, where Finn could see it, before resting it gently around his shoulders. “You can’t sit here all day. That’s not going to help you, and I know you don’t like it. You’ve never sat still like this.”

“I’m not going back to France.”

“It’s Paris,” Alex said, and gently flipped Finn’s wrist over to reveal the tiny globe his friend Jackson had dotted there with a needle and ink. “You’ve always wanted…don’t let this war stop you any longer.”

Finn stared down at the reminder he’d asked his friend for, ink permanent black. He’d never been farther than New England before the war. Paris, he’d always thought, gazing at his collection of books. Rome. Athens, Barcelona—

Finn swallowed hard. “Looks just like me, huh?”

Alex’s grin was enough to pull one out of Finn, just slightly. “It was bizarre.” Alex squeezed his shoulders. “I’ll even meet you there later if you want, once we’re through with Canada.”

Finn sent a wary glance towards where Natalie and Kasey had left.

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’d like them. And, who knows who you’ll meet over there. We ran into all sorts of people, people like you’ve never seen. It’s why—” Alex broke off slightly, and looked after the nurse and soldier, too. Finn blinked at the nervous bob of his throat, and then his smile. “There are all sorts of love and art in this world of ours. I know it feels like it’s all war, I felt that too, but it’s not. Please let me help you see that.”

Finn rubbed a thumb over his tattoo, and closed his book.

Everything felt like war. He was so tired of it he thought he’d be crushed.

He looked up at his brother. “I don’t have much money.”

Alex just grinned and slapped him on the back, then pulled him into a tight embrace.

~

Finn arrived in Paris with a lump in his throat. He stumbled through half-French greetings and requests to his taxi, who looked at him sourly and turned out to have dropped him off four streets away from his hotel—maybe on purpose. Maybe because it was barely six in the morning.

Finn was annoyed at first, and then he began to walk.

Paris’ cobblestones were like those in the West Village, only they weren’t. There were glimpses of his home in the uneven tread of his feet, but these stones were darker, as if soaked with more time and more place. It calmed him, while the brief glance towards France’s rolling hills had sent him back to his cabin on the rocky ship, shaking and gasping for air. He’d barely eaten during the entire journey besides forcing down the occasional breakfast sludge, and his legs had wobbled so fiercely upon stepping back onto land, he’d had to sit down.

Finn paused now, closing his eyes and leaning against the nearest building. He’d been so stupid the first time, decked out in his new uniform, eyes on the war like it was some prize to be won. The comfort waned with his scattering mind and Finn tried to draw a steady breath in. The lump in his throat only grew tighter and he squeezed the handle of his small suitcase.

“Monsieur?” came a voice, spilled over with concern.

Finn’s eyes flashed open and he pushed himself straight, blinking through the pale morning light. There was a boy standing there, around his age, with bright blond hair and worried blue eyes. He was tall, with a neat white apron tied around his hips.

“Ça va?” the boy took a hesitant step forward. His eyes glanced towards Finn’s suitcase, and he nodded in realization, then spoke in accented English. “Are you all right?”

Finn looked behind the boy to see the cafe, slowly opening, from which he must have come. There was an abandoned stack of chairs he was putting out for the day, and his apron had an embroidered name at one corner, Finn realized, that matched the sign above.

Le Lion.

“Yes,” Finn breathed, but found himself unable to speak louder. “I’m fine.”

The boy just shook his head, and gestured behind him. “Non. You must sit down. S’il vous plaît. Please.”

Finn didn’t know how to refuse him.

A few minutes later, he found himself stationed at one of the cafe’s tables with a steaming pot of coffee in front of him, a croissant, and a plate of softly scrambled eggs.

“You look like you need more than butter and bread,” the boy had said, wiping strong looking hands on his apron. “You are from America?”

Finn nodded. He had been worried he would be able to stomach the food after the boy went through so much trouble, but upon his first bite of eggs, he felt ravenous.

“Yes,” Finn nodded, brushing his hands off from croissant crumbs. “Sorry, yes,” he held out his hand. “Finn.”

“Leo,” the boy smiled, and took his hand. “It is a pleasure.”

Finn found himself returning that smile with one that, for the first time in a long time, felt like his own. He tried to put coins into Leo’s hand when it was all over, but Leo simply waved him off and said he hoped to see Finn again.

~

The Louvre was more than Finn could have imagined. It was like walking across the ocean floor, new rarities at every corner. And, of course, there was the matter of the statue. Alex had said it would be with all the other works from ancient Greece. He didn’t have trouble following the signs to the correct gallery, walking through the white marble hallways. When he did reach the Greek galleries, his first thought was that the perfectly white statues nearly blended in with everything else, at least until he found a plaque that said it had all been painted once. Finn smiled to himself. Maybe his apparent stony doppelgänger had had red hair, too.

Imagining Alex and his long stride in these halls was easy. And it was quiet here, and distracting, which let Finn close his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent of old stone, like a church, or a river’s bank.

When he opened them, he had found it. He was staring into his own face. His eyes were blank. He reached up to feel the shape of his own jaw as he looked at the statue’s, on display in the way the head was slightly turned, jaw set, brow low, as if in focus. Finn blinked, pulled out of the daze of seeing it, and his eyes landed on the museum card beside it. There was a word in ancient Greek, said to have been carved more visibly into the bust’s base. Future, it translated to. Thought to be made in the name of a God, though he may be lost now. There is no other surviving work by this artist.

Finn looked back at the eyes, so much like his own he could have seen brown there in the blank irises, and thought about when this strange statue had been carved. He’d always loved the way ancient Greece was sometimes described in poetry. It had gotten him through many long nights in the trenches. Serene, warm, and with nothing to do but lounge in the olive groves. Working the land and coming home at sundown to wine and honey and spiced meat. He’d longed for it. He longed for it still, this simple-seeming past.

The next thing he felt was warm wind. He smelled salt water.

The museum melted around him and his shoes slipped into sand before disappearing entirely.

~

Finn turned around to the sound of someone shouting, worried it was at him, only to find a brunette boy storming towards him—then past him—a foreign language continuing to fly off of his tongue. But more importantly, the boy was dressed in a simple garment of white cloth that left his strong, tanned legs and arms completely bare, and his feet were sandaled. Finn reached down to smooth his suit, only to find it gone, as well, replaced with a similar getup. He stared down at his bare skin, so pale in the bright sunlight.

And then the foreign language morphed, like a scratched record, and became English to his ears.

“—I’m telling you, Leo, I won’t go. Not without you.”

Leo?

And there the blond boy was, sitting in the shade of low trees at the edge of the beach. He was holding some sort of musical instrument, plucking at its strings almost sadly, head bowed.

“You have to,” Leo replied. “The oath says—“

He stopped mid-sentence, having looked up and spotted Finn. It made the brunette turn, and then Finn’s back was in the sand and there was a thin, rough blade at his throat.

Green eyes bore down into his own, a growl ripping from the boy’s throat. “Spartan.”

Finn choked out a breath, his hand going around the boy’s wrist. “No—no.”

“Logan,” came Leo’s voice, and then the knife’s pressure was released, pulled back by Leo, but the boy—Logan—was still sitting firmly on Finn’s hips. Finn felt his entire body flush with the sheer lack of fabric between them, but Logan didn’t seem to either mind or notice.

“I’m not a—Spartan,” Finn managed. “What the hell, I…” He looked to his left, at the sparkling waves lapping there, and then to the two boys looming above him. “Where am I?”

That made both of them freeze, the knife twitching in Logan’s hand.

“Ithaca,” Leo offered timidly, then glanced out at sea, as if that was where Finn had come from. Finn just stared at him.

He was the boy from the cafe. He was sure of it. His blue eyes filled with the same concern as they had on that early morning cobblestone street.

“Are you all right?” Leo asked.

“He is a spy,” Logan said, and went for him again.

Finn was ready this time. He knocked a leg around Logan’s waist, putting him on his back, and then rolled away from him and to his feet, knife in hand. He raised it for the two of them to see and then tossed it a little ways down the beach. “I’m not a spy. I…I’m just lost.”

It was true. In more ways than he’d even thought before.

“Please,” he managed more quietly.

He watched Leo and Logan exchange a look, unsure of what it meant, until Logan turned on his heel and Leo gestured for Finn to follow.

~

“Are you at war?” Finn asked he was led through the city streets. It had been a hot walk up a long road built into a steep hill, all the way up to what Finn assumed was the inner city and acropolis. Water ran along the side of the street—no doubt with sewage—and they crossed via stepping stones, pressing themselves against the walls whenever carts rattled by—carts filled with men with shields and swords or spears.

Logan, who brought up the rear behind him, having retrieved his knife, scoffed. “Aren’t we always?”

“And where are you taking me?”

“Where we take any question we can’t answer,” Leo said from in front of him, golden hair gleaming. “Pascal.”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Hiii Hii!!! May I request for Draco🥺

Fluff prompt 3: "It's you. It's always been you."

Steams scenes 6: "Touch Me"

And miscellaneous 12: only one bed AU

Thank youuu❣️

Travelling Companions  // Draco Malfoy

a/n: NSFW - minors DNI. FEMALE READER. 2k words (not really a blurb anymore), and the fic that has inspired my latest series so pieces of this will be taken and used there that’s why this may feel very rushed. The series will be slower. 

Fluff 3: “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Steamy Scenes 6: “Touch me.”

Misc 12: only one bed.

Upon the end of the Second Wizarding War and the disgrace of his family, Draco Malfoy left the country. There was very little keeping him tied to England; a family torn apart by their beliefs, a cold house that was not a home, an inheritance built off the very hatred pedalled by his father.

No, Draco Malfoy did not want to stay in the country.

Similarly, you refused to stay at home too. Having seen the lifeless bodies of your friends, the nightmares had become too much for you to remain at home. Instead, you packed up your things, kissed your parents on the cheeks, promising to send them a postcard from every destination.

It’s in Italy where the two of you cross paths.

The night was unusually warm; sweat rolling down your back as you walked through the thick crowds on the Ponte Vecchio. You had no distinct aim of your night; happy to wander until the early hours of the morning, falling into your bed with very little to think about other than your plans for the following day.

It’s as your dodging multiple bodies that you spy a shock of blonde hair that you swear was familiar.

“Draco?” You call, watching the tall figure pause, “Draco Malfoy?”

The blonde turns at the sound of your voice.

“Of all the people to meet in Florence,” You smile, “What are you doing here?”

“An extended gap year as the muggles would call it,” He answers, looking mildly uncomfortable at being recognised abroad.

“Well,” You nod, “It was nice to see you, enjoy the rest of your travels.”

Draco nods, a small, polite smile on his face. He doesn’t say anything to which you turn away, continuing your journey across the bridge in the hopes of finding something to eat and soon.

“(Y/N)!” Draco calls after a moment.

You turn back to the man, finding him only a few steps behind you. His eyes are bright, cheeks flushed as he asks, “What are your plans for tonight?”

“I was going to get some food and then walk about aimlessly. Why?”

“Can I join you?” He asks; the words leaving his mouth in such a rush that Draco looks shocked at the speed. “What I mean to say is: would you like some company? It would be nice to catch up with a friendly face.”

“Of course,” You laugh, “You’re more than welcome to join me.”

Draco falls into step beside you as you wander the length of the bridge, both eagerly looking for a restaurant to catch up in.

Conversation flows naturally with the blonde, as does the laughter and the wine. You reminisce over the lighter days of your education, as well as sharing countless stories of your travels, finding yourself enjoying Draco’s company far more than you expected.

“Where are you going to next?” Draco asks, grey eyes inquisitive as he sips at his red wine.

“Greece,” You answers, “I’m island hopping for a little while. I’ve heard stories of an island that feels like the end of the world, and I want to check it out. Where are you off to next?”

“Greece, if you can believe it,” He answers, topping up your wine glasses with the dregs of the bottle.

“I’ve a proposition for you, Malfoy,” You announce over your refreshed glass of red wine. “I’ve grown tired of travelling alone, I miss conversation and company. We’re both travelling to Greece next – why don’t you join me?”

Draco ponders your proposition through his next bite of food, weighing up the pros and cons through a mouthful of Tagliatelle Funghi Porcini e Tartufo. “Alright,” He eventually says, wiping his mouth on a cloth napkin, “I’ll join you. I’ve grown lonely on my travels too.”

Your shoulders sag as Draco’s words wash over you. It had become lonely travelling alone, that much was true, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were meant to run into Draco tonight. That there was something bigger at play.

-------

The Ionian Islands were beautiful; travelling with Draco at your side made it easier for you to rest at night, no longer plagued by nightmares as often, but it gave you someone to talk to when the night had been bad.

Kefalonia held its own charm; its quiet punctuated only by the clinking of wine glasses on the wine tours shared with Draco.

Your time on the Ionian Islands had you seeing Draco in a different light; the sun had bronzed his skin and you couldn’t help but stare when his shirt came off at the beach. Something was changing between the two of you; the both of you lingering on a night, not wanting to be the one to say good night, not wanting to be the one to draw it all to a close.

You could only hope that things would change soon.

---------

“Are we staying in the port?” Draco asks, eyeing you carefully as you hold your hand out for a taxi. Wearing black slacks and a white t-shirt, Draco was unintentionally drawing the attention of most women and men in the port of Skiathos

“Nope,” You answer as the taxi pulls up beside you both, “We’re staying in Troulos.”

The hotel was a small, family run establishment that you had read about in one of the many travel guides bought before you left England. Draco leaves you to check in, letting you admire the scenery as you wait patiently for him to return.

The owner is the one to lead you both through the hotel, smiling politely at you as he leaves you outside your room, explaining the opening times for the bar and the pool.

“There’s only one bed, Draco,” You state obviously as you enter the room, pointing to the bed in offence.

“I noticed,” He deadpans, fixing you with an unimpressed look. “Look, I’m not sleeping on the tiled floor. So, we either share, or you sleep on the floor.”

“Ever the gentleman,” You drawl, arching a single eyebrow. Draco smirks as he bows; the motion executed perfectly, highlighting his very expensive etiquette lessons as a small boy. “Fine,” You huff, dropping your bag onto the bed, “We share, but I’m warning you now, Malfoy, I hog the blankets.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” The blonde snorts, wandering to the bathroom where you hear the shower begin to flow.

Settling down on the bed, you press a hand to your forehead, already sticky with sweat. Your stomach turned with butterflies as you think of the night to come, sharing a bed with Draco. The feelings for the man had surprised you; you hadn’t expected to feel anything for him, simply happy to have company on the last leg of your travels, but here you were – craving his touch and his attention as if it were your lifeline.

The shower turns off, and you jump up, grabbing your toiletries in an effort to give you something to do to draw your mind from the sight of Draco in a towel.

“I’m going to shower and get ready, and then we’ll go get some food, okay?” You call out, pushing past the blonde as he leaves the bathroom in nothing, but a small, fluffy, white towel wrapped around his waist.

“I’ll be waiting!” Draco calls out, laughter rich in his voice.

As you sink against the bathroom door, it’s then that you realise, you’re fucked.

-------

It became a quick tradition on your travels with Draco that you would alternate who would pick the restaurant that evening. As you chose where to eat the previous night, it was now Draco’s turn.

The restaurant he chooses is quaint, set off just from the main road running through that part of the island. It’s fairly busy, many families laughing and drinking through the evening.

The waitress hands you the menus, her eyes lingering on Draco a little bit too long for you to feel comfortable. You smile politely as you give her your drink orders, immediately feeling awful for the curtness of your tone when you had no claim to the man sat next to you.

Food is ordered and conversation continues to flow, but you find yourself caught up in the way that Draco makes you feel. Every glance, every smile, every unintentional touch – it leaves you close to breathless with butterflies raging in your gut and your heart close to pounding out of your chest. You had never felt like this, and your poor heart could only hope that Draco felt the same.

When the food arrives, it doesn’t take long for you to gush over the meal. “You have to try this!” You cry out as you take your first bite of your meal, gathering another forkful for Draco. “It’s wonderful!”

Holding your fork out, you expect Draco to take the utensil from you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, his lips wrapping around the fork in a manner that leaves you hungry for something that certainly wasn’t food.

“What do you think?” You ask huskily, throat dry.

Draco chews, pondering over the food. A smirk gathers on his lips as he swallows, “Delectable.”

The both of you fall silent as your meals are finished; the only sound between you being the scraping of cutlery on plates, but you cannot help but wonder whether Draco can hear the pounding of your heart every time he smiles at you, or whether he can sense the change in your feelings as you yearn for him silently.

“You were jealous – of the waitress – weren’t you?” Draco’s voice sounds, breaking your reverie. Blinking, you find him watching you with a curious look on his face.

“Yes,” You confess in a single breath, shifting your gaze from Draco’s, fiddling with the napkin in front of you.

“There was no need.”

“Oh?”

“It’s you,” He breathes, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “It’s always been you.”

“Take me back to the room, Draco,” You whisper, leaning into his touch.

Draco wastes no time paying the bill, whisking you from the restaurant and down the road to your hotel.

The door slams against the wall as you both fall into the room; hands pulling at clothing, lips attached save for the breathy laughter filling the room. He tastes of the anise instilled into the Ouzo shared at dinner; his lips fit seamlessly against yours as he backs you through to the bedroom, his hands wandering – memorising every dip and curve of your body.

Draco lays you out on the bed gently as if worried of hurting you in some form or another.  

“What do you want?” Draco asks, grey eyes bright in the muted light of the room.

“You,” You state, sitting up on the bed, pressing your hands to the man’s bare chest, scraping your fingernails down his pale skin.  

Draco shivers at your touch, barely repressing the low groan growing in the back of his throat. “Where do you want me?” He hums, not giving you the time to answer the question as he begins his onslaught of addictive kisses.

“Here?” He purrs, kissing your jaw. “Or here?” He asks, dropping a feather light kiss to your neck, pushing you back onto the bed. “What about here?” Draco teases, pressing blazing kiss after blazing kiss down the centre of your cleavage to the top of your underwear leaving you a wanton mess as you writhe underneath him.

“Darling,” He whispers, “What do you want from me?”

“Touch me,” You all but beg, reaching for the blonde’s hand, fitting it where you need him most.

It’s then that all self-control Draco had snaps; his hand slips into your underwear, fingers slipping through your slick folds. The gasp that leaves your mouth is swallowed by Draco’s lips, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip as he wrings every single ounce of pleasure from your body.

No nightmares are had that night; finding peace in each other as you sleep wrapped up together in the one bed.

[xtinyaurora]

Mafia!Ateez Reaction: Their Y/N is a spy from another gang; part 2

————————————————————————

➼ requested?: yes, but I lost the request

➼ genre: mafia au

➼ pairing: mafia!ateez x neutral!reader

➼ Word-count: 2,1k+

➼ Warnings: nsfw content, strong language, cursing, hints of spanking, abuse, violence, degrading, humiliating, punching, punishments, pet names, death threads / mentions of death, dark themes,...

➼ Note: This is not based on their real behavior or meant to represent real life. This is simply a fan fiction and is only for the purposes of fun, it’s a hobby. Read at your own risk!

➼ A/N note: I don’t know how to feel about this but here you go. Oh and: there’s a tiny bit of fluff and angst included, enjoy!

➼ First part

————————————————————————

Park Seonghwa

Exactly one month has passed since Seonghwa caught you and brought you back. One month since you lost your family and friends. Seonghwa made sure that there were no survivors. Since the day he bought you back, you were locked in the basement, Seonghwa always making sure to give you your daily punishment. You slowly started to belive that he lost all his love for you and wanted you to die as slow and painful as possible. You tried everything to explain why you did what you did, even begging one of his men for help, but it was no use. When night time came around, Seonghwa entered the basement, same expression as usual. When he approached your chained figure, he pulled out a knife. You started to panic, hectically shaking your head. „Pshhh” He placed his left index finger on his lips. Tears started to split out of your eyes. This was it, he is going to kill you. When he went behind your back and grabbed your throat, you closed your eyes, not ready to die. He slowly traced the knife over your neck. The only thing that could be heard were your sobs but then Seonghwas chuckle broke the silence, your eyes opening again. „Dumb pet, did you really think I would kill you? I think I made you learn your lesson, no? Stop crying now, I don’t want your eyes to be puffy when we go out for dinner. Oh and Y/N, better appreciate my tolerance and start learning all the rules I’ve set for you once I bought you back up. Remember, it’s all up to me on how your live looks like. Now let’s go get ready, the car is already waiting.”

Kim Hongjoong

Your body felt sore, head spinning. You tried to reach out for your phone but your hands were tied on the bed. You closed your eyes. When you looked around, there was no sign of your lover. You thought about a way to free yourself but you knew it would be no use. You signed out loudly. You barely remembered the previous night, only knowing that you got beaten. Right at that moment, Hongjoong walked into your shared bedroom, with only a towel covering his lower body. „Good morning.” You didn’t respond, only staring at him. Hongjoong probably didn’t like your silence, that’s why he made his way towards you, angry mode on. „Was all the beating yesterday not enough, do you want me to beat you again?” You shook your head. „I’m sorry. Good morning.” A smile creeped on his face. „Good girl / boy.” He then please a soft kiss on your forehead, starting to talk again. „We will have a talk after the Meeting. Rest for a bit, I know I went a bit too hard on you yesterday but you deserved it. Sorry, doll. One of the maids will come and bring you some food. Be good until I return.”

Jeong Yunho

„Mr. Jeong Yunho, do you promise to be a lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death does you apart?” Yunho smiled. „I do.” Then it was your turn. „And do you Mr. / Mrs. Y/L/N Y/N, promise to be a lawfully wedded wife / husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death does you apart?” You breathed out loudly, nodding your head. „I do.” You felt how Yunhos nervousness wanised away. „You may kiss each other now.” Was the last thing the priest said. Yunho did what he was told, immediately reaching out for you and placing a soft kiss on your lips. After your wedding, both of you made your way straight to his private jet, going on your planned vocation. „Are you exited?” You didn’t hear what he said, lost on your thoughts. „Y/N, I am talking to you.” „Hm?” He shook his head. „This is supposed to be one of the best days in your life but you don’t seem happy. What is wrong?” „I'm fine Yunho, I was just dreaming around.” Silence. „Is it because I killed your family and that they couldn’t come today?“ You slowly turned your head in his direction. „No Yunho, it was me who wanted their death. I wanted to prove my love for you and I am happy now, so don’t worry, baby. It’s just a bit overwhelming, you know, the marriage and stuff.” Your husband smiled at you again, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. „Good. I love you too baby and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Kang Yeosang

He took you down there and gave you a good long punishment. No, he didn’t use any tools, he punched you with his bare hands. Your face and body were bleeding, ass red and marked with his hand print. You cried. Not the fact that you got beaten hurts you more, but the fact that Yeosang himself did it. Never ever in your live did you think that he would pull something like this on you but then you realized, that he wanted to show you how he feels for what you’ve done to him. He wanted to make you feel the same way he feels. You will get over the pain of a punishment like this but you might never get over the pain that your heart is holding, I mean, how could he trust you ever again? There is a chance tho but you have to work hard for that and who knows how long it will take. No matter what it takes, you are ready to do it. At the end of the day, you two love each other, right? „You will never ever pull something like this again, is this clear?” You silently nodded your head. „Good, now get on all fours and follow me around, no matter where I go to. Don’t even think I care about humiliating you, dirty pet. Now let’s go, you don’t wanna disappoint me again, right?”

Choi San

After you two reached his mansion, he pulled you out by your hair and took you straight to his office. All you did was to cry. After watching you for a bit, he approached your kneeling figure and pointing his gun at you. „Was it worth it? To play with my feelings like that. Tell me! What did I do wrong, huh?! I’ve done nothing but love and protect you! You ungrateful whore!” Both of you were crying heavily, Sans head was red out of all the yelling. „Kill me, San. Please, kill me. I deserve it, now hurry.” Sans face went from angry-sad to desperat-sad. He started to cry even harder. „You know that I can’t. Trust me, I do want to kill you for what you’ve done, but fuck, I love you! I hate to love you but I do and I know that there was something between us! I had to be...” He sunk to he knees, both of you looked each other deep in the eyes. „Tell me you love me, Y/N. Tell me that what we had was real, that you do have feelings for me, too. Say that we will always stay together and that we will have a family in the future. Come on, say it!” You couldn’t even breath normally from all the crying but you wanted to tell him that he was right, you needed to. „I love you, San. You’re right, everything I felt for you was real. I do want to live with you until we take our last breath. I want to have a family with you and I just want us both to be more than happy together. I am sorry for all I’ve done, but I had a reason, San. I-“ You were interrupted by your fiancé. He gave you a tight hug, scared of letting you go. „Psh, stop. I will find out why you did but for now I just want to stay with you like this and forget about everything, okay? Just please, please don’t hurt me anymore, Y/N.”

Song Mingi

You knew that when your gang comes and tries to take you back, they will fail and that’s exactly what happened that day. Mingi was way too powerful and way too obsessed over you but you were happy how everything turned out. „You’re not ready yet?” Mingi walked into your shared room, making his way behind you. „Give me two minutes.” He smilingly nodded his head. „Okay. I will wait downstairs.” You nodded your head. He planned this date for a bit now, his behavior being a bit strange. Once you were done, you went down where Mingi was waiting for you. After finishing your dinner at the restaurant, Mingi took your hand in his. „Y/N, today is a really special day for me, well, for us. I want nothing more than to have a future with you, to call you my wife / husband. Baby, I wanna make it official to the whole world now. Therefore I got you this.” He then pulled out a tiny black box. Your heart started to race. When he opened the box, you faced a beautiful diamond ring. Tears started to form in your eyes, one of your hands covering your mouth in shook. So that’s why Mingi was so exited about this dinner. „I-I don’t know what to say.” A chuckle left his mouth. „Well, you have to tell me if you want to become my wife / husband. Not that you have a choice, but I want you to say it out loud, baby.” „Yes, Mingi, I do!” He started smiling as bright as the sun, immediately taking the ring out and putting the ring on your right ring finger. „I love you. Thank you so much for making me the happiest men alive, Y/N.”

Jung Wooyoung

After a few months, Wooyoung was convinced that he trained you into the perfect pet. Honestly, it was hell. He let you starve, he punched you, humiliated you and has done so much more just for you to beg him to kill you. At some point you stopped and thanked him instead. That was it, this was when Wooyoung stopped. „Y/N! Hurry up, we need to leave soon!” Both of you were getting ready for a mission. You needed to leave the country, that’s why you were currently packing your suitcase. You hated the fact that you had no privacy. Wooyoung positioned guards EVERYWHERE around the house. So as you packed your underwear you asked the guard to turn around but he refused. „Come on, I feel uncomfortable with strangers seeing my underwear.” The guard didn’t move nor looked away. You rolled your eyes. „Please?” „I'm sorry Mrs. / Mr. Y/L/N but I am obliged to watch your every step. Mr. Jung would kill me if I let anything happen, no one know what you’re up to. You might carry a dangerous object with you and if Mr. Jung finds out, he will not only kill me but you too. I ask for understanding. For now, you might hurry up a bit, you know how the boss gets when someone’s taking too long for his liking.”

Choi Jongho

You indeed told him everything to the tiniest detail. Jongho believed you but he showed you the cold shoulder. You did understood tho, it just made you sad. As your were taking a shower, strong arms wrapped around your body. You turned your head around, looking directly into Jonghos beautiful brown eyes. He smiled at you. „You were taking too long, I had to come in.” You let out a little chuckle, turning your body around. You both just stared at each other’s eyes. „What’s wrong?” Jongho frowned. „What do you mean, Y/N?” Now you were the one smiling. „Your eyes. They hold some discomfort in them.” Jonghos grip loosened a bit. He didn’t say anything, only staring into your eyes. „Your eyes hold some discomfort too, Y/N.” You then broke the eye contact, looking at his bare chest. „Well, I have a good reason. I mean, not long ago I broke the heart of the most precious and most beautiful men on earth.” Jongho lifted your head up, letting his thumb carry your face softly. „Yea, maybe, but at the same time I killed the family of the most perfect human being of the entire world. To add on, I didn’t took enough research and ended up confronting you with things that you didn’t even do and the worst out of all things; almost killed you, Y/N, so please stop feeling bad because of me. I don’t want those beautiful eyes to hold sadness in them, okay?” Another smiled creeped on your face. „Only if you do the same for me Mr. Choi.” Then, both of you stated to burst out into laugher.

[hxnmantii]

Good little Kitten

tw: Dacryphilia, edging, pet play, a bit of degradation, mirror sex, humping, foot job (?), a bit of praising as well, Mentions of Master

Rating: M for Mature (+18)

Pairing: Sub! Kageyama x Gn!reader

A/n: Dom! Tobio this and Dom! Tobio that but what about Sub!Tobio hmmm?? Pillow Prince! Tobio?? Representantion people. Anyways this is my first fic for @ultimate-astridwriting event as well as my first smut I’ve written on here so please look forward to it. Creative criticism and comments are appreciated!

It all started with the stupid nickname Kitten. His teammates started calling Kageyama that after coming to the realization that he was not only obsessed with milk but had similar behavior traits of a cat. It didn’t really bother him much though. As long as it didn’t intervene with you or volleyball, he didn’t give a rats ass what they called him unless it was ‘the king’ but even then he became used to the insulting nickname. The real problem that sparked the flame was when you started calling him kitten, one of his teammates running their big mouthes to you about it.

Ever since then you slyly tuned into buying more cat items, coming home each day with something cat related whether it was stickers, thigh highs, or a cat bottle. Kageyama accepted the gifts nonetheless because he enjoyed the extra attention that came with it. That why he was unsurprised when you came home today carrying another baggie from the store.

“Y/n what’s in the bag?” He asks, his blueberry eyes watching your every move. He just knew that you were up to something, the ridiculously big smile on your face evident to that. You shimmy towards him before pulling out your lug for the day. A realistic looking black tail that ended with a silver metal plug, matching kitten ears and a collar met his curious glaze and he froze. To say that he didn’t even have the heart to ask what it was an understatement. At this point he just grateful you haven’t tried to feed him cat food.

“Who is this all for?” His voice meeting a range of disinterest although internally he was all over the place. It didn’t effect your excitement in the slightest for all you did was lean in closer. He audibly gulps.

“For you, babe.” You say as you push the stuff towards him only for it to meet his refusing hand. He pushes it back to you, an awkward smile on his face so he can politely decline.

“Oh..uh no thank you. I’m not into cosplay.” You giggle. You drop the cat toys on the couch to place your hand on his cheek and caress his cheekbones, his head naturally leaning into your touch. The smile never leaves your face as you watch him soak in your warmth. He look up only for his eyes to widen at the soft look of lust and adoration on your face. He can’t help but turn away from your daunting glaze, his cheeks turning a light pink. Of course, You don’t accept that because you slide into his lap and force him to look into your eyes by firmly but gently gripping his chin.

“It’s not cosplay silly. It’s pet play!” Your eyes are only met with confusion. His innocence was both pure and daunting. With volleyball being his main priority over everything expect recently you, it’s not a surprise. You explain to him what pet play was and how you use the tail. The color of tomato was understatement of what color he turned but you continued to stroke his cheek in hope that he was relax again.

The idea of completely surrending himself over to you whilst you coddle him and call him a good kitten but make him act like a cat gets him undeniably excited. He would never confess out loud though. But you knew, you always knew. Understanding Kageyama was like reading a book, his expressions that he could never hold back, telling you all that you needed to know. His dick twitches which doesn’t go unnoticed.” C’mon baby what do you say?”

“I want to be your kitten, Master. Please let me be your kitten.” Your Cheshire Cat grins returns and you hop off his lap to sit next to him. Piling up the toys into the bag, you wordlessly nod towards the bedroom and he’s instantly up and walking at almost an excited speed walk.

You meet him in the room to see him patiently waiting for you on the bed. You tsk while shaking your head disappointedly. “This won’t do. Kittens don’t sit on the bed especially not if they’ve been outside. Get down.”

No questions asked, he’s on the floor immediately although confused. He’s seen cats sleep on the bed so why was he not allowed on the bed. He wanted to ask questions but he was too embarrassed at his lack of knowledge on this topic to even muster enough courage to look at you. His eyebrows unconsciously furrow in concentration. You chuckle.

“Baby,” his eyes snap up to met yours, your amused glaze reigning down on him. “You’re thinking too hard about this. Not everything I tell you is going to be just like what a cat would do, okay? Remember this is just foreplay.”

“Yes Master.”

“Good.” You crotch down to his level, a smile decorating your face. You caress his face before running your hands through his black hair and similar to a cat he hums happily, leaning into your wispy touch. Your eyes widen. He was too damn cute.

"Such a good kitten," you whisper. Once again taking your place above him. "Strip and stick your ass in the air."

He hesitates momentarily, another bright red blush blooming across his face as his eyes drag towards the floor and he starts pulling his clothes off one by one, the silence only furthering his embarrassment. You leave him to it so you could bring the body length mirror from out the closet. Standing in front of him, you block him from looking at himself yet.

"You're going to look so cute as my kitten, baby." You whisper whilst putting the black cat ears on, the collar following afterwards. You then move behind him, the tail and lube in your hands. "Color?"

"Green" he mutters. You smile and rub your hands up and down his back in attempt to soothe his nerves. It's not like he hasn't taken anything bigger but exploring new kinks always made him nervous. "Okay kitten, i need you to keep your eyes on me. The whole time. Understand?"

“Yes Master.” You can hear him gulp before he lifts his head up to meet your eyes in the mirror . You give him a reassuring smile before drenching your hands in the slippery liquid and sticking your index finger. Immediately, you’re rewarded with a low moan. His moan spurs you on as you continue to slip it in out of his tight hole, making wet lewd sounds that only made his dick harder.“P-please more Master” He ask. In response, you kiss his strong back. “Of course my cute little kitten since you asked so nicely.”

You slide in your second finger next to the first and search for that spongy spot. You know you find it when he lets out a high pitched moan, arching his back more so he could meet your thrusting. You took it upon yourself to grab his dick and match your finger’s pace. His moans only getting louder.Every whine and mewl was absolute heaven to your ears as he allowed himself to be immersed by the pleasure he was receiving. Oh god he was almost there. The way you expertly fucked his hole while stimulating his dick at the same time had him closing his eyes, his arms getting weak with each bolt of pleasure.

His dick pulses. The ending was right in hindsight but just as he was about to cum, you stop and take your fingers off of him. He cries out, his eyes snapping open into the mirror. His tear filled eyes meet your disappointed ones. “What a bad kitten. Didn’t I tell you to keep your eyes on the mirror?” His frown deepens as he nods. “And aren’t you suppose to tell me when you come? Tsk tsk That’s two rules you just broke baby. Now I’ve gotta punish you.”

“W-wait I didn’t mean to...please..” His ocean eyes filled with tears that pulled your heartstrings and you almost considered not punishing him, almost. You unexpectedly stick your fingers back in his hole and add a third finger. A high pitch mewls escape his lungs as he grips the floor at the overwhelming pleasure. Quickly he was brought back to that high and once again he was pleading to cum. You continue the abuse on his hole only to snatch your hands out of his hole again. “Color?”

“FUCK! GREEN! PLEASE GO” You place a kiss on his ass and rub his hips soothing, watching his every expression through the mirror as you slide the large metal plug in. He lets out a silent moan at the feeling of being so full so quickly, his legs trembling with the new weight that kissed his prostate. At this point, his tears had spilled over, racing down his fac as he releases a shaky breath. “You did so well kitten. I’m so proud of you. Just look at how cute you look with your tail.”

He didn’t know when but at some point he had let his head fall to the ground. He slowly lifts his head and forces himself to sit upright, the tail sliding in deeper and putting more pressure on his prostate. The overwhelming pleasure makes him double over and he lets out a pussy throbbing moan. It was just too much so instead of looking at himself, he turns to look up at you with the biggest puppy eyes while grabbing your leg. Any humiliation he had earlier was thrown out, his only concern now being the ache in between his legs as he humps your leg pathetically. You can’t help but chuckle.

“It seems like your team has gotten it wrong. You’re more like a bitch in heat than a cute kitten.”

“Ahh p-please Master...I’ve been good..g..ood...I’m your good boy pleas.” You shake your head. You spoil him absolutely rotten. Removing your leg from his grasp, you salutner over to the bed.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty. Come sit in front of the bed.” Without telling him, he crawls to sit in front of you. He’s a trembling mess due to the tail still putting pressure on his prostate. A shiver runs through you as his tears run anew.

“You may cum but only from the tail and my foot.” He whines but comes closer none the less, grabbing your foot to apply pressure to his tortured, weeping dick. To make it a bit more fun, you turn on the vibration tail and he screams out in pleasure, almost cumming right then and there. You watch in amusement as he struggles to buck his hips against your foot, sobbing out incoherent words about cumming.

“Oh god ‘lease...ahhh p-lease can I-I c..um” he sobs.

“Go ahead kitten.” He sits back on the tail and allows the vibration to set him off. He’s cum hard, the fluid flying across his chest and almost touching his face. The aftershocks shake his body violently allowing him to let out one prolonged moan. You allow the vibration to run until he’s whimpering out from overstimulation. Immediately,he’s in your arms, breathing harshly in the crook of your neck.“You did so good baby. You’re such a good boy. Can you lay on your stomach for me?”

He silently nods and weakly moves onto his stomach so you could remove the tail. He lets out a high whine as you slowly pull the large butt plug out before helping him sit back up into your arms. You pass him the water that had been sitting on the nightstand while getting out the baby wipes and cleaning his body. He puckers his lips and you happily indulge, giving him a soft kiss before taking off the ears and collar.

“Thank you.” He whispers bashfully. You smile at him and run your hand through his hair; his hum of content vibrating into your chest. “Now let’s move to the bed okay?” He nods again and lifts himself into the bed, your worried self following. He pulls you into his chest and you snuggly up, the both of you falling asleep with smiles on your face.

[anonquack]

| Take Care |

Alex Quackity x Reader, Oneshot!

Word Count: 3501

Warnings: None, a little bit angsty. This takes place in the past !! so technology is not necessarily available yk?

Summary: Being with Alex means sneaking out, it means risking getting caught, it means, lying to your parents.. but it's worth it in both of your eyes. After getting caught, you two must find a way to keep in touch and keep the relationship thriving.

You'd been staring out the window for what felt like hours now. Watching as the dark blues morphed into oranges and light blues. The idea of being able to see him soon kept you up the whole night. Last you'd seen him had been about 3 days ago, before he told you he'd be off at his grandparent's house, and wouldn't be back until the weekend.

That's why you watched the sunrise with such urgency. As soon as there was light outside, it meant he was back home. It meant seeing him again.

The bright light that slowly infiltrated your room brought a light sting to your eyes. Perhaps staying up late enough to see the sun rise wasn't the best idea, but there was no other way to calm your nerves.

As the sun found its place in the sky, and the sound of nearby roosters filled your ears, you couldn't help but feel tingles throughout your whole body. The clock was ticking, and it was ticking fast. You'd get to see him before you knew it.

Once you deemed it a reasonable time to be out of bed, you got up and headed to the kitchen in search of something to eat. Something to truly help get the day started.

The food you served yourself wasn't even properly enjoyed, far too focused on what you'd wear once you headed back up to your room. How you'd dress yourself in preparation for seeing him again after what felt like an eternity.

After breakfast and a quick look through your closet, you found yourself patting and dusting yourself off to ensure you looked presentable, pleasant to the eye. One look in the mirror and you deemed yourself ready to head out and towards where you and Alex usually met.

On your way to the front door, a loud voice demanded your attention, asking where you were off to in such a hurry. You excused yourself, telling them you were on your way to meet a friend. And yes, you'd eaten breakfast already. After a quick nod of approval, you were on your way out of the house.

-

You didn't think you'd ever speed walked somewhere as fast as you'd done just now. Urgency in each of your steps, eagerness pouring out of you with each exhale.

But the tree was empty. He was nowhere in sight. Perhaps you'd gotten here too fast, eagerness leading to you being too early. That made sense.

Taking a seat on the grass, you waited patiently to see if he'd show up. Of course he would. Meeting up at this tree had become your thing. If he ever needed to find you, he'd find you here. Vice versa.

It didn't take long before he appeared before you, in all his glory. Your eyes scanned him shamelessly. You'd missed the sight of him. And it had only been three days.

Clean slacks, suspenders resting nicely on top of his white button-up shirt. The three buttons left undone at the top allowed his collarbones to be on display, even if just a little. It also exposed his honey-like skin to the world. And his shoes, slightly dirty from the dirt path he'd taken to get to where you two found yourselves now.

Truly a sight to behold. You stood to your feet, smile growing instantly. He smiled back before you found yourself engulfed by his arms, head tucked neatly under his chin.

"How was the visit?" You finally asked after minutes of staying in the embrace. He began to tell you, later slipping into different conversation.

"I missed you." He mumbled into your hair, to which you responded by nuzzling your face into his chest.

He was leaning against the tree with you placed between his legs, back resting on his chest. His fingers moved slowly against your hair, and you worried sleep would finally catch up with you after staying up all night.

"How'd you manage to come out here?" He asked, sending a smile your way and breaking you out of the relaxing trance his fingers had left you in.

You couldn't help but smile back before shrugging slightly. "Just told them I had to meet with a friend."

"Lying to your parents, hm?" He raised an eyebrow, making a small 'tch' sound and shaking his head. "What if they find out?"

Your body visibly stiffened at that. "They won't, unless you tell them." You carefully positioned yourself so you were sitting facing him now. Perhaps your tone came out more serious than you'd intended, considering the conflicted look that now rested on his face.

"Why can't we just tell them we're together?" His tone was telling of how he felt. Exasperated, tired of hiding. You wanted to laugh at how insane the idea sounded, but his face told you it wouldn't be appropriate. He was serious.

"You know how they'll get." You stated softly, reaching for his hands and gently beginning to play with his fingers.

He bit the inside of his cheek, not moving his hand away, but clearly still upset.

You hated this as much as he did. Having to sneak around just to see him, lying to your parents about your whereabouts, it was all so tiresome. But it was necessary.

Your parents had freaked out at the idea of you two even being FRIENDS. You imagined they'd die of a heart attack or send you off if they ever found out.

Once you two had clearly understood that your parents weren't fond of it, he offered to meet at his place instead.

Turns out his parents weren't very fond of you either, and you never went back. It simply wasn't working out, but neither of you were willing to put an end to the relationship.

And that's how you ended up here. Lying to parents, meeting up at a tree, hands entangled and gentle whispers of the near future where you'd be able to be together, without any worries.

Even if seeing his pouty face broke your heart, you knew you couldn't tell your parents, or vice versa. It wouldn't end your problems, but rather create more. He didn't seem to understand that though, and it led to these conversations every single time.

"Soon." You stated firmly, hands moving to cup his face and leave a small kiss on his cheek. "I promise."

-

Although the reality that your relationship was forbidden hung over your heads daily, you both still tried to enjoy your time together as best as you could. And yes, that meant dates.

He'd come up with the idea of painting together, and you couldn't really refuse after seeing how proud of himself he was. He'd suggested you two meet by the tree with paint supplies and some extra cash for an ice cream cone or a snack after. It seemed perfect.

When the day came, you found yourself seated by him with your fresh canvas and the small containers of paint located beside you two, small brushes ready to do as your hand commanded.

The paintings had started off fairly well, him drawing what seemed like a street in town with people passing by and a pretty sky on display.

"Is that where we got our ice cream?" You asked curiously as you stared at his painting. It felt oddly familiar and warm. It amazed you how well his art was able to portray and give off such emotions.

He smiled and nodded. "That street is really pretty, so colorful." He explained, setting his brush down momentarily. "Plus, I have a lot of good memories there."

You smiled back, "Me too. It looks so pretty, Alex." You reached over to gently squish his cheek, which only made him let out a laugh before he began to question you about your own art.

After some time, both paintings were set aside to dry and you two were left with one blank canvas and an abundance of red paint. It'd been the least used in both of your creations.

You both looked at each other, and you instantly recognized that mischievous look in his eyes. "What‐?" You asked, to which he only smirked before pointing at the canvas.

"Well, we wouldn't want the canvas to go to waste.. right?" He received no response beside your wary stare. "How about we paint our hands red and put them on there? Wouldn't that be cute? We could add our little signatures on it as well."

The idea was extremely incriminating. Red paint. A canvas that had BOTH of your names on it? It was never a good idea. But he had his ways of getting others to say yes.

"If you're worried about getting caught, we can wash our hands really good to get it off. And one of us can hide the canvas in our rooms." He was so convincing, and he looked so so cute.

"Fine. But we can't wait around too long or else the paint will dry! So let's hurry." You finally responded, to which he let out a celebratory yell before coming closer and grabbing the red paint and pouring it onto his hand carefully. You did the same, and soon both of your hands were plastered onto the canvas.

It was cute, just like he'd said, and it was even cuter once he'd lazily written his name and yours under the handprints. You couldn't help but stare as he focused on adding a small little heart between the two handprints, his tongue sticking out in concentration.

Once he was done, he sat up properly and shot you a smile, to which you responded by impulsively pulling him in close for a kiss. He responded almost immediately, arms carefully wrapping around your waist as to not leave paint on your clothes. You'd done the same once you gently wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

Every single date you two went on only solidified your feelings for him, and made them so much stronger. He was lovely, full of ideas, and so kind. He was perfect, but your parents would never see that. You pulled away from the kiss, only for him to pull you back in after letting you both breathe. No complaints from your part.

But definitely from your parents. You both heard a loud gasp, which had you pulling away from him within seconds. To your demise, your parents were both stood a few feet away with shock and disappointment plastered on their faces.

You both stumbled onto your feet, the words failing to leave your mouth as you tried to explain what they'd just witnessed. You felt lightheaded. How was any of this real?

"You know, the neighbor told me you'd been snooping around with a nobody, but I never took them seriously. I trusted you knew better." They spat angrily.

It suddenly made sense. The stares from the neighbor everytime you left the house and sneakily made your way to the tree. Or when he'd 'carefully' come drop you off at your house after being out all day, hidden by the night sky. Or so you two thought.

You felt numb, unable to create any sort of excuse as to why you were with him. Saying you two were friends wouldn't work, considering they'd walked in on you two kissing. And the canvas that lay between you two with handprints, signatures and hearts. There was no fixing this.

"We were going to tell you, but we knew you wouldn't approve." You finally mustered up, voice trembling in fear of the consequences. Alex was frozen in shock as well beside you.

"You've completely lost my trust." One of them said, shaking their head before looking directly at you, as if giving him a single glance would kill them. "I don't want you near this young man again, do you hear me?"

He looked hurt, but most of all he looked angry. Angry that they wouldn't just let you two be. Who were you hurting by being together?

"Not as long as they live under my roof. Now let's go." They stated just as firmly, a strong grip on your wrist and pulling you towards home, daring him and you to deceive either of them. You two were fighting a losing battle.

"They have every right to make their own decisions." He tried to state firmly, but the slight tremble in his voice was too noticeable.

"Wait. At least let me say goodbye." You pleaded, knowing they wouldn't hesitate to send you away as soon as you got home.

They let go of your wrist and you made your way over to him. You couldn't help it as the tears began to well up in your eyes. This was exactly what you feared, and it had come true.

"I guess we got caught.. red-handed." He stated after a moment of silence. His comment took you by surprise, and you couldn't help but laugh at his ability to crack a joke no matter the situation.

The tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes became more noticeable the closer you got, frown etched onto his beautiful face. Unacceptable, really.

Your eyes fell down to both of your hands that had red splotches all over them, along with the accidental red drops all over some of your clothing. "I guess we did." You finally responded. Red hand reaching for his. "I love you so much, okay? This isn't the last you're seeing of me."

"I wouldn't allow that anyway. I'm not giving up on you." He whispered back, knowing there was curious ears nearby. It was a promise neither of you would break.

Even if you were getting pulled away after too long of a goodbye. Even if the canvases were left forgotten on the grass to dry. Even if it was prohibited.

No matter what.

-

It had gone just as you thought. You were prohibited of meeting with him, and stripped from multiple other privileges. It made no sense why they cared so much, but they did.

A promise was a promise though, and you'd managed to sneak out a few times to see him during the first few months. Each second of the meeting was bittersweet, a reminder that the moment would end sooner than later constantly there. On edge of who was nearby or if anyone had spotted you two. Horrible.

After a few of those, they'd gotten stricter, and it was harder to leave the house. It led to you resorting to writing letters. It was the only other form of communication. The house phone was an absolute no, far too risky. So you often found yourself in your room, writing letters to him about missing him and how it didn't feel the same without him around.

Everytime the mail came, you were the first to receive it. Looking for any letters from him. Taking it before any curious eyes could notice your eagerness to check the mail.

Your days were spent in bed, reading and re-reading the letters he had sent. Waiting for the next to come in the mail. It made you yearn for his company, his touch, him. The days passed with only letters from him and your own memory to remind you what he was like.

It was painful being away from him, and you couldn't really remember exactly how long it'd been since you last saw him, but one thing kept you sane. Kept you from losing faith of seeing him again. It was the promise you two had made the night your parents found out.

He wasn't going to give up on you, and you surely wouldn't give up on him either. Even if it'd been months since you last saw him. Many repetitive months of writing letters, busting missions just to get to them before your parents did, and spending your time daydreaming about him.

It would all work out in the end. It had to. You'd both make it work.

No matter what.

-

You really didn't know how long it'd been at this point, since you'd last seen him. But you knew exactly when the letters stopped coming.

It'd been exactly 6 weeks and 4 days since the last letter of his came in the mail. You'd sent one back not too long after, but he hadn't returned one to this day. Usually his letters came 3 days later, the latest.

You couldn't help it whenever your mind wandered to the possibilities of why the letters stopped coming. Every sick idea that entered your mind seemed possible. It'd been far too long since you'd last seen him.

You had no way of knowing if he was healthy and thriving, if he'd gotten sick recently, or if his parents had found out about the letters. Even worse, if he had moved on by now.

It made you sick to your stomach just thinking of it all. Had you done something to upset him? Maybe you were bitching too much in your letters and he'd grown tired of you. Maybe the tone of your words were far too longing for him.

You had no way of knowing. No way of confirming your thoughts.

No matter how many weeks passed, you desperately clung onto the hope that a letter would come. Surely, eventually, and it would explain his absence. It would come if you believed hard enough.

But 6 weeks became 10, and then it became 15. 15 weeks without him, without any response. No knowledge of his whereabouts or well-being.

"What about the promise we made each other?" Is something you'd asked yourself frequently over the last 15 weeks, but no answer. At least not one you wanted to hear or even acknowledge.

You sat at your desk now, fresh sheet of paper ready next to your pen. You couldn't keep living like this. In suspense and longing.

The guilt was eating at you as you wrote 'Dear Alex,' onto the page, but the reminder that he was the one that hadn't written back helped ease the growing pain in your chest.

He hadn't kept his promise. He'd broken it after 15 weeks of not responding. You'd waited around for so long, but who knows if he'd moved on and left you behind, or whatever else could've happened.

Your hand froze, gently biting at the inside of your cheek, too scared to truly put an end to this. But it was necessary. It's what you needed in order to be able to breathe properly again, to sleep well at night, to stop the ache in your chest.

The times you'd been out in town with your parents, there was no sight of him. You'd visited the tree a few times since the last letter came in, and nothing.

You had to let him go, just as he had let you go.

'I don't know what happened to cause you to stop writing to me, but I've had enough time to speculate and overthink the answer to that.'

You paused. If this would be the last letter you wrote to him, you didn't want it to sound so bitter. You still loved him, and he was your first love. You could never truly hate him. But you had to let go. How to convey that in a single letter?

'I can only hope that you're holding up alright. I've missed you dearly since the last letter you wrote to me, and I hope you know that I truly do love you. Far too much for my heart to handle.'

'Which is why this is the last letter I'll be sending you. For my wellbeing, for my mental health. I can't sit here and worry for you every single day. I tried waiting around for you, but it seems you've given up on me before I could even think of giving up on you.'

'I will keep the memories we made in my heart and mind always, and I hope your memory of me is fond, and that you loved me as much as I loved you.'

'Thank you so much for making these the most wonderful years of my life. I'll forever remember you fondly. I wish you the best in life and in health.'

You paused. Was this enough? You didn't want to overwhelm him, if he even did end up reading your letter. One last look through the letter and you let out a small sigh. This was it. You just had to sign it, package it nicely into its envelope, and send it off to him.

In hopes that he'd receive it, read it, and that it would bring peace to your heart. Even if it meant not knowing of him anymore. You could only hope.

You wiped your eyes, a small smile on your face, a hushed "Thank you" escaping your lips as you finally signed near the end of the page,

'Take Care' .

[utterlyinevitable]

Small fic request where Odette cries and Ethan is the one to comfort her 🥺

Intonation 

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC (Odette Hall) Rating: General Summary: In lieu of barging into Ethan’s office in that totally bizarre scene, later in the day when things get too much, Ode goes to cry in a closet. Of course the last person she’d ever want to see catches her in such a state.  Trope: Angst; Supply Closet; 1.9

Word Count: 1,096

A/N: Here’s some rare Book 1 OxE! A lot of the time I forget they (Odette) did not like the another as people until mid-way through Banerji’s case, definitely after 1.11 is when they start to encroach on work friends territory. Sooo here’s some 1.9 angst.   

__________________

The linen closet is dim; one of the two fluorescent bulbs out of juice. It’s a good thing too. Odette certainly doesn’t want anyone to know she’s here; crying in an unused closet of the newly renovated fifth floor wing not too far from where Dr. Banerji’s being hidden away.

Her head thrown back against the empty metal shelving, hot tears rolling down her cheeks like an unforgiving rockfall. Her arms folded so tightly around her chest. It feels like everything’s caving in. The crushing sense of failure crippling her and wringing her lungs until no sound comes out; just he hot tears of a minute of weakness.   

She’ll allow this inconvenience ten minutes. A quick ten minutes to herself in the most secluded of places. Yes. Ten minutes to get it all out and then pretend like nothing’s happened. 

Odette Hall lets go. Lets the picture perfect painted façade fall like a curtain on a play. Alone, in the dark, without any spotlight or watchful scrutinizing eyes, she lets the most private part of herself free, momentarily. Water runs down her cheeks as unforgiving as an overflowing river. There’s a prick at her sides, from her pristine fingernails digging into the fabric of her cotton scrubs. If she gripped any harder she’d tear a neat little hold. 

Everything she’s feeling tightened together like the frayed segments of a rubberband ball on the verge of snapping. Her frustration for this PITA patient she can’t seem to shake; can’t seem to get the diagnosis nor assert herself and her abilities. Another person who just sees her as a young and pretty face. Most of all she’s crying for the newest diagnosis she’s had to give. Odette knew the job wasn’t going to be easy - worthwhile things never are - it’s just... She needs some time to stop feeling so much. 

The wing is so new she doesn’t hear the door opening. Yet she hears him, unmistakably, in the quiet hum in ventilation of this wing.  

“Rookie?”

Doesn’t matter that the condescending nickname is said with more concerned wrapped confusion than she’d ever think capable of such a pompous and stoic man. Him being here - now of all times - is a burn. A brandish on his already weak perception of her, she’s sure. 

She turns her shoulder to him, wipes her eyes with the pads of her fingertips as to not muss her makeup any further. Dabbing so the red of her skin doesn’t give her away. Odette can feel the lingering heat; the drying trail of utter disappointment staining her features. 

“I’m alright, Dr. Ramsey,” she says; confident and like she’s above it all. Like he’s just walked in on nothing out of the ordinary; like she’s just looking over a case file. Cool, calm and frighteningly casual in the shadows. Even if the reds overtaking the whites of her eyes and other telltale signs will give her away as soon as she turns around.  

“Clearly.” 

His scoff is muted by something she’s only ever seen a glimmer of before in the depths of his icy stare. Pity, maybe? Either way it forces her stomach down to the darkened depths of wherever this outburst spurred from. She doesn’t need his endless sky-lit eyes imploring her. Doesn’t need for him to find another reason to berate her today. 

Out the corner of her eye she sees Dr. Ramsey shut the door; near enough so no one could peek in, ajar enough not to rouse suspicions of infidelity. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine, really.” Odette turns to him and shoots the brightest, most composed grin. Hopes that in this poor lighting he cannot truly see through the cracks. 

Odette should know better than to muster false flattery with a lie detector. 

She’s shuffling in her heels trying to find a gap to slip through and out of this unpleasant predicament, whilst his arms are crossed. He won’t budge to let her past; statuesque and imperious in the doorway. 

Resigned and huffy, she folds her arms, matching his stance as best she can.  It’s a face-off in this 4-by-4 box. In such close quarters Dr. Ramsey’s cologne mingles with her perfume. Foreign and laudatory; sandalwood and soap, a hint of citrus too. 

“If you must know, I had to deliver a difficult diagnosis.”  

He still doesn’t move.  

There’s a bite in her exasperated retort; “I’d like to get back to work now.” A tap of her toe hones her impatient point. 

“What happened?” he says once more. 

“I just told you-” 

“The diagnosis, Hall.” His face softens once he catches the rigid way her spine strengthens at his uncompromising tone. “What was it?” 

A gust of stale air passes her dry lips, her eyes cast down and refuse to meet his. The new wing’s linoleum tiling has blue and green speckles mixed with gray. 

In addition to the hum of the central air, all Odette can hear is the beating of her heart prick up to her ears with the bubbling emotion once more. But her ten allotted minutes are over and now she has an audience. 

After a deep sobering breath she all but whispers,

“Preeclampsia.” 

Neither doctor tries to hide the pained expression that contorts their features and washes over them. 

A moment of silence reigns; whether intentional or not, both look in opposite directions to mourn the memory. 

Dr. Ramsey is the first one to speak; his voice gruff after clearing his throat. 

“And?” 

“Being monitored.” Odette’s eyes flick to his face. “She’s okay. For the time being. I’m planning to check on her after lunch.” 

Dr. Ramsey gazes down at his watch and Odette wonders if he has her schedule memorized by now. He assigns her patients, tells her where and when in the day to visit Naveen, seemingly finds her at one of the lowest points in her medical career with no effort at all. Does he know she should be on her break - is on her own time. 

He finally steps aside, further into the dark space; 

“Grab some food, Dr. Hall.” 

She musters a tight smile in gratitude as she slides past him and into the grateful bustle of day. She’s nearly fully illuminated by the bright white light when solemn - personable, even - words reach her ears. 

“And, Rookie,”

She turns to him, green eyes trained on the shelving beyond his shoulder. 

“If you need anything, please come find me.” 

Odette nods, once and short, before walking away; determined not to show another emotion to half the reason for her grief. 

_____________________

@openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations 

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[comfortwriting]

The Haunt Of Happy Couples - F.W

Masterlist, Writing Prompt Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Taglist

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Prompt 63: You blushed and shook your head, hiding behind your book.

Prompt 64: The butterflies in your stomach flew around in circles, looking across the class his gaze met with yours, he smirked and winked at you.

About: Fred and Y/N have been sharing glances, flashing smirks and giggles for months but haven’t said a word to one another - only admiring from a distance. One afternoon, Fred decides to take things to the next level, as gentlemanly as he can be. 

Warnings: mega fluff! mention of food and eating. 

“Y/N” Your friend Becky whispered over breakfast “he’s looking at you again.”

You blushed and shook your head, hiding behind your book.

By ‘he’ you know who she meant - it couldn’t be anyone other than Fred Weasley, the lad in the year above who constantly got into trouble, and was always up to no good with his twin.

At first, it started off with meeting each others gaze of breakfast, it only happened once or twice until it became an everyday occurrence.

Soon enough, the two of you shared glances everywhere you passed, Fred throwing in the knee-shaking wink once or twice when he felt extra cheeky, making you blush and giggle which made him break out into the biggest smiles you had ever seen.

The two of you maintained eye contact, sharing these winks, blushes, and giggles through the halls, over your meals across the table, high up in the stands whilst you watched him play Quidditch; so much so you were becoming each others shadows, despite never actually saying a word to each other.

“He looks at me every day, Becky” you replied, a smile creeping up on your lips, still hiding behind your book - trying to play hard to get.

“I still can’t understand why you won’t ask him out, I mean..” your friend trailed off, realising she could be potentially stepping into dangerous waters - but you couldn’t blame how she felt - Fred had to be the most gorgeous lad you ever laid eyes on, every single thing about him was nothing short of perfect.

You gave her an odd look “The guy always makes the first move, besides, even if I wanted to I’m too scared! I don’t want to scare him off!!” you huffed.

Becky put her hands up in defence “I wasn’t going to make a move! Everyone knows you’re practically his girl”

You felt your cheeks heat up, Fred elevated in his seat, trying to catch glances of you whilst you were hiding away, his heart fluttering watching them flush red, he put his head down, pretending to focus on the boring Daily Prophet, listening in on your conversation.

“you wouldn’t scare him off either” she sighed, sipping the last few drops of her pumpkin juice “he wouldn’t flinch if Snape yelled at him”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, Becky was right, you wouldn’t scare Fred off at all, even if you had two heads. “But Snape doesn’t yell” you laughed, rolling your eyes, lowering your book down as you started to cool off.

The sound of your laughter was music to Fred’s ears, his heart fluttering even more, like butterflies being freed from their cocoons.

You and Becky left the table, setting off to your first class, you usually waited outside the great hall for Fred and suddenly pretend to bump into him - Fred knew you waited there on purpose and he thought it was the cutest thing in the world.

“You going to ask her then, Freddie?” George asked, watching you walk out.

Fred smiled to himself and folded up the newspaper on the table, placing it down on the table “you know what George” Fred replied, “I think I will.”

Fred stood up tall and waltzed out of the great hall, his brother following behind. Replaying the word he would say over and over in his head and going through the plan if you were to say yes, Valentines Day coming around the corner.

Finding you stood in the same place every morning like clockwork, his eyes searched your gorgeous Y/E/C ones, he walked towards you, your heart racing.

Oh my god, he’s walking over, he’s actually getting closer, he’s not doing this by accident. Play it cool, don’t be too excited but don’t be too moody, don’t overthink things, don’t underthink just breathe--

“Hello love” Fred smiled, now standing beside you.

This is the closest he had ever been, you could now count the individual freckles on his face, you could study his brown eyes, his eyelashes and soft lips, you could see the fabric of his clothing, you could smell his unbelievable, sweet and comforting scent.

“H-Hi Fred” you smiled back, your voice slightly shaking.

Becky stood there awkwardly, already feeling like a third wheel, slightly jealous but so excited that the ball was finally rolling.

“Uh,” Becky interrupted “I’ll see you in class, Y/N.” smiling and walking away, waving goodbye.

“I was wondering” Fred pursed his lips, feeling more nervous than he ever had in his life “if you uh, wanted to go out on a date in Hogsmeade, with Valentine’s Day coming up and that.”

Your heart sped up so fast you started to get dizzy, the world around you spinning uncontrollably like you were travelling through a portkey, your thoughts of excitement and pure shock drowning out the other students passing by.

He wants to go on a date... with me... with me... no other girl, just me.

Fred couldn’t help but feel relieved and fall even more in love with you because of your facial expression, although no words had escaped your mouth, you were smiling widely and your cheeks were as hot as usual, your eyes full of stars.

“Yeah of course I would love to” you babbled, starting to stumble over your words, the heat from your cheeks spreading across the rest of your face.

Fred couldn’t help but laugh at how cute you were, he brushed his golden hair out of his face, licking his lips.

“Saturday, I’ll wait for you here and we’ll go to Hogsmeade for the day” he smiled “don’t bring any money, everything is on me.”

The two of you stared at one another awkwardly, suddenly realising the number of students who were pushing past to get to their classes, you smiled sweetly and adjusted your bag on your shoulder.

“Well, I’ll see you Saturday” you blushed.

“Bright and early!” Fred replied, nodding, winking you goodbye and reuniting with his twin.

You were ecstatic, delirious even - you were going on a date with Fred Weasley, the lad that all the girls swooned over and talked about, you of all people. You rarely felt good about yourself, but this... this made you feel more alive than ever, finally catching up to other girls in the race, and beating them as you inched closer to the finish line.

Throughout Divination, you messed with Becky, refusing to tell her what happened whilst she got a head start to the worlds most boring lesson. All you could do was smirk, blush, laugh and smirk again, you were on cloud nine and couldn’t see yourself coming off it anytime soon.

“Please!” She begged, groaning at the tea leaves in the bottom of her cup “I’m desperate.”

You grabbed her cup and looked at her tea leaves, reading them “looks as if you’ve got an angry snake” you replied, pretending to cower in fear as Trelawney passed by.

“Oh come off it!” Becky complained, leaning back in her chair “I wasn’t on about that-”

“I know, I know, alright” you cut her off, giving in “He asked me if I wanted to go on a date with him on Saturday.”

Becky’s jaw dropped and an excited grin splashed across her face, she leaned in so fast on her chair she nearly sent her cup and saucer flying across the room.

“Oh that’s absolutely brilliant, Y/N!” she beamed, clapping her hands together and rubbing them “so, where is he taking you?”

“I’m not sure” you shrugged “somewhere in Hogsmeade!” you replied, beaming back at her, feeling the excitement sprout and bloom all over again in your tummy.

“Valentine’s Day too!” she squealed “oh how romantic, you and Fred, wow!”

“I know!” you giggled, looking over your cup and pretending to read your tea leaves, the two of you going quiet as Trelawney walked past again “I’m really excited” you whispered.

“What's the plan then, Freddie?” George asked, walking off the Quidditch pitch, mud and dirt covering his knees, arms, and chest.

“Well” sighed Fred, his muscles hurting slightly, “I’m going to take her to that tea shop, Madam Puddifoot’s, is it?”

“Oh yeah” grinned George, walking into the changing rooms, sitting down on the bench “ tacky, frilly, and cramped?”

Fred flipped his brother off and started to get undressed, thinking about what he would wear and how he would woo you.

“I’m quite nervous” he admitted “she’s the only girl I’ve ever really fancied” Fred pulled off his shirt, grabbing his towel to go for a shower.

George pulled his shoes off in synch with his brother, groaning from his backache “makes you go all tingly does she?” he teased.

“Oh bugger off” Fred yelled behind him, walking into the showers and stepping underneath the warm, running water.

George laughed “I’m only bloody joking, she’s so tiny compared to you, I think she’s proper cute” he grabbed a towel of his own and went for a shower too.

You counted down the days: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and now finally Friday.

Unfortunately, no matter how nervous or excited you were, your last class of the day was dragging like no other; you were perched on your stool in Snape’s gloomy and cold dungeon, following the same sentence in your potions book - over and over and over, none of it making any sense. You were so drunk on the excitement of tomorrows date you thought you could hear Fred’s voice from behind you, you were going mad, surely, until -

“Y/N” Becky whispered daringly “look behind you”

Turning around and looking over your shoulder, Fred stood in the large, arched doorway, the butterflies in your stomach flew around in circles, looking across the class his gaze met with yours, he smirked and winked at you.

“What is so important, Mr Weasley?” Snape droned on, looking up from his projector.

Fred unfolded his arms “I’ve got a note that excuses me from next weeks detention” he spoke up.

You felt tempted to ‘ooo’ him but you knew Snape wouldn’t stand for it - detention with him alone scared you.

Snape sour expression became more exaggerated and his greasy hair fell in front of his face “do you have a note?”

“Yeah” Fred replied, digging in his pocket and pulling it out, handing it to Snape “there”

Snape looked over it for a second and appeared to be most displeased, almost clenching his teeth “Your head of house will be notified when I have chosen a day to reschedule, now get out.”

Snape faced the back of the class and continued to teach, Fred winked at you and mouth “I’ll see you tomorrow, love.”

You turned around and covered your mouth with your hand, if tomorrow didn’t come soon enough you felt as if you could explode. Luckily, after Snape’s class, the rest of your day flew by, but as you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t fall asleep - no matter how hard you tried.

You kept going over and over everything you would say, the questions you might ask, how you were going to laugh and smile, if you would hold his hand if he reached out for it, you were running through everything that would happen naturally and so did Fred.

He couldn’t sleep either, he stared at his clothes, the hand-me-down trousers from Bill, the boots from Charlie and the beautifully knitted jumper from his mother, Molly, the massive ‘F’ staring back at him, encouraging him to get some sleep.

Taking a deep breath, you left the common room after giving Becky a tight hug, Fred also on his way, gave George a thumbs up, both of you getting closer and closer.

You could make out the massive green ‘F’ on Fred’s brown jumper as he inched closer and closer, his maroon trousers and black boots making him look as if he were some sort of model or band member. Your heart pounded and you could feel yourself forget everything you went over one hundred times over the night before.

Play it cool, play it cool, it’s just a date - holy shit he’s so beautiful.

Fred fell head over heels at the sight of you out of your robes and in the long-sleeved yellow frilly dress, your daffodil necklace twinkling when the sun beamed down upon it, your adorable denim teddy bear Mary Jane buckle shoes made Fred want to run over and lift you up into his arms.

“Fancy seeing you here” he joked, pushing stray hairs behind his ears.

You nodded and laughed lightly “what a coincidence!”

Your walk to Hogsmeade couldn’t have gone any better, the two of you had plenty to talk about, and plenty more to laugh and smirk about, you were so interested in his dad’s career, along with his brothers Bill and Charlie. Fred couldn’t help but tease you for your perfect clean record, zero detentions and only scoring high grades.

When sharing things about yourself with Fred, he focused hard listened, remembering little details and making mental notes on your interests, what you did and didn’t like to do at the weekend, read about or even wear.

Entering Hogsmeade, the breeze blew your hair back and sent shivers down your spine, the hairs standing up on the back of your neck and on your arms, you shivered, wishing you had brought a coat or jumper out with you.

Fred noticed and thanked the weather for giving him this chance, a move he had planned thoroughly. Pulling off his jumper and making sure it wasn’t inside out, he handed it to you “Put this on if you’re cold, Y/N.”

Your heart skipped beats and the flowers of excitement that bloomed inside of you grew in size, the petals expanding, the pollen strengthening, calling out for bees.

You accepted his gentlemanly gesture “thank you” you smiled, pulling his jumper over you, your hands sliding down the long sleeves.

Fred’s cheeks went red, the sight of you drowning in his jumper made you stand out to him even more - no other girl could pull off his clothing as good as you, you had it all, you had everything that every other girl lacked, you were the one, you had to be.

Finally reaching Madam Puddifoot’s, Fred opened the door for you and followed you inside, he found the table he reserved for you and pulled out your chair before getting himself sat down.

You couldn’t believe your eyes, the entire tea shop decorated just for one day felt truly special, you couldn’t believe this was real life, wearing Fred’s jumper, on a date in a teashop celebrating such a small holiday. This realisation gave you the confidence you needed, after all, you were here, no other girls, just you.

You were amazed at the frills, bows, the lacy napkins and china sugar bowls that sat on the table, the golden cherubs throwing pink confetti in Fred’s hair.

You giggled at the sight, Fred went red and tried to brush the confetti out of his golden hair, muttering under his breath at the cherubs.

“You should leave it in” you giggled “you look so cute with pink confetti in your hair.”

Fred smirked and shook his head “I’m flattered, Y/N” he replied, “but pink isn’t my colour.”

“Well, I disagree” you beamed “the next time a jumper of my own stretches in the wash you’ll have to try it on” you teased, pulling on the sleeves of his jumper “Thank you for the jumper” you blushed, remembering it was his “it’s lovely and warm.” you nuzzled into it, the scent of cinnamon engulfing you.

“Keep it” Fred smiled, showing off his pearly white teeth.

After running through the menu together and more pink confetti landing in Fred’s hair, the two of you ordered your drinks which were served incredibly fast despite how many couples had arrived within twenty minutes of being sat down and flirting successfully with Fred.

The two of you continued to laugh, joke, flirt and learn more about each other over your drinks which had warmed your tummies in preparation for bracing the cold as you left the teashop, still having enough to talk about and having moments of silence that weren’t awkward.

Walking towards Honey Dukes hoping you could buy Fred some sweets as he paid for your drink, your hand brushed against his, and like Fred did when you shivered, you took your chance and took hold of his hand.

Fred looked down at his large hand in your small one, he let go for a moment, making you worry, until he snatched your hand in his, his thumb tracing circles over fingers, you felt relieved but also floating higher in the sky on cloud nine.

Fred stopped outside Honey Dukes, the end of your nose pink from the cold air, he admired every detail of your face and squeezed your hand gently, you admired his face too, counting those freckles you loved so much, the two of you so close you could feel his breath warm up your cold skin.

Fred closed his eyes and leaned in, knowing what was about to happen, you closed your eyes and tilted your head, leaning in too. Your lips brushed against his soft ones and finally joined up, the two of you kissing softly whilst his other hand snaked around your waist pulling you closer to him.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl @inglourious-imagines @reeophidian @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @escapingrealitybyreading @a-castle-of--glass @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx

[butterysalt]

Thanks For Existing | Sherlock x Reader

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x reader (gender neutral)

Summary: In order to make a point to Irene, Sherlock goes out of his way to express his gratitude and make sure that you know what you mean to him.

Word Count: 1,504

Contains: Soft Sherlock

A/N: Haha I guess I much prefer writing Sherlock as “only a little bit of an asshole”. Enjoy!

You and Sherlock were in the records room for a few hours now searching for a very specific piece of information for a case. He stood beside you, watching idly as you flipped through the evidence files in the big metal cabinets. It wasn’t as though you had really noticed that he stopped looking around to be able to jab at him.

When you were concentrating on something and your mind isolated itself — your own “normal people” version of a mind palace, if you will — your eyebrows would furrow or twitch and you would gently grind your molars… Like how Sherlock noted that you were doing now.

“Hah!” Your eyes lit up suddenly and a bright grin flashed on your face. You drew out a single vanilla folder, flipping through the papers to check its contents and nodding triumphantly. A small smile crept onto Sherlock’s face as he watched you claim your success and do a ridiculous victory jig in the records room.

You shuffled over to him, still bouncing, waving the flat file at him in a taunting way and playfully bopping your fists into his shoulder. “I found ittt, I’m so resourceful ooooh,” you sang, mocking him shamelessly. Sherlock rolled his eyes at your nonsense and made a deep groveling chuckle that buzzed within his chest. Then he sucked in a slow breath and pondered silently.

“Y/n,” you rose a brow and urged him expectantly as you slipped the evidence report into your bag. “Are you free to get dinner with me tonight?”

You tensed up, snapping your head towards him incredulously. Sherlock stood, anticipating your response. Even for a mechanical detective like himself, you dared to go out on a limb and say he looked a little nervous.

After a few seconds of tense staring, you sputtered to yourself and saw that he was being completely serious. You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, readjusting the strap of your bag on your arm and checked the clock.

“Oh… uhm, well, we finally found that bloody file so I suppose I am for the night,” you murmured unsurely, mostly to yourself. Your eyes rose carefully to meet Sherlock’s. It was so  nerve wracking to make eye contact when his icy stare was so trained on you. “Where did you have in mind?”

Sherlock grinned, “Oh, just something in mind.” The careful response surprised you and your eyes squinted at him in suspicion. He only winked at you and turned to leave the room. For now, you dismissed his secrecy and followed the tail of his trench coat, pursuing the mystery.

The supposedly super-secret location that Sherlock was taking you to was his favorite hot chips stand. A part of you was confused due to how grand he was hyping up the destination to be. But it was fitting. You’ve known Sherlock long enough to know that chips were one of the only things out of the very few in this world that could get through to him during some of his darkest times.

Both of you paid for your chips and sat on a cold bench on the bridge. The deep vibrant painted sky that the setting sun had cast over London was dispersing into tufts of a dark red and blue. The view was breathtaking.

You never had as much time as you��d like to admit to stop working and appreciate what life had to give. Your heart swelled greatly at the realization that no day ever changed. The birds danced with the merciful breeze, singing a devoted song for another. The water underneath the bridge slapped against the brick structure, ringing special bells and melodies in your ears.

The last yellow light over the horizon was pacing its way down the tall buildings of the city, decorating the glossy towers with dazzling sparkles. And then, the whole world was enveloped by a dark velvety cloak of stars and constellations. For a moment, time became irrelevant and everyone was forced to revel in it. This is what you’ve been missing out on all this time.

“Sherlock?” The detective hummed as he chewed his fresh chips. His eyes remained in front of him, gazing towards the blobs of light dancing in the city across the ocean.

“Why did you ask me to dinner tonight?” You asked warily. Sherlock stuffed his face with another handful and downed it as quickly as he consumed it. He shrugged stubbornly. “I wanted chips.”

A puff of disbelief slipped out and you allowed the growing smile to spread on your face. You rustled your own chips in your tray and began to clench and unclench your hand subconsciously. “... Was that all?”

Sherlock leaned back into the bench, eating in a much more polite manner this time. “It’s a thank you,” he said simply. You frowned and tilted your head in his direction. “A thank you? For what?”

“... Being here,” he uttered before shoving another chip in his mouth. Your eyes widened and you felt your lips parted in surprise. He wouldn’t look at you but rather just continue distracting himself with food. That’s a first.

A warmth grew in your cheeks and you lingered in contemplation before taking a bite of your own chips. You both looked forward, ignoring the silence among the two of you. But the setting was calm. Now that the sun had already set, so did the city.

You murmured quietly, “Well in that case, thank you as well.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him either as you thanked him. You darted your eyes in any other direction and hastily chewed.

Sherlock glanced at you from the corner of his eyes and his lips formed a smirk. Even when you weren’t directly looking at him, he could see the way your eyes sparkled and lit up when he was around you. You enjoyed each other's company and that was enough proof for Sherlock to believe that you really do mean something to him.

“You don’t want to have dinner with me,” Irene asked, but it came out more as a statement.

“No thanks,” Sherlock responded flatly. The woman rose a brow and a sly expression graced her face. She crossed her legs and leaned forward. “Oh? Now that’s interesting.” Sherlock kept his eyes closed as a way to actively ignore her but he perked a silent brow.

He could easily hear the smirk in the Woman’s voice. “Are they that special to you?” This made his brows twitch. Despite her personal jabs, Sherlock still refused to look in her direction.

A sultry laugh came from her throat. “To prove me wrong, you, Sherlock Holmes of all people, would go out of your way to play with another one of your pets. You really can’t lose at anything, can you?” Irene chuckled to herself and tilted her head, gazing at the slight facial tremors on his features. “Unless, you want my attention that badly?”

“Excuse me?” Irene grinned and bounced her shoulders. “I’m only stating, Mr. Holmes. It is a mystery how you work. You deny it, but you’re very emotional.”

His eyes were wide open now and glaring at her. He dropped his hands on the chair’s armrests. “You don’t know anything about me, Ms. Adler.”

“Is that right?” She hummed. Irene slowly got to her feet and approached the detective until she was standing in front of him. “You’ll do anything to win, Holmes. Trust me, I know. But is it possible for you to win anything and everything? A very specific person of interest by chance?”

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock said carefully. Irene lowered herself onto his lap and rested against his chest. The man did not flinch nor move away. He stared her dead in the eyes.

“You don’t know how to be intimate with someone. How to satisfy a person. At least not properly.” Sherlock rose a brow, questioning that notion.

Irene flirted and adjusted her position, leaning all her weight against him now. “Believe me, I can see the lechery in your eyes. But you won’t be able to keep them, you know. It's all a game to you. Do you really think that these boring people have the will to put up with geniuses such as you and me?”

Sherlock remained stone in his spot, glaring at the woman straddling him. Irene thought she was effectively intimidating him until he leaned forward, close enough to say words only they could hear.

“You’re not special to me.” Her eyes rose to meet his and she felt a chill run through her. “You’re not different. Not unique nor brilliant. You’re the same as any one else I’ve ever perceived. Just way in over your head.”

Sherlock easily pushed her off his lap then stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning away from her. The Woman stood back, staring at his back in shock.

Holmes opened the door to his bedroom and hollered behind him, “Lock the door before you leave, thanks!”