#had this idea floating in my head for a while now and decided Fuck It. lets write it out

[heartthrobin]

the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

-

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

-

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

-

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

-

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle. 

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports. 

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge. 

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner. 

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers. 

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor. 

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed. 

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish. 

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster. 

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge. 

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you. 

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone. 

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move. 

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face. 

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches. 

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.” 

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again. 

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“ 

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.” 

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor. 

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick. 

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.” 

He’s brushing past you. 

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“ 

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded. 

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable. 

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?” 

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked. 

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone. 

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him. 

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration. 

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him. 

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.” 

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle. 

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own. 

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.” 

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness. 

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms. 

It’s quiet. 

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks. 

“Why’re you out here alone?” 

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him. 

Why do you care? 

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters. 

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.” 

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t. 

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches. 

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something. 

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent. 

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room. 

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.” 

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

-

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours. 

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!” 

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch. 

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow. 

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction. 

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way. 

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it. 

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets. 

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

-

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

-

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

-

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

-

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[delespresso]

DETESTATION ━━ Fiyero x fem!reader

author's note; this was previously titled 'kiss me' lol. i cant lie, i was sort of just winging it with this one — i've been doing a lot of rivals to lovers u guys, my brain is a little confused now 😭 idk if i liked this but i hope its good! <3

prompt; “You can’t just…kiss me to win a fucking argument, [NAME]!” “You’re right…but did it work?” ps; i changed it up a bit, oops

summary; the constant back and forth was totally out of total detestation. . . right?

━━ ☄. *. ⋆

It was the third invite to the Ozdust Ballroom within the month.

Ever since the Winkie Prince showed up at Shiz a few months back, he's been influencing quite a few trips to the scandalocious venue. In fact — he started it immediately on his first day.

She didn't plan on going this time either. Even if the invite had come directly from him, while he was following her tail all over campus.

"C'mon, princess, it'll be fun," Fiyero urged as he walked behind her like a little puppy.

Typically, she refused to even be in his vicinity. With her luck though, somehow Doctor Dillamond decided he needed a tutor to push him through history class — so of course, she was chosen, being the current top student.

"Think of it as me thanking you for helping me ace history," Fiyero continued.

He did, in fact, ace his history after that. A whole A solid.

"For the millionth time, Fiyero, no," she huffed.

He rolled his eyes at another rejection, still following her as they found their way into the dining hall. It was sparse at the moment, they were quite early this time.

"Your welcome for history. But that's it," she added.

She grabbed a tray, starting to put food on it. As she did though, the infuriatingly charming — and annoying — prince stole a piece right out of her plate.

"You should learn to live a little. See the nightlife. Go dancing. We don't live forever, you know?"

She stared up at him as he just went on his little ramble about life.

"If you're worried about a dance partner—"

"I really don't care—"

"I'm sure Boq is very kind to help in that," Fiyero said with a sly smirk.

Respectfully, Boq was nice and cute in a way, but she would much rather drink a tub of toxic elixir.

She could only scoff in response, picking up her tray and finding a seat. Still he refused to let up.

"One night. Its just one night, it really won't kill you," Fiyero insisted.

"It won't, but I might kill you."

She set her tray down with a huff, but she didn't get the chance to sit yet before he was pestering her again.

"I've lived quite well, I wouldn't mind dying at your hands," he shrugged.

"Are you serious right now?" she scoffed. "I have a fork and knife an inch away from my hands, don't tempt me."

"Oh, how horrifying," he mock gasped.

Oh, this little—

"Truthfully, I find a death by my history tutor to be a beautiful exit," he continued with a smug grin.

"You have no sense of self preservation. My hands would be a painful way to die," she retorted.

He didn't miss a beat, grabbing her hands in his in such an oddly gentle manner that had her brain crashing for a moment.

"These soft hands? I find that hard to believe."

She blinked rapidly, just staring at the way he held her hands to his chest for no reason. Why was her head spinning? Why was her pulse rushing?

"You're infuriating," she managed to hiss as she pulled her hands away.

Really, she had no idea why this man annoyed her so much. She felt an irrational amount of irritation when he was around. Her head would sometimes go empty when she looked at him, her heart suddenly going too fast and her stomach feeling like it was floating.

Dislike. Pure, utter, dislike. Loathing, perhaps. Detestation.

Those were the only acceptable answers.

She ended up taking her lunch to go, bringing it with her to eat somewhere else where she could escape him.

"Come dancing tonight!" he tried again even as she stomped away from him and replied over without turning back.

"Eat grass!"

It was her roommate that dragged her to the Ozdust Ballroom that night. No one else.

Certainly not the persistent, annoyingly handsome prince. No.

She allowed herself to have fun for a while, dancing around with her roommate. She didn't catch a single glimpse of him so she assumed he bailed.

She would be absolutely wrong when she ended up twirling right into his arms.

Fiyero's hands were on her waist, keeping her right there as her hands ended up on his biceps. He grinned down at her, that casual and laidback smile he always had.

"You came."

"Not because of you."

He chuckled at her quick defensiveness. It was cute to him. Taking her hand, he gave her a quick whirl before pulling her close again.

"Of course not," he agreed.

"Plenty of other reasons to come to a party," she nodded.

"Mhm."

"Nice ambience, people in nice outfits," she started to list aimlessly.

"Yes, they do dress up nice," he continued to agree.

"Good music, exceptional dancing—"

"You dance well."

"Random excuse to dress myself up too—"

"You look lovely."

"The lights are quite nice too, all blueish—"

She didn't get the chance to keep yapping when suddenly a pair of warm lips were on hers. It felt like she was on fire. A good kind of fire. When she opened her eyes again and their lips parted, she met his gaze under the lights.

Her lips were parted, her breath catching. Her face was definitely flushing and Oz— her head was reeling. She was too flustered she ended up fumbling her words.

"You can't just kiss me to win an argument, Fiyero!"

He laughed at her reaction. In hindsight, he should've probably not do it out of nowhere. But her reaction was priceless.

"Yeah, probably not. But it shut you up," he mused.

She stared up at him, eyes wide as she was clearly baffled.

"You need to stop finding excuses, princess," he teased, giving her yet another whirl.

Her dress flared out before she ended up back with him, flush against his chest. Whatever she felt for him was strong. Though she was starting to suspect it wasn't actually detestation.

She'd likely been in denial.

"You need to not kiss someone without permission," she retorted anyway.

Fiyero only smiled, but at least he nodded sincerely with a bit of a shrug.

"Fair enough. Sorry," he agreed. "Can I have a redo?"

She raised a single brow up at him, this time catching up with the dance way better than when she initially ended up in his arms. A coy, almost teasing smile pulled on her lips as she casually ended up leading the dance.

"Let's see your dancing first, Winkie Prince."

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[harksness]

A/N: i was so feral over detective harkness i wrote a quick lil smut fic (thanx to the rings anon who gave me an idea for this lol <3)

also I KNOW SHES TECHNICALLY AGNES HERE SHHHH JUST GO WITH IT

Warnings: SMUT, oral, Agatha receiving, hair pulling, degradation and praise. Dom! Agatha as per usual. Sub! Reader as per usual.

WC: 2.1k

Carefully, you push the door to Agatha’s office closed behind you and twist the lock. She doesn’t even notice that you entered, hunched over her desk with papers and files sprawled out beneath her, pen clenched in her left hand as she bends over the mess. Strands of hair had slipped out of her ponytail, hanging along the sides of her face.

Once in a while you’ll surprise her at work like this. She’s been so stressed lately that she hasn’t been sleeping through the night. That's not abnormal for your wife, she is a bit of a workaholic afterall, but sometimes she just needs you to drag her back into reality. And that's been hard to do with your conflicting work schedules and her long days lately.

Slowly, so you don't startle her, you walk over to Agatha’s desk. Her eyes glance up to you but don’t seem to process you right away as the flick back down to her work, before landing back on you again. As the realization finally sinks in, a smile grows on her features.

“Hey, hot stuff.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the way she shoots you a wide grin, legs spreading as she leans back in her office chair to look up at you.

“Hey, even hotter stuff.”

She snorts at your flirting, throwing her pen down onto her desk. It makes you feel a little too smug that it's so easy for her to forget her work when you're around.

“You don’t look in the mirror as much as you should. You’re obviously the hotter stuff.”

She argues lightheartedly as you turn and lean against the desk next to her, the plush of your ass digging into the edge of the tabletop as you smile down at her.

“Well I could say the same thing to you.”

Again, she snorts.

“I’ve barely slept the last few days, my eye bags are huge, my hair is a mess and I’ve got stains all down the front of my frumpy flannel. I’m not hot right now.”

Agatha's eyes are tired and her words make your heart ache in your chest. She's always the most beautiful thing in the world, the details don't matter. She's just always stunning.

You lean in towards her and take her face in your hands, her eyes fluttering closed as she leans into your touch.

“You’re always hot, baby.. It doesn’t matter the circumstances.”

You coo at her, a little laugh escaping her lips as you lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. You decide to speak up before she can continue arguing you, knowing her stubbornness wouldn't let this go unless you changed the subject.

“You look stressed, my love..”

Agatha groans at your words, frustrated.

“There’s just a lot going on right now.. Yknow?”

You nod your head in understanding. When you married her, you knew this is what you were signing up for. She’s obsessed with her job, gone for long periods of time and unable to take her mind off of her work. And that dedication is something you love about her regardless. You’re okay with being her anchor, tethering her and bringing her back to reality. She always floats back to you when you pull her back down to Earth, and that’s all you could ever ask for. 

You’ll happily keep doing this for the rest of your life.

Leaning down, you press your lips against her cheek in a lingering kiss, lips ghosting against her skin as you speak.

“Why don’t you let me help you take your mind off of things for a bit..”

You whisper against her soft skin, and she lets out an amused noise as you continue to kiss her, your lips moving to trace along her jawline as you guide her head to tilt to the side.

“Baby… Fuck.. We can’t-”

As she says that her hands are reaching for you, grabbing you and pulling you closer. You smile against her skin.

“Are you sure you want me to stop? I will if you really want me to..”

She doesn't answer, torn between doing what she wants and the responsible thing.

You pull back, admiring her beautiful, tired features for a moment. She looks up at you with love pooling in her eyes as you trace your thumb affectionately along her cheek, under the deep purple bags creasing under her pretty bright eyes before placing a lingering kiss on her lips.

Then, you quickly glance behind you at the door you locked on the way in, ensuring it’s still secure before you drop to your knees in front of her, right below her desk and between her spread legs. The firm carpet is rough on your knees but you don't care, the woman before you is more important. She groans and lets out a louder curse at the sight of you before her.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this..”

She breathes the words out and you smile up at her, leaning forward and running your hands up her clothed thighs.

“Then let me make your fantasy come true, baby.. Please?”

You beg sweetly, batting your eyelashes up at her. She digs her teeth into her bottom lip, eyes flickering greedily over you as she contemplates what to do. 

“Fuck, you’re worth getting fired over.”

You’re grinning ear to ear as you lean forward, running your hands from her knees all the way up her thighs and to the waist of her pants. She watches you with eager eyes, greedy smile etched into her pretty pink lips as she raises her hips off the chair.

Quickly, your hands scramble to undo her pants before grabbing the hem and pulling them down and off her legs, underwear and all, leaving her bare for you as more and more of her soft, pale skin is exposed.

She laughs softly at your eagerness, raising a hand to card sweetly through your locks.

“You begged for this, sweet girl.. Now, you better do a good job if you’re willing to risk my career over it.”

She teases and you lean in, holding her gaze as you press a lingering, open mouth kiss to the inside of her knee. You’re a bit insulted by her words.

“I would never leave you unsatisfied..”

You mumble against her plush skin, taking your time as you softly, firmly press your open mouth against her thigh over and over again as you trail kisses further up her legs.

Here and there you bite softly, dragging your teeth across the sensitive flesh. You feel yourself turning into putty beneath her at every soft gasp that slips past her lips, one of her hands mindlessly toying with your hair.

You start to repeat the actions on her other thigh, wanting to lavish her with sweet kisses and worship her when she lets out a frustrated sigh. Agatha winds her fingers into your hair, slumping down even further and spreading her legs wider as she pushes your mouth against her waiting cunt. You groan, immediately parting your lips as you breathe her in eagerly.

“No teasing, sweetheart… You’re gonna be a good girl and give me exactly what I want, aren’t you?”

She coos down at you, soothingly rubbing her fingers against your scalp. Immediately you let out a needy noise against her and nod your head, desperate to please.

“Good fuckin girl.”

Her voice is low as you drag your tongue through her wet folds. She lets out a controlled, quiet noise, only loud enough for you to hear as you lick up her sweetness. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the taste of her heavy on your tongue.

You begin toying with her clit, first using your tongue to ghost over it in experimental patterns as you try to wind her up. Her chair creaks as she shifts a bit, hand tightening in your hair. 

You can’t get enough of the taste of her. Heavy and metallic and so good, you don't think it could ever be enough. You’d live between her thighs, eating and surviving off of nothing but her pussy for the rest of your life if you could. You make out to kiss the little bud, puckering your lips as you drag them over it before opening your mouth and sucking it between your lips. 

She groans at that, throwing her head back against the back of her seat as you flick your tongue along her clit in quick passes, groaning against her wet cunt as you do. You feel her arousal soaking your lips, and you want to lick up every sweet drop.

“Fuck, baby..”

Agatha curses, heavy breaths dropping from her lips as she looks down at you with lidded eyes. You look back up at her, squirming desperately from your place between her legs.

“You’re such a slut, just for me, hm? So desperate for me to fuck your mouth that you had to crawl under my desk and beg for it, hm?”

Agatha's voice is breathy and erratic as she rests one arm against her chair, canting her hips up against your waiting mouth, her hand buried in your hair and forcing you down and against her with each thrust. You groan against her cunt, breathing heavily as she grinds herself against your tongue. 

You just hold your tongue out for her, letting her guide you however she needs as she fucks herself against your mouth.

“Say it, say you’re my slut with your mouth full of my pussy..”

You groan at her words, nails biting into her calves as you gargle out the words that are muffled by her cunt. She laughs softly, dropping her hips back down onto the chair for a moment and pulling your head back. You heave for air, a stupid smile on your lips as you feel her wetness soaking your lips and chin.

“Say it again.”

Agatha demands, a sadistic grin on her features as she sharply pulls your head back by the fistfull of your hair. You can’t control the moan that bursts past your lips as the delicious sting settles across your scalp.

“I’m your slut, Agatha.. Just yours.. I belong to you..”

You manage to heave the words between breaths and she grins down at you with a satisfied smile on her lips.

“Good girl. Now, get back to work, slut..”

She demands, leaning back into her chair once again and you’re eagerly diving back between her soft thighs, warm and dewey with a thin layer of sweat. Her moans are more frequent now, soft and quiet and deep as they escape her lips. You suck her clit between your teeth gently, flicking your tongue over the nub as quickly as you can.

“Ooooh.. Yes..”

Agatha breathes out, jolting a bit as she raises her hips off of her seat, pressing your needy mouth harder against her wet cunt as she begins to rut against your tongue desperately. You moan into her, meeting each thrust, making sure each movement of your tongue on her clit is calculated and precise.

She gasps sharply, freezing and desperately smushing your face harder against her. You know she’s close, and with that you harshly suck on her clit, hands desperately pawing at her soft thighs as they squeeze around your head, her mouth hung open in a silent moan as she curls in on you, curses dropping from her lips.

Your whole world stops and she’s the only thing that exists as she seizes up, sharp gasps escaping her lips as her eyes pinch shut, body tensing all around you as she cums against your waiting mouth. You watch her with wide eyes, drinking in every little reaction.

A strand of her lovely brown hair sticks to the side of her face, her long, pale neck exposed. You just want to pepper kisses along every inch of her skin. The way her fingers are tightly gripping your hair burns your scalp, but you revel in the sting because it’s just an expression of her pleasure as she cums for you.

With one last relieved gasp her grip on your head loosens and she collapses into her chair, the wheels clanking as she throws her weight back down onto it. She starts breathily laughing, raising one hand to push her stray hairs behind her ears while she rubs soothing circles against your scalp with the other. 

“Ahh.. You’re right.. You never leave me unsatisfied. You’re so good for me, sweet girl..”

She coos, smiling lazily down at you before she leans forward, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. You hum happily, a lovesick grin on your lips.

“I’m always happy to be good for you.."

You smile up at her, resting a cheek on her soft, warm thigh. But the sweet moment is short lived, because your features drop and panic sets in when a firm knocking sounds from her office door.

[ryes-brownies08]

hi luv! im craving for a fluffy date of sungchan x male reader who are so down bad for each other! can u write it for me pls??

ily bby, xo [sungchan x male reader]

“God,” Sungchan chuckled, deep in conversation with the guy he’d realised he loved all too dearly. “You’re a hot mess.” “You’re odd as fuck, too.” M/n laughed, the boys drowning in one another’s laughter.

Synopsis: Sungchan and M/n have been attracted to each other for a while, and now that they're finally on a date, they begin to realise how much they truly like each other. Sungchans composed masculinity paired harmoniously with M/n's adaptable friendliness, and the two go wherever life takes them as they thoroughly enjoy one anothers company on a late night date.

Top! Sungchan, Bottom! M/n

Fluff, affection, dating, boyfriends,

kinda sappy, swearing, insensitive at times

3.7k words

M/n and Sungchan walked out of the shopping center hand in hand, the sound of laughter and the warmth of a whole heart following them. M/n cradled a pastel pinkish-blue soccer ball in his arm, a prize he won from a claw machine, whilst Sungchan gracefully nibbled on a cupcake besides him, colorful sprinkles occasionally getting stuck to his lips.

“That’s why I don’t go to arcades anymore. I had no idea, what was I supposed to do?” M/n chuckled, playfully swinging Sungchans arms to the same rhythm of his head as it gently bounced side to side. Sungchan smiled as M/n lead the conversation, purely happy to listen to him talk.

“That’s crazy. I wouldn’t have seen you at school for a century, huh?” Sungchan responded restfully, turning to look at his date. As he did, M/n took note of Sungchan's kind, deep-set almond eyes that he loved ever so, watching as his lips spread to either side of his face in an elegant, observant smile.

“Realistically, no.” M/n laughed, returning his gaze to stare at the ground as they walked, which was a little habit of his that Sungchan loved.

The two had a crush on each other for a while. At school, neither M/n nor Sungchan sat with the same group of people, but just so they could talk to each other, interacted with each other’s respective friend groups. M/n was an individual who only showed his liveliness to people he trusted, and the athletic Sungchan was a part of a popular but not impolite friend group.

Despite their differences, their attraction to each other was strong. So they took a chance, and before they knew it, became a thing.

The two of them discovered they both had a liking for similar things, although their customary penchants could sometimes be quite different. But that’s just what made them all the more beautiful.

For their date tonight, they set out to wander a shopping centre together until the sky turned a brooding black, and a million stars floated brilliantly in its embrace; they both loved the serenity of the night.

As the two walked out the front gate of the shopping center, they were hit with the pleasantly cold breeze of the night. The outside was surrounded by floral bushes and majestic trees, and the orange lighting from above created a vibey, nocturnal atmosphere as they walked upon the cobblestone pathway. Sungchan was feeling the cold a bit more than he was prepared for, wearing only a white tee shirt that was tucked into his pair of blue denims. M/n, wearing a brown striped sweater and cargo pants, noticed and decided to offer his long beige coat to Sungchan.

“You’re gonna become paler than you already are,” M/n said, nudging at Sungchan’s shoulders as he looked up at him. “Take this back. I’m overheating anyways.”

“Are you sure?” Sungchan asked. “I don’t want you to get cold.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Can’t have you freezing, can I?.” M/n smiled softly, looking up at his date. M/n took pride in his height of 5’10, but Sungchan made M/n feel short, standing at 6’1.

“M/n, I mean it,” Sungchan said, despite the cold noticeably getting to him. “You don’t have to-”

“Sung.” M/n interrupted, eyebrows raised in a way that read ‘don’t try me, my precious loser.’

“Alright, my bad.” Sungchan laughed. “Never been terrorized to wear a coat before.” He muttered, knowing M/n would hear. M/n didn’t care though, softly smiling as he admired the man infront of him.

Sungchan’s face was attractively long and oval-shaped, his jawline clean but not aggressively sharp, alongside a bigger and structured nose that rested above relatively full and kissable lips. But despite the sheer perfection of his visual, that wasn’t what M/n was necessarily looking at.

M/n was rather entranced by the way Sungchans biceps flexed with every movement, his chest straining against his white tee, leaving little to the imagination. But what M/n was most hypnotized by, was how Sungchan focused intensely on whatever he had in his arms, in this case, the coat. His movements were so deliberate and calculated, ensuring the coat was put on smoothly, and M/n couldn’t help but take it out of all appropriate context. M/n mentally slapped himself, not wanting to ruin this innocent date; he was simply taking notes for the future. A heat began rising in his cheeks. One day, he would be the thing Sungchan would examine every corner of, and there wouldn’t be any clothes to-

“M/n?” Sungchan called out, snapping M/n out of his trance.

“Y-Yeah? Sorry, zoned out.” M/n responded, chuckling sheepishly.

“Are you cold? Your cheeks and nose are all reddened up.” Sungchan asked. Fuck, already? M/n didn’t expect the heat to show through his (S/c) skin that quickly.

“Really?” M/n asked, using his hands to feel the temperature of his face. It didn’t feel so hot, so he wondered how prominent the blush was for Sungchan to have noticed it. All M/n really felt was a slight stubble, which he needed to shave before it became anything noticeable. “Hold on…” M/n reached for his phone, trying to visually examine the degree of redness of his face.

“Wait, don’t move.” Sungchan spoke softly, hyperfixated on M/n’s face as he began stepping closer to him. M/n remained still, like he was asked to.

M/n was slightly unnerved as he observed Sungchan gently touching up his hair. It made M/n wonder if he had something on his face. Was it a cut? Or a bug? M/n became a bit worried. Then, he noticed as Sungchan's hyperfocused face slowly morphed into an enamoured expression. A leafy rustling crinkled against M/n’s ears, and when he opened up his camera, M/n saw that there wasn’t, infact, any blush.

Instead, there was a flower that Sungchan had placed in the nook of M/n’s ear. M/n let out an amused sigh, realising he was on edge for nothing, but he did make sure to offer Sungchan a look of playful indignance.

“What? You look cute. I had to.” He smiled, eyes forming half-cresents as his lips spread to either side of his face, his expression too loveable to refuse.

“You had me so confused; I was scared.” M/n said, chuckling as the two began to walk again.

“You’re scared of roses?” Sungchan smiled, as calmly mischievous as only he could be.

“Wha- No?- Well, you picked it from a random bush!” M/n protested.

“All roses come from bushes, my love.” Sungchan responded. His adaptable composure was something M/n loved, unless he was getting clocked.

Before long, the two had been walking together for an unknowable amount of time, their harmonious company making time go by only too quickly. The roads were empty, the only sound being the laughter of the two, or the rustling of the nearby trees every now and then.

“God,” Sungchan chuckled, deep in conversation with the guy he’d realised he loved all too dearly. “You’re a hot mess.”

“You’re odd as fuck, too.” M/n laughed, the boys drowning in one another’s laughter. “Remember when we had biology, and you stood like an NPC and zoned the fuck out?” M/n spoke in between chuckles, too busy cracking up at the memory.

“Oh my god, shut up..!” Sungchan cringed at the memory, grinning ear to ear and shaking his head in regret.

“The teacher couldn’t even…” M/n trailed off, wheezing. The thought was just so funny.

Everyone got up to go to their tables and conduct an experiment, whilst Sungchan had a brainfart, and just stood there, zoned out in the middle of the class. The teacher tried to ask what was wrong, but he was too caught up in his head to respond. Not only was it awkward, it was pindrop silent. It took a few minutes for him to snap out of his trance, and he ran to his table, face reddened like a tomato through his pale skin. His group of boys didn’t let him live that one down, and invited M/n and his group to joke about it once they caught onto the fact that Sungchan liked him.

Sungchan gave M/n a playful nudge, watching as he almost stumbled in the darkness of the night, eventually needing to pause there and take a break from laughing his ass off.

As M/n fumbled, the pinkish blue soccer ball fell out of his hands, rolling over to a relatively tall black fence. Beyond it was an open soccer field, illuminated by a single large sports floodlight in the far corner. M/n picked up the ball, and turned to see Sungchan, who gasped and became struck with excitement. This was one of the many sides to Sungchan’s generally reserved personality that M/n was eager to explore. His 4D personality was a beautiful, well-crafted mystery that M/n was excited to unveil.

“Oh my god! M/n, we have to get in!” Sungchan leaned against the moderately tall fence, eyes wide in a boyish eagerness.

“What? We can’t go in there, it’s closed!” M/n replied.

"Well, no one's gonna catch us." Sungchan said.

"They might." M/n suggested.

Between the two, neither were troublesome, even at school, but Sungchan was a likeable rule-breaker. He and his friends would always fuck around every now and then, and though they didn't do anything too extreme, you could still roll your eyes at it.

"Not at 8:37pm in the night!" Sungchan said, turning to M/n as his eyes became glossy and his eyebrows were knit together in a pleading expression. He was no longer asking for permission. He placed a foot against the black plastic fence, rising above the ground before throwing the other leg over it so that he was sitting on top of it. He looked back down to M/n, who hadn't moved yet.

"C'mon, M/n! It'll be fun." He said, patting the top of the fence as his eyebrows bucked upwards, daring M/n to come. Remembering Sungchan's love for soccer, M/n couldn't say no. He'd just have to get dragged into trouble again and hope he'd never get caught. Sungchan extended a hand, as he knew M/n wasn't a daredevil (or rather that M/n was lame and couldn't even climb a fence).

With a yelp, M/n hesitantly set a foot on the fence, using the pull of Sungchan's arm as an advantageous leverage. M/n tried to distract himself from the rebellious nature of the moment by focusing on Sungchan's strong arms, and how they moved him around so easily. Then again, M/n had to ensure he didn't turn this cute little date into something not so appropriate.

"Good boy." Sungchan teased, causing M/n to raise a clenched fist as an empty threat. With a flinch and a hitched laugh, Sungchan jumped off the fence and landed with a thud in an athletic, graceful squat.

M/n followed after, thumping on the floor disgracefully despite using the fence as a means to come down, slipping and falling on his side.

"Cute." Sungchan remarked. M/n didn't know what was so cute about that, though; seeing the person you'd potentially want to love not be able to climb. If anything, it was a sign that M/n would suck in an apocalypse, presumably being the first to die unless Sungchan came to save him.

M/n didn't know how, but Sungchan already had the ball, doing a cool little trick where he kicked it upwards and used his one leg to keep it from touching the floor. He clearly looked like a natural.

When M/n caught up to him, he smiled at him wholeheartedly. It was clear he loved M/n and appreciated the gesture to do this despite not wanting to. "What's up, cutie?" He spoke, his voice flattering M/n and surely evoking an upcoming blush.

Deflecting, M/n interjected. "So, am I just gonna sit on the bleachers and watch you play?"

"Well, you don't have to watch if you're bored. You can use your phone." Sungchan shrugged.

"Hey, don't be ridiculous. I'll watch you. This is your chance to impress me." M/n smiled, taking the ball from Sungchan's embrace.

It was clear that Sungchan preferred if M/n watched, because like a child, his mouth grew into a excited smile, eyes sparking with possibility. "Yeah..?" He spoke somewhat breathily.

"Yeah! Matter of fact..." M/n said, holding the ball over his head with intents to throw it. Not even a split-second into the movement, Sungchan already got ready, eyes wide and creasing with glee as his lips spread open in an exhilarated smile. When M/n tossed it in a measly, unathletic throw despites his best efforts, Sungchan began to sprint right after it, racing towards the goal with a laser-focus.

"Go Kylie, go! You're doing great, sweetie!" M/n yelled out, and heard Sungchan chuckling from the distance as he played.

M/n took a seat on the bleachers, and it was just incredible to see Sungchan dominate the open fields as he showed off his skills, doing cute little tricks where he bounced the ball between his legs or did an airborne kick. It was impressive and M/n realised that he'd wanted to see him play more often.

M/n watched as Sungchan darted around the goal with the ball, a talent M/n hadn't really seen in full bloom before. He knew he had an interest for soccer and sport, but didn't realise how proficient he actually was; it was incredible. The way he chased the ball with not only precision and skill, but a burning sense of passion. This was where Sungchan wanted to be at, and his body was aligned perfectly with his heart in that very moment.

After a few goals and incredible tricks, Sungchan looked to M/n, catching a breath as he smiled warmly, allbeit exasperatedly. M/n smiled at him back. "You're doing great, sweetie!" He yelled out, referencing that Kylie Jenner meme again, causing Sungchan to hunch over, using his knees for support as he laughed.

"Why don't you come and play?" Sungchan asked from the distance.

"Me? Girl, I can't play for shit." M/n chuckled, yelling back.

"I'll go easy on you!" Sungchan laughed, holding his arms out in invitation.

"Promise?" M/n said, offering it a bit of thought before cautiously coming down from his seat on the bleachers.

"I promise." Sungchan said, hand on either one of his hips as he waited for M/n. He raised a hand out, opening and clasping it to indicate that he wanted M/n to come and play.

M/n walked down, Sungchan looking at him with a loving gaze. It was clear to M/n that Sungchan ended up enjoying this moment alot, appreciating what M/n was doing for him. That was a good thing; perfect, actually.

"Alright, so what am I doing?" M/n asked, looking at his date with a somewhat nervous, but nevertheless happy smile.

"You just go stand near the goal, and I'll try to score." Sungchan responded.

"I'll never win that! You're too good!" M/n chuckled, gasping indignantly.

"I'll go easy. You can do it, trust me." Sungchan said, smiling. "Why don't I show you?" He said, stepping away from the goal with his ball.

"You ready?" He called out after maintaining a sizeable distance. M/n gave him a sheepish nod in return. Without as much impact as he was using previously, Sungchan kicked the ball so that it began rolling over to M/n and he had a moment to intercept. M/n stepped forward to connect his feet to the ball, stopping it in it's tracks. It wasn't impressive at all, but M/n was thoroughly impressed with himself.

"Just like that!" Sungchan called out, smiling. "Now pass it back, and I'll show you some real skills."

"Go ahead. I'm the soccer baddie himself. Complete with a BBL." M/n said, leaning on one hip in an attempt to serve cunt, eliciting a laugh from Sungchan.

"C'mon, don't change yourself. Besides, your ass is a skinny queen." Sungchan spoke back, cringing at the latter part of his sentence. "Was that good or should I just stick to my own slang'?"

M/n chuckled. Sungchan had pretty boyish, masculine humour compared to M/n's somewhat more feminine persona, which was another difference between the two that he loved. It went to prove that there was no set standard for a relationship of any kind. "Not bad; you slayed, or as you would call it, cooked."

"Well, I'll do both in a second. Think fast!" Sungchan said, his foot taking off from the ground as he struck the ball with fury, M/n ducking helplessly as it hit the net of the goal behind him.

"Hey, not fair!" M/n chuckled, the two entangled in a lighthearted moment of wholeheartedness. He kicked the ball back, and Sungchan began to control it with his swift feet. He was like a rabbit, the way he hopped and ran with the ball, so M/n would have to become the fox.

"Catch this!" Sungchan took another shot, but ended up hitting the top bar of the goal, watching as it bounced back.

"Ha!" M/n yelled in defiance as he held his hands out in an 'L' shape.

"You got lucky, just wait!" Sungchan huffed, fog forming with every breath out of his mouth against the cold air.

This little adventure of the theirs together felt wistfully short, but at the same time pleasantly elongated, and neither of them wanted it to end. Sungchan was absolutely besting the hell out of M/n, but M/n was determined to show him who was boss. Just cause M/n wasn't athletic, didn't mean he had to let that define him at all (it did, M/n just wanted to look remotely impressive for Sungchan).

A familiar thud echoed through the field as Sungchan kicked the pinkish-blue ball, a symbol of M/n's potential defeat against Sungchan if nothing was done. The ball was calling out to M/n, daring him to block it; that very thud was an indicator that M/n had the choice to fight or fly, to defend his point or succumb to Sungchan's reign of ferocity.

M/n squatted, his body loose and anticipating, ready for the move as the ball approached. And as if everything happened in slow motion, the ball flew towards the corner of the net, sure to have hit it; but not if M/n had anything to say about it.

He sprung to the side, both arms reaching outwards as if to create a great iron wall, impenetrable by a mere pastel ball, and unphased against Sungchan's power. With a moist thump, the ball ricocheted off from his hands, sent away in a thrust of humiliation and defeat, rolling over as it grovelled pitifully at the feet of Sungchan. It surrendered, it's halt acting as a silent proclamation of defeat against M/n's defence. The ball was powerless. M/n had won.

He had won! Sungchan raised his arms up, whooping for his date. "Fuck yeah! Awesome, M/n!"

M/n gasped, picking himself up off the ground. It took him a second, but he began to smile and laugh too. Sungchan ran towards him, picking him up and spinning him around, causing M/n to let out a giddy yelp. M/n felt Sungchan's strong arms around his waist, his honest smile at even M/n's tunnel vision victory a silent message that he'd support him forever. M/n felt a thrill through his chest, both from the cold air and the fear of being off the ground. But there was something else, too.

Love. An intense love for Sungchan.

Eventually, Sungchan set him down, and the two were caught lost in each other's eyes, despite panting and beginning to sweat. Sungchan stared deep into M/n's (E/c) eyes as they looked up to him with a docile, amiable light, and found himself marvelling at how the floodlight's shine subtly reflected in his alluring (S/c) skin. M/n returned the look to Sungchan, looking up at the youthful yet sophisticatedly elegant man before him, his gaze towards M/n as loving as it was intense.

Without a word, before the two knew it, they leaned in closer and closer, until their lips met in a loving, warm kiss. The soft sound of smooching englufed either of the two, as their hearts began to beat to a harmonious rhythm. This was their first kiss ever, and they wanted it bad for a while now. Sungchan's hands grasped M/n's waist in a respectful, but affectionate manner, as M/n put his hands on Sungchan's shoulders, holding him close.

Maybe the kiss was too sudden, maybe they were just acting out of teenage impulse. But, boy, did it feel electric.

Etiquette and time wasn't a consideration to the two in that moment; they were beyond that. Their hearts aligned in a way that would make the stars in the night sky that they loved so much shine eternally brighter.

When they parted, they took a moment to open their eyes, their faces still only inches apart. Fog escaped at their lips given the temperature of the night, and it's as if they were breathing each other in as they slowly broke into two soft smiles.

"M/n. I think I really like you." Sungchan spoke in a low, vulnerable, but nevertheless genuine tone.

"Sung... I don't know what to say..." M/n blushed, his eyes deerlike as they looked up at him, all flustered. He felt the same, and Sungchan knew it. He just got shy.

"Whatever feels right, baby." Sungchan smiled warmly, making sure not to rush him.

"Well, I think I like you too. A lot." M/n said, trying to overcome his nerves. "And I think that I really like it when you call me baby." He said softly, as his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.

Sungchan chuckled, the breath from his nose tickling M/n's cheeks. "You're so cute when you're shy." He noted, a blush rising to his own face.

"Aw, Sung.." M/n smacked his lips, getting shyer. There was a comfortable silence as Sungchan examined M/n, who looked away in diffidence.

"Can I... kiss you again?" He asked, his voice low and loving.

M/n turned his head back to face him slowly, a full-fledged blush now on his face. Sungchan noticed how the flower was still there on the side of M/n's head, the same shade of red M/n's nose and cheeks were.

M/n tried to respond, but he couldn't, and his mouth just hung ajar. It was so cute to Sungchan. M/n let out a chuckle, embarrassed at himself. Instead, he offered an eager nod, before speaking under his breath, almost inaudibly. "Yes.."

Sungchan smiled softly, and didn't waste a second after that, meeting M/n's soft lips in a pleasant moment of warmth and love.

The two stood like that for a bit, just melting into each other. After today, was there really anything else they needed?

[rainybyday]

This is mostly based on these three ideas I had circling in my little head please send help. 

Warring States Period - First Idea

Kaguya won in this timeline and only Team Seven survived, both past and present (Sakura, Naruto, Sai, Sasuke, Tenzo, Kakashi, and Obito (all in a total of seven :D)), and so they went into a new timeline as they used their last bit of Chakra to destroy their timeline so Kaguya will never escape and take over other dimensions 

Relationships 

ObKk because I somehow am in a toxic yaoi shipper cycle, god help

Sasuke and Sakura will stay together because I have a massive pin collection with amazing pins of these two so it made me biased

Naruto and Sai are without any partners since their timeline got fucked

Pray

Ok so let me go over some little details I like to have

Uchihas love so fucken deeply its not even funny so when their loved ones are threatened, all hell breaks loose,

Hatakes are a feral clan and while they are seen as “domestic” in modern times not so much in the Warring States, there are two reactions. One (stupid) people will try to fight them to scare them off (ha) or are scared to high heaven and back away from them

Hatakes have fangs and have habits like touching and calling their close ones pack and mate and pup if considered pack 

Yes all of his students are his pups and Tenzo is affectionately called a sapling once he realizes that is a THING for Senju’s to say to their young

Tenzo secretly loves it

But before he never said it out loud since, you know, trauma

Hatakes are territorial of their pack so if anyone messes with their pack when they can’t handle it you are going to wake up with your throat being ripped apart from Hatake teeth

Having a Hatake and Uchiha couple might be a pair made in shinobi heaven if I think in that sense

Fear them

Kakashi gives head pats like it is free candy

Everyone decided to have the Hatake clan symbol on them to place a barrier between them and other warring clans because no one likes to mess with Hatakes (only dumb people do, aka, the political greedy people)

Oh wait I found my plot!

Sakura is still considered a civilian during this time, with no family name or any of that sort since, back then, a civilian was too poor to have a last name, so she, alongside Sai, are now Hatake. 

Since Hatake’s have a pack mentality they do have the occasion of adopting outside their clan and giving their last name, however, there have been very few cases in which a clan outsider is adopted into the Hatake. Usually, this is issued to the clan head of that clan and things will get sorted out. But, because Sasuke, Naruto, and Tenzo are time travelers, no one knows of them nor are they official in the clan registry they don’t do that. 

 Bastard children if you will, and while it's possible for both Naruto and Tenzo that is going to be difficult to tell with Sasuke and Obito

So they decided not to use their last names in such situations unless officially asked if they were of [instert clan here] and just said they are by blood

After all, last names are a claim so they are careful to say they are a Uchiha, Uzumaki, or Senju

Do they claim them?

I mean no?????

Let's say no

They are blood-related but do not claim name, claim blood, not name. If named they are shipped to the clan’s compound and goodbye pack member. 

NOT ON KAKASHI’S WATCH

Ok so, timeline!

I’m gonna make it about maybe a year or more before the death of Inzuma

Just because I can and because tension is still there

But not THE tension if you know what I mean

I want Tobirama to feel like something is wrong with the Chakra signatures floating around but I want Hashirama to know first what the actual problem is with the forest warning him about a pack he should not cross

Why the forest?

Because they feel another person with the forest within them

Aka Tenzo

Case and point

They find Sasuke first by accident

It was a patrol of Senju who found him and immediately didn’t know what to do but they had to capture the thing because obviously it was a Uchiha

They corner him and they are about to catch him when the trees start to move

At first, they think it's their clan head who came to trap him 

But no

The branches are capturing THEM and leaving the Uchiha alone

So now they are confused

Confused they see a man with short chestnut hair come out from nowhere, take the Uchiha into his arms, and warns them that they shouldn't mess with a Hatake cub

And

Disappears

They promptly freak the fuck out

I'll add more later and edit more of my other two ideas cus I can. Nice to do a break on the dcxdp fandom not gonna lie.

Part 2 | Part 3

[brickeater712]

help me stay awake tonight?

cw: moore x reader, bondage, vibra/tors, edg/ing, over/stim, ruined org/asm, pet names, mentions of public sex, ejacu/lating strap, gags, ruined org/asm, multiple org/asms, watching yourself get fucked???

quite the amazing idea from my twitter mutual i think. i like it lots

“you know, it’s already two in the morning.” 

you peek into moore’s office, looking on as she yawns and types away at her computer. 

“mmm.” she hums, and tears her eyes away from the bright shining screen. “already?” her eyes zero in on the clock above the door frame. “well,” she shrugs, “my work is due soon, anyway…” and just like that, she turns back to the computer.

you sigh and step into her office, moving to stand next to her. “we have another meeting in the morning though…” you grimace, trying to get her away from her work. 

“that’s fine!” she giggles lightly. “i can always sleep after the meeting ends.”

you pout at her, causing her to coo. “don’t worry too much about it, cutie. i just need some coffee-” she reaches for her thermos flask- “to get me through the night.” 

you reach over quickly and grab the flask from her. she whines and tries to grab it back. “no more coffee for you. you’ll die of a caffeine overdose, you know.”

moore sighs and drops her hands. “fine. you’ll help me stay up tonight then?” she pleads with you.

“why not.” you shrug, playfully rolling your eyes. this wouldn’t be your first all-nighter anyways.

________________

“m-moore, wait!” those are the last words that you choke out, before moore shoves a thick cable into your mouth, muffling your noises. your hands are bound too, by a smaller, thinner, cable, that moore had decided she had no more use for. you’re squirming on a cleared-out table, clothes tossed away to the corner of the room.

“perhaps your cute noises will keep both of us awake till the meeting, hm?” moore had said, before lifting you up and plopping you on the table.

she hums as she binds your ankles to the legs of the table, to keep you still for her. your eyes follow her movements and you watch as her huge, floating monitors reposition themselves around the room. 

“i guess i can take an hour or two off of work, right?” moore holds that ever-kind smile on her face, though you don’t miss the mischievous glint present in her eyes either. your eyes widen as you see her walking toward you, with a vibrator in her hand. 

“no need to look so surprised, cutie, even someone like me has needs to fulfil when i’m working in the middle of the night…” she chuckles and moves to stand in front of you, staring directly at your already glistening cunt, clearly aroused by the situation that you’re put in. she taps the head of the vibrator on your throbbing clit, making you whimper behind your gag. 

“what a good girl, staying still for me… well, not like you can do anything about it anyways.” she muses, and turns on the vibrator. the whirring of the device rings through the room, scaring and exciting you at the same time. without letting you react, she pushes the head of the vibrator directly onto your clit, making your thighs attempt to close instinctively. 

you moan desperately, eyes widening as the intense pleasure rocks through your core so quickly. she moves it around, trying to determine the best position to stimulate you the hardest. you toss your head from side to side, drool escaping from the corners of your lips. 

she moves the vibrator around until it hits the underside of your sensitive clit, and that’s when you really start reacting. she delights in the way that your teeth dig into the cables that gag you, and your legs struggle to kick against the air. your cunt is already dripping slick onto the table, wetting the area under your ass. she giggles as she watches your body shake against its restraints, eyes rolling back into your head. 

you squeal (as best as you can while gagged) when she turns up the speed on the toy, now vibrating against your clit so painfully, so deliciously. you don’t get to warn her at all before you suddenly cum, and start squirting onto her clothes, staning it. 

but the moment the first jet of fluid hits her, she reacts fast and takes the vibrator away quickly- smiling as she watches your eyes go wide, hips attempting to buck up against nothing as your squirting dies down, as does your ruined orgasm. tears fall from your eyes, and your clit is left red, angry, and throbbing, waiting for more stimulation from the cruel woman in front of you. little whines escape your gag, making her coo at you.

“oh, cutie, don’t whine so much! why would i let the night end so quickly? there’s still so much time left…” she pouts, keeping eye contact with you as the still-on toy vibrates in her hand. she moves and whistles as she moves the huge screens in the room once more, three of them now hovering over your still shaking body. 

“let’s see here… ah!” she exclaims excitedly as she wheels something over to you, a strange contraption with multiple cameras attached. she positions it right beside the leg of the table, and with that, the monitors around you turn on, with the screens first showing some static before cutting to blurry views of your thighs, your breasts, and the middle monitor- a centered view of your dripping cunt. 

your entire body flushes a deep red, and your eyes lock on to the view of your own pussy gushing more slick at the sight. you squirm and whimper, biting down on the cable- you feel as if your teeth have dug into the cables to expose the copper inside. she moves to set down the vibrator on a table, and from the same drawer, pulls out a harness, and a thick, translucent, dildo- clearly meant to stretch your cunt out. it’s ribbed- she plans to make you cum over and over tonight. 

your body wants to wriggle away, but you also don’t miss how your pussy throbs at the image of getting stretched out by moore. she catches it as well.

“i saw that, cutie.” she muses as she puts the harness on. “looks like you want me to fill you up too.” she fixes the dildo into place, showing off her strap in all its glory. “what do you think? does it look good on me?” she teases, delighting in the way you nod desperately, a few more tears rolling down your face. 

“good girl! now, i don’t have any lube here, so you’ll just have to help me get my cock ready for you.” she cheers, as if she weren’t about to fuck you into oblivion. she walks up to you, clacking of heels accompanied with the whirring of machines resounding in the room. she reaches down to take the cables out of your mouth, causing you to choke on your spit. 

when you recover, you look up to see her nonchalant face, and down to see the thick dildo in hand. “open wide, baby.” that’s the only warning you get before she shoves her cock into your mouth. 

you gag immediately, trying to adjust to the size of the strap in your mouth, nearly forcing its way down your throat. you glance up, with tearful eyes, and for the first time, you see a change in moore’s expression. 

a darker glint in her eyes, and her smile seems a little more sinister- her cheeks flush a dark red and she huffs everytime she thrusts her cock deeper into your mouth. her look excites you wildly, and you try your best to take her into the back of your throat. 

you tear your eyes away from her, and at the corner of them, you catch a glimpse of one of the monitors- zoomed in on the way your mouth stretches around her. you nearly bite down on her strap in arousal, but instead relax your throat to allow her to fuck into it deeper. 

moore hilts herself in all the way, hands intertwined in your hair. she grinds into your mouth a little bit before finally pulling out, cock covered in drool and your lips flushed red. “so pretty.” she smiles, and slaps your cheek lightly a few times. she grabs the once discarded cables from the table beside her and shoves them back into your mouth, gagging you once more. 

she then walks back to the foot of the table, and you can lift your head up to see her align her strap with your sopping hole. she clicks her tongue, “eyes up, look at the screen.” you nod, eyes zeroing in on the screen displaying your cunt and her strap that is prodding at your swollen clit. 

“good.” she praises, and finally starts sinking her cock into your pussy. you let out a shaky sigh behind the gag, and your eyes roll back as you feel the stretch of every ridge of the dildo against your walls. you try to roll your hips forward to meet her pushing, but she’s binded you well- you can only lie there and take everything she gives you. 

“ biiiiiiiig stretch, cutie.” she mumbles, as she hilts herself inside your needy cunt. you look dizzily at the screen, watching as you visibly clench around her. you can only whimper out, trying to get her to move inside you, and she takes the hint. she doesn’t hesitate to begin thrusting slowly, helping you get used to the large toy. 

eventually, when she sees that you’re comfortable, she starts speeding up, and digs her fingers into your thighs. only the slick sounds coming from your cunt, and the soft “ mmfgh, mmf ”s can be heard throughout the room. you can barely focus on the screen as you can feel yourself approaching your much-needed orgasm, eyes crossing and toes curling. 

moore can feel you clenching harder around her- she knows that you’re close. “cum anytime you want, cutie- ah, but i won’t touch your little clit, ‘kay? it’s already so sore from the vibrator just now.” she fakes a sad pout and coos at you, though you could tell she was stifling a laugh while she was looking at your current, piteous state. 

you can only whine at her, though she pays no mind to the noises you make. without warning, she angles the strap differently- hitting your sweet spot intensely. and just like that, you cum immediately, squirting over her strap and dirtying her clothes. but it’s not enough- your swollen clit still untouched, still left unsatisfied amidst the jets of fluid squirting from your already sore cunt. your long, drawn out whines and hip movements tell moore all she needs to know. 

she slows down, making you shake your head desperately. “aww! not finished yet?” she giggles, thrusting hard just once into you, your head thrown back from the mild shock. “fine,” she says, almost mocking, “i’ll touch your pretty clit this time.” 

she pulls out of you, making you whine at the empty feeling, but it doesn’t take long for her to return, with that cruel vibrator in hand once more. she slides back into you with ease, making you whimper. however, the whimper turns into a scream when you feel the vibrator back on your clit, kicking your body into oversensitivity. 

amidst the buzzing of the toy and the the sounds of filthy squelching, you can hear moore laughing- at you, no doubt, as she pushes the toy against the underside of your clit once more. your hips try to wiggle away from the stimulation, but it’s impossible with the way you’re tied- and you cum around her with a squeal, but she doesn’t let up with her movements. you glance at the screen once more, now catching a view of your slick dripping onto the floor from your drenched cunt. 

the buzzing gets too much, almost painful , but she pushes harder. you slowly lose the strength to struggle against her, eventually succumbing to the pleasure she gives you. you’re simply laying limp on the desk, head thrown to one side with your eyes rolled back. she can tell that you’re close to your limit.

“one more, okay?” you barely get a nod out, and she grins. “gooooood girl.” it’s almost patronizing, but you’re is too fucked out to care. “maybe i should keep you tied up to a machine next time? that would be better than any coffee i could drink, no?” she proposes. 

the thought has you squeezing around her once more. she continues putting the filthiest ideas into your head. through your hazy mind, you can barely make out a few things she says- “how about i fuck you in the meeting in the morning?” and, “next time, i’ll record you getting fucked silly and send it to you while you’re working.” 

through a couple of choked out sobs and tears, you agree mindlessly- you can’t wait for the next time she has you like this. “gonna give you a treat now, sweet girl.” you don’t have the time or energy to question what she meant, before you feel her slam her strap home, and then something filling you up. your eyes jerk to the screen, and you can see a thin shot of cum flowing through the dildo into your worn out cunt. 

you cum wordlessly for the last time, creaming around her strap, body convulsing on the table. she jerks the dildo a little bit around inside you, trying to get her cum as deep as possible. she slows the speed down on the vibrator, eventually stopping it and putting it aside when your jerking dies down. she says something about pulling out- you can barely process anything anymore- and slowly removes her strap from your pussy, and you can feel the emptiness in you once more. your eyes watch wearily as your mixed fluids drip from your hole- which reminds you. 

your fingers, luckily, aren’t bound, and you make weak noises, pointing at her crotch area.

“me? oh, you want me to cum?” she giggles, petting your cunt gently. “don’t worry about it, sweetie, maybe i’ll have you eat me out under my desk tomorrow. you groan out gently, feeling your binds be removed. when she finally takes the cables out of your mouth, you cough a few times before speaking hoarsely. 

“moore… the meeting…” you can barely keep your eyes open, but you can feel her scoop you up into her arms, and kiss you on the forehead. 

“worry not cutie, i’ll clean you up and you can rest on the couch. i’ll wake you up when the morning comes…” she trails off, and it’s the last thing you hear before you pass out in her arms.

“ah… but there’s the issue of carrying you to the bathroom without you getting seen…”

[pneumaticshift]

I just read the latest chapter of BLP!! SO GOOD. Hal’s quiet resignation is such a mood haha. He’s in it for the long haul, unfortunately. It also made me think of a prompt if you’re interested.

What if established batlantern featured a Hal that was a master guilt tripper? I feel like the bats are so emotionally repressed that open emotion or, dare I say, even open crying from Hal would immediately give him an upper hand against most of them.

Now who could fuck up enough in the family that the normally chill Hal would use this power for evil? Who’s to say haha.

Love your stuff! Hope you’re having a good day :)

Ahh, thank you so much!! Really glad you're enjoying it.

I had a lot of fun with your prompt. I feel like Hal's not much of a dick to be emotionally manipulative for big serious things, but he'd definitely use it to be the petty little shit he was always destined to be. I hope you like it 💚💚🦇

———

Jason liked to limit his time in the manor, mostly because he didn’t want Bruce to get the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was the old man to think he was on the verge of some grand, heartfelt return to the family. He certainly wasn’t planning on moving back in or, god forbid, partaking in some kind of formal reinstatement into the fold. 

No, obviously Jason wasn’t here out of any sense of comfort. It was all strictly practical. Maybe his safehouse had a busted boiler. Maybe his internet was out. Maybe Gotham was just particularly miserable tonight and he still hadn’t fixed the window in his apartment.

Then again, there was something about the quiet hum of the Batcomputer that made his shoulders loosen just a fraction. Not that he’d ever acknowledge it, out loud or otherwise. He leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the console just to annoy Bruce in absentia. Jason planned to be gone way before the old man came back from whatever corner he was brooding in, but Jason liked to believe he’d feel a vague sense of irritation by proxy. 

He wasn’t staying, obviously. He’d just come to borrow some gear. A few upgrades, maybe a couple of batarangs. Not because he needed them, but because stealing from Bruce had always been a real satisfying hobby. Sure, he might have taken a detour to the library to swipe a few of Bruce’s first editions, too. One of them had even been bookmarked, which made it infinitely more enjoyable to take.

Now he was sprawled out in front of the Batcomputer, making a dent in some leftover sesame chicken straight from the container. He didn’t know who’s it was, but Batfamily law decreed that if it had been in the fridge for more than a day, then it was fair game. 

Jason had been in the middle of watching a blurry video compilation of Cursed Gotham Sightings — which included at least three separate clips of himself when he was still running about in his more homicidal phase, and one video of Bruce eating shit after his grapple broke — when the Batcave’s security gave a low, lazy chime. That meant someone with clearance had entered. Which, in turn, meant that Jason didn’t have to shoot them. A shame, really. 

He barely had enough time to decide on his excuse for being there when Hal Jordan floated in like he belonged. 

And, okay, technically he did these days, and that was something Jason was still struggling to wrap his head around. Hal had been dating Bruce for a while now, long enough that Jason stopped expecting it to be some elaborate prank or an undercover operation that Bruce had neglected to inform the family about.

Somehow, against all logic, rhyme or reason, the Green Lantern actually wanted to spend time with Bruce. Voluntarily. Without, like, an ulterior motive. And Jason had yet to determine if that meant Hal had some kind of latent head injury or if he just really enjoyed the suffering that came with a man who’d rather break a bone than express any kind of positive emotion. 

Hal took one look at Jason, then at the takeout box in his hand. "Is that my sesame chicken?”

Jason paused mid-bite and very deliberately glanced down at the takeout box. There was a smudge of sauce on the lid, a logo he hadn’t bothered to look at before, and something suspiciously close to Hal’s name scrawled on the side in what was probably Alfred’s neat handwriting.

He looked back up at Hal. “...Dunno. Might be.” And then, because committing to the bit was a family trait, he popped the chicken in his mouth and chewed nonchalantly. 

Green Lantern was well known for deliberately being a dick when the situation called for it, so Jason had been expecting some pushback. He’d seen the guy bicker with Bruce enough times that it was fairly reasonable to assume Hal would at least attempt some petty retribution. At the very least some half-assed back-and-forth that would pass the time before Jason inevitably got bored and left.

He really, really didn’t expect for Hal’s entire body to slump mid-air. Hal just, like…deflated. His shoulders hunched, his mouth opened a little like he didn’t know how to continue, and his mask fizzled away so Jason could see the very specific kind of disappointment that would’ve been more apt on a kid that just got its favourite toy taken away. Hal blinked and his feet drifted down to the ground with all the enthusiasm of a man being lowered into his own grave. 

“Oh,” Hal whispered, his voice so alarmingly soft. “Oh, okay.”

Jason panicked. This wasn’t in the script. This wasn’t how arguments were supposed to go. He could handle a petty quarrel or a physical altercation, but this… this was new, and Jason really didn’t like where this was going. 

And Hal just stood there. He wasn’t exactly a short guy, but he suddenly looked so small. He was radiating wounded sorrow and his eyes — god, his eyes. They looked moist. Not quite full-on tears, but the kind of damp, glossy sheets that made it very clear that Hal could cry if he wanted to. 

Jason felt a cold sweat start to form. He couldn’t handle tears. 

“Uh…” he started, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you—”

“No, no.” Hal waved him off, his voice too steady. Like he was holding something back. “I get it. It’s fine. I just…”

“Dude. It’s just chicken…”

“Was chicken,” Hal corrected tiredly, looking deeply, viscerally wounded. “Was mine. And now it’s—-” He cut himself off and inhaled sharply like even saying it was too much. His head shook slightly, eyes fluttering shut like he was physically stopping himself from falling apart right then and there. Jason had seen people die with less drama. “It’s gone,” Hal finally whispered.

“...I don’t—”

Hal let out another long, shuddering sigh and he tilted his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. “I thought you were different,” he continued, almost to himself. “I believed in you.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Serious?” Hal let out a humourless laugh and he looked back at Jason, eyes filled with pain. Jesus Christ, was he being legitimate right now? Jason felt something foreign and incredibly uncomfortable curl in his chest. Guilt. Actual guilt. Over takeout. This was not his natural state of being. “Jason, I dreamed about that chicken.”

“Oh my God—” “I held on,” Hal continued, placing a fist dramatically over his chest. “Through asteroid fields. Through alien war zones. Through deep, endless space.” He inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering shut again. “And I told myself, ‘One more day. One more patrol. And when I get back home, when I finally, finally touch down, it’ll be waiting for me. Warm. Safe. Loved.’” His voice cracked on that last word. “You’re messing with me, right? You’re not actually…upset about this, right?”

Hal made a wounded noise. “I trusted you man,” he murmured, just loud enough for Jason to hear. And those were exactly the words that always made him crumble, because trust was such a beautiful, sad commodity in his life. Hal proceeded to make it even worse by slamming the final nail in the coffin. “I thought we were family.”

And god-fucking-damnit, that was what broke him. 

Jason clenched his hands into fists around his chopsticks. This was a setup. He knew this was a setup. Hal Jordan simply didn’t break down over something a stupid as food. He didn’t break down, period. The guy had dealt with way too much shit in his life to let takeout dictate his emotional state. 

But Hal looked so goddamn broken. He just stood there with his chest barely rising with each soul-crushing sigh, and his big hazel eyes were dim and devastated. He looked like Jason had personally ripped his heart out and stomped on it. And that was dangerous.

Because Jason was used to the cold. He was used to the sharp blue eyes of his family and the way their gaze straight up cut. His dad — uh, Bruce (goddamnit) and his brothers had disappointment that was quiet and knife-like, slicing just deep enough to leave a scar. He knew how to brace against that, knew how to fight against it. 

Hal wasn’t cut from the same cloth as the family, though. Hal didn’t cut. He ached. His disappointment was soft, open, an exposed wound bleeding out realtime, and Jason didn’t know how to deal with that. 

“It’s just takeout, man,” he tried weakly in one last ditch attempt at retaining some kind of control of the situation. 

“You don’t get it,” Hal murmured, shaking his head. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

And Jason was apparently a weak fucking man, because he hissed an impassioned “Fuck you,” under his breath, and shoved himself away from the Batcomputer so violently that the chair nearly toppled over. He stormed out of the room before he could let Hal see just how much he’d won.

Exactly twenty-seven minutes later, he came back. He shoved a fresh box of sesame chicken onto the console, slamming it down with force. If he was doing this, he was gonna do it petulantly. 

“There,” Jason growled. “Happy now?”

Hal, now lounging on the chair and watching the compilation videos Jason had left open on the Batcomputer, didn’t even flinch. He just blinked at the box, tilted his head a little, and then — then, like he hadn’t just emotionally manipulated Jason into doing his dark bidding, grinned brightly. 

“Oh, sweet, thanks, buddy,” he said casually, already opening the lid and digging around for the chopsticks.

Jason stared at him. He just...stared. Mute, disbelieving, a little put in his place. 

When did he become so easy to manipulate? How in the hell had he let this happen? More importantly, why — why, why?? — was a small, twisted part of him actually impressed by the gall of this bastard. Jason kind of wanted to fight him.

Hal, chuckling at a grainy video of Batman falling out of a window, barely even acknowledged his crisis. He just hummed happily around a mouthful of chicken, clicked through another video on the Batcomputer, and without looking up, said, “So, you staying for dinner or not?”

Jason opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Sighed deeply. And, so completely resigned, he muttered, “Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

[willowed-wisp]

I’m really fucking drunk right now

But the request is to just make Soap and Ghost happy, however you decide to do that 😭

Complete freedom of uhhhhhhhh prompt just that, idk, I’m floating off the face of the earth right now I am not here nope nowhere too much wine I think but it was fun 👍

mistletoe [ ghost ]

————

I hope I did well with the request given, it said to make Soap and Ghost happy. And the boys do need some love. And anonymous, I feel you- my exact though process on wine lol

————

————

Christmas, the time of giving… even in the military… even in its special branches. You were the only female on your squad, which meant one thing. You would be the only one getting them presents, because that’s just what you did at the festive season.

No missions, but you did find out from Price the most vagrant member of the teams’ phone number; being placed with him and Soap on most occasions.

When he didn’t respond to your text message to meet up, you set Soap on the case. You didn’t have family, Johnny didn’t speak to his and Simon you really had no clue about… the 23rd December rolls on, you had been up since four in the morning from habit but decided to get prepared. Cutting carrots… getting the roasties ready to cook later… Yorkshire pudding mix ready to go… Turkey in the oven…

Before you knew it there was a firm knock on the door and it was ten o’clock, and you’d expected to just see the postman before they went on their holiday leave. “Somethin’ smells good… watcha cookin’?” Johnny brushed straight past you to the kitchen, and the biggest surprise was seeing Simon Riley on your doorstep.

“He’s not wrong…” He said, rubbing is feet on the mats on both the inside and outside. Taking his boots off, you smiled at his politeness. You had never hung out with Simon, he kept himself to himself. Though you thought Johnny pushed him into coming over.

Entering your kitchen, stood Johnny MacTavish with a finger dipped in the eggnog… looking like a guilty child when you entered, “It wasn’t me, I swear…” You waved it off.

“A bit of gun grease never hurt anyone…” Knowing how messy the job proved most of the time, “How does it taste? The eggnog, not gun grease…” Ghost just stood leaned against the door frame connecting kitchen and living room. While Johnny tasted.

His eyes electric giving a hum, “Oh my god, Simon, you’ve got to try some…” Eyes lingered on you and then Johnny.

“I’m driving back, remember…”

“Come on, Lt… I’m sure Y/N doesn’t mind us staying until later, do you?” Head shaking with a dim smile on your lips.

Opening the overhead cupboard, “I even stocked a couple bottles of bourbon…” A brow raised by Simon beneath the hood and Johnny chuckled.

He shook your shoulders from behind you, “How can you say no to these faces?” Both giving your best mopey frowning.

Simon’s arms folded, “Use that technique in negotiations? Because I’m not turnin’ down a bottle of bourbon…” Johnny released your shoulders, returning back to the eggnog jug. “I wanna know why we’re actually here?” You hadn’t realised he’d slipped to stand directly beside you, and you felt your knees numb at the height of the man you’d spent hours of missions with…

It felt like you were under interrogation, “I thought you both deserved a homemade Christmas meal instead of a ready-made spag bol from the shops…” Only comprehending how close the man was to you, pushing off the island countertop and checking the turkey…

You had ushered the men to sit at counter on stools, Johnny had a jug of half gone eggnog in hand and Simon a whiskey glass. Simon more than Johnny marvelled how you worked around the kitchen, a spring in your step and a cheeky glint in your eye. A nudge to his right side, “Y’ staring, Lt…” He didn’t respond to the Sergeant, knowing fully well… maybe it wasn’t a good idea to go to your house and stay for an alcohol catering pre-Christmas meal.

But he couldn’t help it, “Need any help?”Talking to an optimistic person was what he craved and you seemed to be the only one in 141 that was a ray of sunshine in the storm ahead.

You queried, “You any good with mashing potatoes?” You swore you had never seen fluffier potatoes after Simon had finished up with the saucepan. “I’m impressed… and you alright there, Johnny?”

“Me nanna always slipped m’ some eggnog when I was a wee lad,” His cheeks ruddier than usual, and his smile wider. Let alone his speech, Simon and yourself sharing a humoured look at barely being able to understand your teammate.

Simon nudged him, taking the jug passing it to you, “Think you’ve had enough of that, Sergeant. Barely fuckin’ understand ya…” You giggled into your wine glass, taking a sip; meeting Ghost’s eye contact. He’d forgotten to take his mask up as the drink sputtered down his neck and onto his white shirt, “Fucks sake…” Discarding his jacket.

Johnny from the side, “Shit, bourbon stains like a bitch…” Simon didn’t care about the shirt, he just didn’t want to spend the entire day with an orange stain down himself.

“Throw me the shirt, I’ll get it out in a jiffy…” He cocked his eyebrow at you, “Not shy are you, Ghost?” In no time, his shirt was off and a flash of white caught in your hands.

His chin jerked up, “Work your magic then, love…” You couldn’t believe Simon Riley was taunting you, attempting to avert your gaze from landing on that toned chest and his broad shoulders. Relatively easy being around muscled men your entire career, though you were disappointed when his hoodie came over to block his skin. All while you used bicarbonate and white vinegar, scrubbing until the darker patch faded till it was barely there.

“Á voila!” Holding up the large T-shirt, “just need to chuck it in the wash.” Throwing it in with a bundle you had yet to put on. The alarm going off for the oven. Thinking a curse, tackling so much at once. Opting to run to the washing machine, throwing some washing powder and conditioner in. Returning back to the kitchen, alarm on snooze but met with the sight of Ghost carving the turkey, his collarbones defined and visible as was the top of his chest. The hem rising just enough to see the band of his boxers.

Johnny just smirked at you, merry as could be watching his squad members mentally undress each other between half-lidded gazes. “So you’re good with all kinds of knives?” You didn’t mean it to come out like a purr but it had, dishing up the roasties. Johnny was setting the three table places- he shot you a smile. A knowing one, that you had harboured a crush on your superior since you joined the SAS.

Simon Riley just had a swagger about him- a cockiness to his aptitude. He was also caring, whether he accepted that compliment or not. He had saved your life more times than you could count, you’d had his back countless in turn. Partners in stealth and then Johnny was brought into the dynamic, you’d hit it off immediately- you viewed him as an annoying, endearing brother all the while Ghost commented flirty jokes to you. Never enough to have intention but he still said it.

Never knowing much about the man, for all you knew he could have a wife and kids at home.

But the way he was acting, it could be a Christmas miracle that Lt. Simon Riley returned whatever flicker of a feeling you held for him. Fingers brushing against each other as you reached for the same cutlery set bundled beforehand by Johnny. Simon’s whiskey beside your wine while you had staved Johnny on lemonade. “I’m comin’ ‘ere for every Christmas… how did you ge’ the turkey like tha’,” It warmed your heart, you knew Johnny didn’t speak to his family all that much and that his Christmases were spent alone. “Wha’ abou’ you, Lt?”

Simon had his mask up below his nose, and had been munching away. Simply giving a shrug, before digging into more. If he hated it, he wouldn’t be going in for more on the plate.

“You’re okay with us stayin’ the night?” You had been the one to suggest it, and your house had three bedrooms. Though Johnny seemed content sleeping on the sofa- passing out after finishing off the jug of eggnog. You had draped a blanket over him. Simon was holding his whiskey well and hadn’t overdone it unlike the man asleep like a baby.

You were glad to be upstairs, avoiding Johnny’s snoring. “We’ll leave in the mornin’, so you can get shit ready for your family to come over…” That was the sad truth and he saw it on your face.

“I don’t have anybody round Christmas time…”

“No family?” It wasn’t like Simon to ask, the whiskey had loosened him up.

Your head shook, “My parents died, they’d been disowned by their families… so I’m usually on my own with a ready made spaghetti bolognese on Christmas,” You were too close to him- a wall overhead. Only noticing then that a stray mistletoe sat in that spot all year round. Your parents used to make an effort to kiss under it every day…

“We’re under mistletoe…” His gruff voice spoke too effortless while a blush covered your cheeks; maybe from the wine but maybe from how naked he was under that hoodie- forgetting that his shirt was still in the wash. “You’re gonna have to take it off?”

An arm around your waist as you wobbled. “What do you mean?” His other hand removed the mask he always made an effort to wear even while eating. But there he was, a normal man with a charming grin and puppy dog eyes. “Simon…?” Unsure of him…

“I wanna kiss you, Y/N…” And you sealed the deal, lips on his- stood on tiptoes with his palms keeping you upright. He was fire against you, your fingerprints were invisible when marking his neck. It was like a wave calmly drifting to shore, like Simon all together. Something that could be so violent yet tender, especially beneath your touch. Your lips off his, finding comfort in the eyes you’d known for years. “Did you want us to stay in the morning?”

Pondering, “Don’t you have family who want to spend Christmas with you?” A shake of the head with a lopsided grin on his face.

The man shrugged, “We never did anything for it, it’s just another day,” that’s when he grabbed your hand, “But I’d love to spend Christmas with you… and Johnny…”

The three of you ended up making another Christmas dinner on the 25th, Johnny got drunk on eggnog and ended up doing karaoke while you and Simon held hands under a blanket. A snap of you three on your Polaroid and added to your kitchen’s cork board and a picture from Christmas evening of you and Simon Riley in bed- no mask but the fact neither of you were wearing clothes wasn’t obvious.

He would come back after dropping Johnny off on Boxing Day… “Shit! I forgot to give you two presents…” He pulled you back onto the sofa as you went to rush away.

“You gave us something better than a present…” Before planting a kiss on your temple, “And your cooking was perfect,” cuddling into you watching a cheesy Christmas movie. Kind of like the one you had just lived out.

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cod m.list | request guidelines | ghost m.list

[suzukiblu]

WIP guessing game: "Robin"

Superboy has existed for about six months at best (five months, two weeks, and six days, but who's creepily spying on their fellow heroes and vigilantes? not Tim, for sure) and was created in a lab full of extremely niche genetic experiments whose creators very rarely bothered making look human, which is probably why he has some weird ideas about certain social norms.

Tim assumes that's why the guy just decided to drop a very annoyed Catwoman on him out of nowhere, anyway.

"The fuck?" he says, though through his vocoder it comes out more like the incoherent screeching of the damned. That being, well, the whole purpose of the vocoder and all. Superboy grins down at him from the nighttime sky all bright and sunny and weirdly adorable, for being a lab-grown weapon and a guy who is technically capable of disassembling Tim down to his individual atoms with, like, a touch and about two seconds' worth of thought.

Not that Tim has been creepily spying on anyone or said anyone's Cadmus files, again.

Also Superboy might not even know he can do that yet, so it's really not a smart thing to mention right now.

"Hey, man!" Superboy greets cheerfully. "She was breaking into that big museum a couple blocks over, figured you'd care about that. As opposed to, like, breaking into some rich asshole with insurance's penthouse. Figured you would not have cared about that."

"The museum also has insurance, for the record," Selina informs him sourly as she makes an art of getting off her unceremoniously roof-dumped ass while looking like being on this roof was her idea to begin with. Because, like: Selina. "And has not properly sourced the artifacts in their new Bast exhibit."

I know, that's why I was on my way to the museum to keep an eye out for you, is what Tim does not say, since Robin is supposed to be a splintered aspect of a mysterious all-knowing city spirit given human form and not just, like, a really dedicated teenager surviving on semi-legal energy drinks and conspiracy-board detective work and the occasional occult ritual to summon the Batman.

What he does do is jerkily cock his head and say, "Preyyyyy?", and let his vocoder horribly mangle the word into a sound usually best described as "unholy avian screeching". Superboy beams, which is not a normal reaction to hearing Robin's voice. Selina just rolls her eyes, but Selina of course knows about the whole "really dedicated teenager surviving on semi-legal energy drinks and conspiracy-board detective work and the occasional occult ritual to summon the Batman" thing.

Like she's never summoned the Batman for anything, geez. Or "Bruce", as an eight year-old Dick Grayson had once upon a time decided to randomly dub him. Tim still can't call the eternal and unsleeping eldritch protector of their city that without feeling like he's going to spontaneously combust, but it is in fact a thing that the Batman will answer to.

Might as well call Pennyworth "Alfie", though.

Jason was even worse at names than Dick, Tim is pretty sure.

"Yeah!" Superboy says, sounding still more cheerful and floating down the rest of the way to the roof to land lightly in front of Tim. Selina eyes him in a way that would end very badly for anyone who was not functionally invulnerable. "I mean, she seems cool and all but I dunno, figured the Bat wasn't big on Cats in his territory. And also the criming. Definitely also the criming."

"How . . . find Robin?" Tim asks. Superboy doesn't have enhanced senses, as far as he knows, so . . .

"Oh, I've been stalking you," Superboy explains. Tim blinks behind his unblinking mask and feels several ways about that statement. "That's what you Bats all do when you're interested in somebody, right? So I figured you'd like it if I did it back."

. . . Tim feels several ways about that statement.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Lost at Star Sea

It was sheer luck I even glanced down. Stopped, longed enough to doubled check, triple check, my next jump. I didn't really need too. Trusted my ship's computers, (quite literally) with my life. Kinda had too, after so long, out in the sea of stars. So the fact that I paused? Checked? Noticed that stuttering little signal at all?

Really, it could only be luck.

Good, bad, a miracle or disaster in the making? Couldn't tell ya.

But I DID notice. And I DID, immediately, hit the override for my cued up jumps to Starline. Because as every pilot worth even a fraction of their soul will tell you? You see an SOS beacon? You fucking ANSWER it.

Yes, pirates pull the "help I'm stuck" trick. And yeah, there are other unscrupulous folks out there. But! That's part of why the bounty hunter's guild and pirate hunter's come down so HARD on those fuckers. If you discourage people from HELPING stranded pilots? People fucking DIE out there.

Cold Void Of Space, remember?

Far as I'm concerned? Old ship rules apply, there are enough horrors, lurking out there. We do NOT need to add to them. All differences are to be kept planet side. THEN you can kill each other.

Thank the stars, I had decided to go the back lanes. Yeah, it added a few extra weeks to my trip, that I couldn't spend on that swanky beach at Starline, but? The "road trip" through the outer edge of the galaxy had been worth it. Plenty of cool sights and fun new foods. And NOW, clearly, the much needed chance to be in the right place at the right time.

Getting my ship in close, I tried to hail the softly free floating wreck. It looked smashed. Like it hit or was struck by something at speed. They had clearly managed to slow themselves, but beyond that? I couldnt see much stabilization. The whole ship sat dark. Not good.

My dash said there was nothing to hail TOO. Fuck. I tried difference frequencies. Maybe they had a hand-held? Earpiece? Something? But I couldn't connect to anything. Find, anything. Shit! Okay. Okay! Plan B. Try to get a registration while I connect us up. Pray to which ever Gods gaurds this one's soul, that they breathe a similar gas mix.

Loading... loading...

Oh, thank FUCK!

Compatible air AND drones, someone up or out there, really DOES want these guys to live! I force myself to be calm. Rushing won't help anybody, but WILL make a mess, after all. Bring up that frustrating drone request program I downloaded on a whim. Watch as, dispite the odds, lights flicker on across the hull of the ship.

Emergency protocols engage. They, obviously, get no counter order. And? Like the beautiful, life saving, little dumbasses they are? Immediately begin to zip and trundle into position to drag the wreckage in towards my ship. Gods bless the collective single IQ point of drones. Good babies. Such good babies!

With a heavy shudder and thunk, we connect.

Already, I am hovering by the latch. Emergency kit in hand. Breather on. The second it's confirmed, I twist the latch and...Oh gods. The air that surges up to greet me is so cold, it BURNS. I hadn't even though I was sweating, hadn't noticed it, until it felt like stabbing flash frozen crystals on my face. Shit! Oh gods, oh SHIT!

I scramble down, ladder burning cold even through my gloves. Red emergency lights and terrible silence greet me. I move quick. Emergencies & Stranding classes echoing in my head. Check the warmest part of the ship first, then work your way out. If they CAN move, they'll know to retreat there.

Registration said the ship had fifteen people. No idea how many survived the impact and cold, but hopefully? All of them. I may not have the room or rations for a comfortable trip. But it'd be warm. And I could get them to a port.

They should be in the central compartment, which is usually critical storage and medbay. Getting there, the door has clearly been forced to slide open by someone with claws and blood on their hands. It couldn't close properly, they bent it getting it open.

Looking down, there... oh gods. There is A LOT of blood on the floor.

Something... someONE? Dragged to storage. Blood trails thick on the floor. There must be a preserver; trying, maybe, to keep their friends from rotting? Might be shock? And they just... couldn't figure out where to put the bodies. I shake my head, tearing my horrified eyes away. Concentrate! Save the living. The dead are already gone. Be sick about it later.

It takes the crowbar I brought, now cold enough to worry me, to force the door to slide again. The room in side is barely warmer then the air outside. But? There, against the far wall? Is just about every clothe and piece of fabric in the ship. Two emergency blankets glinting from withing the chaotic pile.

The only other people in the room are clearly dead. Injuries. He must have tried to treat them but been unable too. Regardless of what happened, I rush forward. Unearthing an unconscious Aqualin from his self made fabric tomb. The colouration might mean he's from the deep water region. But without his eyes or mouth open I can't TELL.

I hope so, his chance of survival would go up tremendously. Dragging the limp, dangerously hypothermic, man onto my shoulders in a fireman's carry, I get us the hell out. His front is stained in blood. His hands coated. Everything that could go wrong? Seems too. But if I have any say, he is NOT dying here.

Dragging us into my now cold ship, I clumsily kick at the latch until I manage to flip it closed. Just for now. I'll have to go back down for those blankets and such, to help get him warm. But first? I get my rescue set up, warming up.

A further few, brutally cold, few trips to loot the ship of what I safely can before I can close that latch for good. Lock away the horrors to be found there. Stacking everything up and off to the side for him. I'm pretty sure I even found his wallet. So at least? He won't be destitute. Then, while the droids transferred the last of the wreck's fuel? I start to bring up the heat back to normal. Slowly.

Once all is said and down, I silence the emergency beacon and send in the mandatory report. Might be a while before a cleaning crew can get out here... but, well... at least those poor bastard's family's would have some closure. Life insurance. That sort if thing.

.....fuck today has been shit.

"Ooooh go on a vacaaaaation~" Everybody said. "You're so overworked!" They had said. "So STRESSED! You definitely won't find a ship full of corpses!" Thanks for that, guys! Having SUCH a great time. No, REALLY.

Detaching from the wreckage is almost... no, IS horrific in how easy it is. It just... float away. Silent, dark, and gentle. A cold bit of nothingness, lost in the void. Sinking into the stars with it's cargo full of dead, like... like nothing happened at all. It looks so small. Just a twisted bit of metal. Drifting... drifting... away....

Even with the heaters bringing the heat back up, I feel cold.

That could have been me.

What the hell happened? I tear my eyes away from the view screen. Back down to the dash board. Standard operating procedure is to grab the black box of a wreck, even if you find no survivors. Helps universal safety innovation and regulatory blah blah blah. Had to drill it into my head to even GET my license. So... so now... there it is. Grabbed.

I... COULD look.

Fiddling with my rescues wallet, I stare at it. It's hella illegal. Breach of privacy. You can't just... just go into someone's ship and poke around. Look up where they've been and who they've been talking too about what. All their data would be on that thing. Soothing MY anxiety is not more important then THEIR boundaries, right? I should leave it.

I flip the wallet open. My rescue's smiling face grins back up at me, like some sort of dork at a photo shoot. He's leaning against an advertisement for, ironically, Starline. Probably the same beach that convinced me to go. All relaxed confidence and swagger, he looks nothing like the half frozen man I dragged from that ship.

My rescue has lost weight. A concerning amount of color. But? Looking at the rich black of the eyes and the point of his teeth? He seem to be either mostly or full blooded Deep Sea Aqualin. Thank FUCK.

There was a celebrity Tropical Region Aqualin a while back that my baby cousin was weirdly obsessed with. Not stalking obsessed, but? The "family is concerned" obsessed, you know? We all ended up learning WAY too much about their entire species. WAY, WAY too much.

Dea Sea Aqualin are apparently just? Built different. Like, "can withstand a degree of pressure and cold and would kill most others" different. The dehydration might still get him, but the cold? Might NOT.

Flipping the wallet closed, I ignore my gut. I don't need to see what's on that black box. Yeah, I'd find out what happened after they lost propulsion. But? Watching doomed men die? That's sick. There's nothing worth finding there. It's just anxiety.

I reset my next jump. The sooner we get to the next port, the sooner my Rescue (X'alus, apparently) can get help. Then? I head back to check on him. I think, he might be stirring. Approaching the mound of blankets, it turns out I'm right.

" 'rm?" He manages to slur, voices crackling like it's a fight to get anything out. "Wh're 'm? Who?"

There is no good way to tell someone a whole ship full of crewmates is... gone. But, fuck, if I don't try. Gently sitting him up, I help him drink from a hydration pouch. Little at a time, so as not to stress his likely starved stomach. He leans, boneless, towards me. Like he wishes he could drag himself into my lap. Staring like I hold the secrets to the universe.

"Pre'ty. Warm. You sav'd me?"

I nod, shooting him a smile as I tuck the blanket more firmly around him. Poor guy is still pretty weak. But he's healing fast. That's good. He smiles back, bright predators teeth glinting in the ship's light. (Bit unhinged looking, but hey, he seems loopy.)

"Y're my hero~ pre'ty, pre'ty hero~!"

"Arn't I lucky? You found me!"

[echolynn13]

SFTH Chaotic Highlights (The Dark Moons of Slough)

My fourth longform highlights post and I think I'm getting better at this commentary thing

Starting off with yet another example of Luke and Sam being on the exact same wavelength. Luke hears the title, gets onstage, within a second starts cackling like a witch, and Sam joins in with zero hesitation. I love their dynamic so much, they bounce off each other so well

Luke's insistence on having 3 witches like it's Hocus Pocus or something-

AJ's voice dying while he tries to do a witch voice lmao

Synchronized improv must be insane to attempt, the fact their little chant made any sense at all is astonishing tbh

And yes, the witches' spell building up the scene just for it to create soup to win a food festival is pretty funny

Have any of the fanartists drawn the witches with their big ball of floating soup? Because I just really wanna see that visualized

"We do not speak of the Great Wizard, Ascaroth!" Only a matter of time before someone fucks up that name

"We don't do it anymore, we just call him.. That PrickTM"

I wasn't 100% sure but yeah, The Big Book of Soups does in fact exist. And now I want it, purely as an inside joke

Before a quick google search, I did not know who Jamie Oliver was, so the whole first run through this play I had no idea what the naked chef jokes were referencing, I just appreciated them without context. Just like I did for the entirety of The Prime Minister's First Day (because American)

Sam taking any opportunity to moan #1 (probably not actually the first time, but I'm gonna start a tally istg)

I like when someone tries to set up a plot point and we as the audience get to watch it either slowly fade away or burn up on impact. "Maybe we should sabotage That PrickTM" by Sam is an example of the latter

The bottled soup bit where Sam's confused (because apparently it's a Spain thing) and Luke also being confused (because I'm certain he completely blanked on the fact bottled soup is not normal to see in the UK)

Another thing they do a lot is when two characters are bickering and quickly descend into unintelligible noises and a third person typically has to calm them down

AJ deciding to randomly sing That PrickTM's name (yes I'll be doing that the entire post), and Sam just has to explain it away by saying it's his ringtone

Hugh Fernly Whittingstone/Stall might be the fastest name fuck-up they've ever had. But I think the subtitles are the only ones that noticed, so it barely counts

Might need to start a tally for AJ entering the scene as a random animal as well

This time, only to get brutally murdered and eaten. The most fucked up thing I've laughed at in a while, that was an insane move on Sam's part

No, I will not be trusting that process Sam

No wonder the witches call him That PrickTM

"It's me, Jamie Oliver" AJ acting like this is new, previously secret information

"I know it's dark magic, Jamie. How else would someone like you become a famous chef?" Okay I didn't learn that much about him, do people not like Jamie Oliver?

Live reaction while making this post: "Hey Jemima, good to see you again :) Last time we would've seen you was.. wait IS THIS THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF JEMIMA?!"

Jemima origins

"What happened last time with the witches was a one-off thing" As this series goes, we'll soon learn how much AJ loves using the phrase 'one-off thing', I can think of 2 examples off the top of my head but y'all are just gonna have to wait and see

Yeah Jemima, she's always had the snort, don't be a dick about it

"What if the witches enter again?" Very curious what happened with the witches the last time, because they seem relatively harmless this year

Sam entering with his perfect comedic timing as a 'young boy'

"From the valleys" deserves to be in one of those sfth vocal stim compilations

AJ's internal monologue "Okay I need to differentiate this character somehow but we don't have props today. This character is obviously evil, he provides dogs to be cooked for God's sake.. Oh I know!" *wraps himself in curtain* "A CLOAK!"

"Why are you dressed like Emperor Palpatine?" Hold on, I need to google something... Yeah, that's funny.

Unexpected Calm app shoutout

AJ searching desperately through his mind catalogue for the word 'update'

They're doing a bunch of what I'd assume is difficult shit, now Sam's out here improvising soup recipes (that double as classic witch spells that make you speak in tongues)

I'm with Luke, what is so funny about 75 years of soup tasting?

Why do I love the way Sam says 'the valleys' so much, it's so funny to me and I will repeat it every goddamn time

"Memories flooding back of childhood" "It's like Ratatouille" I guess I gotta rewatch Ratatouille

Love their universal sing of flashback being repeating the last phrase over and over while they spin around awkwardly

"I have to go find my mother" He abandons the scene and the play ends, roll credits

When one of them yells with such a random aggression "The competition, don't ruin THE COMPETITION!"

"Then I will find mama" "Yes, you'll deal with that later.." AJ's character are very good at not caring at all recently

"I was hold back" Please AJ, grammatically continue

"This soup is called leek leek leek" Leek³ you might say

Luke laughing in the middle of his character's second memory-related breakdown as he realizes how dumb this is

"Which of you is my real mama??" I think Past Hugh just drugged himself

Forgot to mention Witch #1 as Luke's first gremlin mode character in my sfth recurring roles post

Luke: "I'm a 16 year old!" Still Luke: "Do all of you just announce your ages?" Luke just setting himself up like that

".... Leek" "We've got a theme going" Okay but the real question is, are all of them from The Valleys?

"You took my mother from me" Oh did Jamie Oliver kill Hugh's m- "We've been on many, many long evenings" Oh Jamie Oliver FUCKED Hugh's mom

Wizard Duel (featuring Sam with special effects) goes hard

"16 raw eggs!" I don't think that's a spell, I think you're just pelting him with raw eggs

Wait a second, is this whole duel just a food fight where they magically summon all of their ammo-

"What score do I get?" "... 9.8, that was fucking good" Bro went on one hell of a trip

"Ah yes of course, Akaram" Hey now, we all know the Great Wizard's name is That PrickTM

"Get it right, you racist" Aside from the fact I have no idea who this would be racist towards, it's giving the same vibes as the one Book Game where Tom calls the Chinese book Japanese and Sam ofc takes the fuck-up as a chance to call him a bigot

*Me, watching this play for like a 4th time* "... Wait.. Something's off here.... WHERE THE FUCK IS TOM?"

I know where Luke is most of the time when he's gone, but where's Tom at? Same question for Sam during Burglary and Bobsleds

"Stiff like the naked chef's erection inside your mother?" ".. How public was the dream I just had?" That moment you relive your traumatic backstory via magic/drug/leek soup and it turns out they were broadcasted to the rest of the crowd as well, so now the whole city knows Jamie Oliver fucked your mom

I literally just rewatched this a few days ago and I've already forgotten what That PrickTM's soup did

Jamie Oliver: *gets possessed* That PrickTM: "Ainsley Harriott has joined us as well" Well off I go to google another English chef

Turns out the captions spelled his name wrong

Luke having to play his own character's mother is very in character of him actually

"By the power of the Great British Bake Off" fucking GOT ME-

"Mother, you're alive!" "Just about" wtf does that mean??

Final Thoughts: Oh the power you hold when you're the first one onstage.. Who knew Luke's witch cackle could bring us a story of leek soup, missing mothers, and an evil English chef

[lacedwithmsg]

molded | nakakita yuma | smut

tags: soft dom!yuma, afab reader, use of pronouns "she/her" when referring to reader, creampie, a bit of mirror fucking, some overstimulation, yuma is also the neediest puppy alive warning tags: sleep sex (yuma fucks reader while they are initially asleep) length: 1.6k words note from author: have had this idea floating around in my head for a bit now. originally part of a larger scenario but decided short and concise was probably better. proofread once or twice, not sure if it's completely error-free but we do what we can.

“I told you,” Yuma mumbled into your neck as he snaked his arms around you, pulling you against his warm body. The cold night air washed over your exposed skin while the blanket you and Yuma shared held the both of you closer together. He had been inside you since a couple hours ago after you insisted that keeping it inside would ensure neither your or his juices would escape. You hadn't woken up yet, both body and mind tired after the long session you already had with Yuma.

filth begins after the break

Without realizing it himself, his body was already moving against yours. Contradicting his own expectations, he was actually able to fall asleep earlier. But of course, there was no way he could maintain that for the entire night. Your slightly sweaty yet sweet scent filled his nose and he wanted nothing more than to breathe it in for as long as he could. Your warm skin under his fingertips felt soft and comforting, and the way your chest slowly rose and fell was mesmerizing to him. Growing ever more daring, Yuma started to snap his hips into you, the blanket the covered your bare bodies shifting along with him.

“I told you this would've happened, but pretty little baby didn’t let me pull out,” Yuma mumbled, now leaving small nips and pecks along the back of your neck. Despite stirring a little in your sleep, he was shocked to find you still well asleep. Being the little shit he is, he was now determined to find out just how far he could go before you finally woke up.

Looking over your shoulder and in the mirror on wall, his eyes drifted from the soft furrow in your eyebrows to the way your lips lay delicately open, from the slight angle of your neck as your head sunk into the pillow to the red marks he had left littered all over your chest and collar. He brought one of his hands up, following the soft, natural curves of your body before reaching the cusp right where your stomach stopped and your boobs began.

“You’re so pretty like this, y’know?” His hips were now picking up pace, a quiet sound of skin against skin escaping from under the blanket. His fingers dug into your skin but he was still careful not to wake you. His breaths, now much shallower than they were a couple moments ago, felt warm against your neck.

Yuma had the world in his arms and he couldn’t help but indulge in all that it had to offer. He traced his lips along your neck, stopping to nibble at your earlobe. His eyes were glued onto the reflection of your face in the mirror, thinking about how you would react when you finally opened those pretty eyes of yours.

His other hand wrapped around your stomach ever tighter, molding your body into his. Every inch of your back was pressed up against Yuma’s chest as he grinded and pushed into you. He savored each and every thrust as he started losing his grasp on his own mind.

“You drive me fucking insane, baby.”

Yuma decided it was time to begin for real and started thrusting up into you with such force that surely would’ve woken you up. As if he were a dog in heat, deep growls came from the back of his throat, laced with raspy pants that escaped every time he pushed back inside. The dark strands of his hair obstructed his vision as droplets of sweat formed and crawled down his temple. The blanket began to crease and reveal more of your bodies to the cold air.

His teeth landed decisively into the skin on your shoulder as he tried to gag himself from getting too loud. The way you smelled, the way you felt, the way you tasted all blended together in his head into a form of ecstasy he could never get tired of. His hips rammed against your ass with a goal, a goal to make you his once more.

Over and over again his cock brushed and bruised against your walls, throbbing and pulsating at the same pace his heart beat in his chest. Noises dripping in sin seemed to bounce from one wall to another as both of your and his thighs gathered sweat and other bodily fluids. There was no stopping what Yuma wanted to achieve.

When he felt his body clench even tighter, he knew there wasn't much left in him. He looked up into the mirror again, expecting you to still be sound asleep but little to his knowledge, you were already far gone. Gone were your softly lidded eyes and gone were the slow and controlled breaths that once left your mouth. To Yuma’s surprise, his precious baby looked ever so sinful as her tongue hung out her mouth and her eyes threatened to roll back.

“Yuma,” you barely made out as your entire body burned against the night air. The blanket was now barely covering your legs but the warmth of Yuma against you was enough to send your body into overdrive. Every thrust, every pump, every pulse of his cock in you sent shivers down your spine. Your every breath sounded more like whimpers and pleas as you clawed and scratched at Yuma’s firm embrace around you. Every time his thumb brushed your taut nipple, your body screamed and warned you of your close release. When the reflection of Yuma’s gaze met yours in the mirror, there was nothing left to say.

He pounded and rammed his cock into you more times than you were capable of counting. His teeth dug into your shoulder, neck, and anywhere else within his reach as he searched for an opening, a chance to finally release all of himself into you. The bed you lay in shook violently against the wall as Yuma drove into you at an animalistic pace. Each breath he took now was hoarser than the last, his lungs failing to keep up with the sheer force and energy he expended in devouring you.

The back of your throat ran dry and your voice remained only as whimpers and gasps as Yuma’s efforts to completely and utterly wreck you were close to finding success. Slow and deliberate were now nowhere to be found as his movements started to blur into the next, no start and no end to his unending thrusts.

“More.” Your own voice sounded unfamiliar to you. All you heard was someone begging with every last ounce of energy in her body for release, a release that only the man behind her could give her.

The man behind her was now crazed and in a delirium so heavy there was no way out but through. He ate and swallowed each and every sound that left your agape lips. Deeper and deeper, he fell into his want and desire to take you in totality, to savor and relish in your body, and to hold you closer and tighter to the point where you’d never even think about leaving.

“I love you so much, baby,” Yuma managed to whisper into your ear as he breathed in your scent. His body now acting of its own accord, the finish line within sight. “You’re so perfect.”

The gears in your body wound faster and tighter as your body pressed further into Yuma. “I love you, too.” Your body rose and fell not with your breaths but with every thrust Yuma gave you.

He felt your climax approaching, your walls tightening and squeezing sporadically. His pace quickened and his thrusts rapid and irregular. His disjointed breathing only accompanied by the growls, whimpers, and inaudible pleas he muttered into your skin. The blanket that once shielded you now rested helplessly off the edge of the mattress, no longer serving its purpose.

“I’m all yours,” you gasped before the barrier your body tried so hard to maintain finally collapsed. You felt this immense surge of heat travel all throughout your being. Your muscles relaxed, your eyelids fluttered close, your lungs refused to take another shallow breath. Your release coated Yuma’s cock in another wet layer of bodily fluids, his thrusts not stopping even after you had conceited defeat.

Yuma seized this opportunity to chase his own limit. Your cum made each thrust sound even wetter and sloppier, the vein on the underside of his cock so defined you could feel it throb every time you clenched from overstimulation. His toes curled as he prepared to meet his end only to be delightfully surprised when you, amidst the haze of post-orgasm ecstasy, let out the most sinful words he had ever been blessed with hearing.

“Cum in me, Yuma,” your vision was a blur, all you could think about was Yuma and his cock stretching you out from behind. “Please.”

And with that information, Yuma crumbled. He hips stuttered and pressed into you. Electricity shot to every inch of his body and he swore he could feel his blood boiling at every spot that made contact with your skin. Strands of warm, thick fluid covered your walls as he used you to milk out every last drop. He made sure his thrusts would not yield until he was completely emptied out. The sounds of him grinding his cum deeper into you felt like music to your ears.

It took a while for both of you to catch your breaths. Yuma kissed and soothed all the fresh bruises that adorned your skin and you carefully caressed his arms that still held you so tight against his now damp chest.

You couldn't help but giggle, “Yuma, y’know it’s 4 a.m. right now?”

“I’m aware." His lips curved into a slight smile as he settled into your nape. "Are you complaining?”

“Nope, not at all.”

And no, he didn’t pull out. The cleanup next morning was a sight to behold.

note from author: hope you enjoyed it! likely won't be posting often in the future unless i'm drowning in hard hours again, we'll see... anyway thanks for reading! don't have a taglist atm but lmk if u want to be tagged for any future works. <3

[linzerj]

Just getting this idea out there so that maybe I'll actually finish writing it one day, but -

I've been on a Legend of Zelda kick recently. Currently replaying BOTW. Never played AOC but I've watched gameplay and all the cutscenes so I know what happens. Planning to play that and TOTK again soon. But I've got this idea cooking in my head.

Theres a post that talks about "what if you could find the Divine Beasts in the Depths", and another funny post that was just "what if Teba was the sage of Wind and not Tulin?" And I remembered when BOTW had just come out, and then AOC after, and people were speculating about the characters, like Teba, being the New Champions and getting to bond to the Divine Beasts.

That didn't happen in canon, but. Hear me out. What if even just one of the Divine Beasts bonded with a New Champion... like say, the one who doesn't become a Sage?

Teba, Sidon, Riju, and Yunobo return from their adventure in the past/alternate timeline/whatever, having saved those Champions and that Hyrule from destruction. Their own timeline is still the same, but they continue on as they do in canon.

Except they all meet up shortly after returning home, and one of them (Sidon or Riju maybe) asks "hey did anyone else try going to the Divine Beasts only to get rejected" and while the rest are like "yup wonder what that's about, sad" Teba is like "no wtf are you all talking about I was settling back in with my wife and kid."

But something about it sticks with Teba. He goes home, looks up at Vah Medoh, and thinks, 'it probably won't work but I may as well try just to confirm.'

...Vah Medoh accepts him as its new pilot.

I'm unsure as to whether or not Revali's spirit will still be there for a quick hello - but if he is, he'd be like "whomst?!" And Teba would be like "if you were still alive I'd definitely adopt you because thanks to some time travel shenanigans i know that you desperately needed a parental figure in your life".

Mostly everything else proceeds as is canon up to the start of TOTK - except for the other Divine Beasts continuing to chill at their resting places, because upon hearing about Teba successfully bonding with Medoh, the others want to keep trying.

But, for whatever reason, Hylia decided that you cannot be both a Sage and a Divine Beast pilot, so the Beasts acknowledge them but never quite accept them as their pilots.

Then, TOTK. Then the chasms. Then, the other 3 Divine Beasts taking a plunge into the Depths.

Teba freaks out a little bit, but Medoh is circling Rito Village and is fine, except now there's these random floating islands but also a fuckass blizzard that's making it almost impossible to keep everyone fed, and Teba's just been saddled with Elder status so he's super in charge and Tulin is in a bit of a "I can do anything let me prove it let's go" phase and is trying to convince Teba to use Vah Medoh to fly up and stop the blizzard, but Teba is way too busy trying to keep the village from falling apart to go right now -

Then Link shows up, and Tulin runs off, and Link follows him, and the two go up and find the Stormwind Ark and fight Colgera and as the magical blizzard finally ends, Teba is just like "what the fuck".

Tulin tells him he's become a Sage, and isn't that cool dad?! And Teba is like "you're 12 and you're going to help fight a demon king?!?! Wtf?!"

But then at some point, Tulin (who knows the other Sages from that time he was in AOC, and meeting them a few times with his dad after) one day looks up from his breakfast and says "oh hey Sidon just became the Sage of Water! I saw it through my connection with Link!" And that's when it clicks into place for Teba why the Beasts never quite accepted the other "New Champions" - because they were destined for something else.

But Vah Medoh is still here. And it's pissed that it's fellow Beasts are gone and it also wants to blast Ganondorf in the face.

Unfortunately, Teba can't let it blast the castle when Link and co go to confront the Zelda illusion, because Tulin is there, Link is there, Sidon and Riju and Yunobo are there, and it's not the real demon king yet anyway.

Teba is grumpy about it, about letting Tulin go off and risk his life when he's a child and Teba is an adult, but then a huge dark dragon explodes out from the chasm below the castle and Vah Medoh is all too happy to fire upon it, knowing it's Ganondorf and wanting some sweet revenge of its own.

Teba's just surprised he can see the dark dragon, it's huge but he'd heard tales of only the young, or those chosen by thr goddesses, could see dragons. Maybe it's because of Vah Medoh that he can see this one, and the little light dragon that comes in and - hey is that Link?!

Maybe it ends with Teba going down to the Depths with Link to visit the other Divine Beasts, and suggesting that the locations stay known so that future generations may try to awaken them. They don't really need the Beasts anymore since both Calamity Ganon and Ganondorf have been defeated, but Medoh doesn't want to turn off and is happy just chilling at Rito Village with Teba. The end.

I have like 2.5k of this already written, I just wanted to use this post to write more of the ideas for the fic structure before I go to bed lol. And this idea probably doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense canon-wise, but it doesn't need to because the only reason this exists is because i love Teba and wish he'd gotten more screntime (or at least some spoken dialogue in the cutscenes!) in TOTK.

[daceydeath]

I Want to Watch (Part 5)

Pairing: Wooyoung x reader x Seonghwa Word Count: 2.2K Genre: Pure Filth 🔞 Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Explicit Activities

Wooyoung decides to surprise you with more than just one brilliant idea of his

You always hated when Ateez were traveling for performances or press stuff and this was no different, you had pouted for a whole hour when your boyfriend had informed you they were heading to Japan again for some reason that you hadn't actually listened to because you tuned out when you realized that it would be at the same time that you were meant to be celebrating your second anniversary.

"Baby stop looking so sad I haven't even gotten to the good part yet" Wooyoung grumbled loudly, you mock glared at him and waited for him to continue. "We talked about it and we think you should come too since it will be your birthday".

"You want to take me with you? with Ateez? to Japan?" you asked, looking suspicious.

"Yeah baby I want you to come with us" Wooyoung grinned emphatically at you.

"You guys always room together, I think this might be a 'fuck one of my members while were on tour' fantasy" You replied deadpanned as he huffed theatrically.

"Ok it might also be that but I don't know who I'll be sharing with this time so it might just be you, me and San again" he shrugged as though that ended any of your arguments.

"And what if it's Hongjoong?" you teased knowing full well he hadn't told the captain what was going on in this little experimental sex discovery that you were on. Wooyoung screwed up his nose and walked into the kitchen effectively leaving the conversation there. Rolling your eyes you continued to watch the show you had paused to listen to his plan and waited for him to come back, after a few minutes his phone rang.

"Why is that the first question nearly everyone has answered?" he yelped, making you jump. "No you aren't the first person I have asked, do you want me to put you on speaker? she's here"

"Wooyoung!" Seonghwa's voice floated out of the phone scolding the younger man.

"Hey Hwa" you called from your spot on the couch "How are you?".

"Hi sweetheart, I'm fine just having a minor heart attack because of your beloved idiot" he chuckled anxiously.

"Woo don't be a dick to Seonghwa" you frowned looking at said idiot confused.

"I was texting hyung to see if he wanted to come round and play" Wooyoung smirked, noticing how your mouth fell into a silent 'o'.

"Hwa don't feel pressured you don't have to if it's awkward or makes you uncomfortable" you explained quickly "I won't be offended and we can pretend Woo never asked you".

"See she is completely down, in fact she looks quite happy about the idea" Wooyoung almost growled as you felt yourself flushing all the way to your chest the idea of Seonghwa wanting you making the first wave of arousal hit you like a train.

"I'll be over in 10" Seonghwa ground out his voice already deeper than it was only a moment ago. As the line went dead Wooyoung looked you up and down, noticing how you shifted in your seat heat already building in your core.

"If you are a good girl I might even let him taste you instead of fucking you" Wooyoung's honeyed voice making you swallow hard and lick your lips. "Now be a good girl and go to the bedroom and strip down to your underwear".

You had to stop yourself from bolting, Wooyoung had first been offended and then teased you relentlessly for months when he found out that before he had asked you out you had had a big fat crush on Seonghwa and although you loved your boyfriend it didn't mean you found Seonghwa any less appealing than you originally did. You heard Wooyoung's voice welcoming and directing Seonghwa towards where you were waiting perched on the bed in just your lace lingerie.

"She's already waiting hyung" Wooyoung chuckled as Seonghwa appeared in the doorway looking every bit the predator looking to strike.

"Fuck, look at you sweetheart. All pretty just for me" Seonghwa's smooth voice went straight to your core making it clench and drip around nothing in anticipation.

"Hi Hwa" you bit your lower lip preening at his compliment.

"Now we have a few rules like I told you before but you can pick which one you want you can either fuck her or eat her out the choice it up to you hyung" Wooyoung's low matter of fact tone made you pout even though you continued to stare at Seonghwa.

"And what happens if your pretty little girlfriend wants both of those things?" he raised his eyebrow challengingly as he slowly slunk towards you.

"Well if she wants that she has to be extra good, don't you baby?" Wooyoung cooed, his fingers grasping your chin to make you look at him.

"Please Woo, I'll be so good I promise" you whined pitifully looking at him through your lashes as he loomed above you. "I'll be the best girl ever, please".

"God you are so fucking sexy when you beg" Wooyoung groaned letting go of your chin and moving towards his desk chair when he sat himself down legs spread wide already palming himself through his jeans.

Seonghwa wasted no time, his long fingers grabbing your chin and tilting your head up to press his lips gently to yours. His perfect plump lips so soft against yours as he sensually deepened the kiss sliding his tongue between your lips to explore your mouth while you whimpered.

"Can I touch you Hwa?" you mumbled against his lips.

"Of course sweetheart, how would I fuck you otherwise" he purred sexily letting you reach out to grab the shirt he was wearing, undoing the buttons one by one to expose slivers of his beautiful golden skin. He moved his fingers to trace the outline of the lace that clad your breasts making goosebumps erupt across your skin, opening his shirt you reached up to push it from his shoulders letting it fall gracefully to the floor letting your hands glide down his pecs and abs before he began undoing his belt.

“Anything off the table sweetheart or can I do whatever I want with you” Seonghwa murmured his eyes searching yours to make sure you understood.

“You can do anything you like Hwa” you bit your bottom lips as his fingertips dragged against your nipples pinching one of them softly making you arch slightly. Stepping out of his pants he elegantly sunk to his knees spreading your own further apart to accommodate him pulling you in by the nape of your neck to kiss you again while he continued to tease you with his fingers.

“You are so fucking beautiful” Seonghwa breathed his hands now rubbing up and down your thighs his ebony eyes dropping to take in how wet the lace between your legs was “so fucking perfect sweetheart” he smirked letting his fingers begin to trail over the wet fabric pressing just hard enough for movement to send small jolts through you.

“Hwa. Hwa” you pleaded wide eyed as he lent in to place a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Let him enjoy himself baby, you can’t be selfish or no one will want to play with you” Wooyoung teased, clearly enjoying himself. Before you could respond Seonghwa pushed the fabric aside with one finger exposing you properly to him and leaning to to give your folds a few soft kitten licks.

“God you taste like heaven, no wonder you didn’t want to share that” Seonghwa turned his head towards Wooyoung as he tugged the fabric to shimmy it down your legs.

“I can still tell you to fuck off if I want” Wooyoung laughed as you pouted at him. “Don’t worry baby I won't let you get all riled up for nothing”.

Seonghwa turned back to you, nudging you back so you were propped up on your elbows as he finally gave you what you wanted, his tongue licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit making you close your eyes in pleasure before he really went all in. Seonghwa flicked at your clit a few times before moving to push his tongue as deep as he could inside of you, making you mewl and thread your fingers into his hair to keep him as close to you as you could. Switching between licking and sucking on your clit and fucking you with his tongue it was taking an embarrassingly short time before you could feel yourself involuntarily clenching your walls around the wet muscle that seemed to reach exactly where you needed him.

“Seonghwa… oh my god…. Seonghwa” you moaned loudly, rocking your hips against his face shamelessly your clit bumping against his nose only for him to pull away at the last moment making you whine frustratedly.

“Sorry sweetheart but I need you cumming on my cock” Seonghwa smirked, licking your essence from his lips lewdly, you almost sobbed feeling your high fade while Seonghwa finally shucked off his pants grabbing your legs and tipping you backwards so your legs were now against his chest. Your eyes instantly drew to the long and beautiful cock that stood hard against his abs, the blush pink tip already leaking precum making you clench again.

“Look at you baby, so desperate for hyung’s cock that you're clenching before he even gets it inside you” Wooyoung mumbled, staring at your slick folds.

“Please Hwa. Please let me have your cock. I need it” you whimpered, tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes as you begged so turned on that you couldn’t stop the visceral reaction you were having to him.

“Such a good girl, so sweet and with such good manners” Seonghwa smiled slyly, rubbing the head of his dick against your soaking folds, catching your clit with each movement sending jolts of pleasure through you again.

“Fuck Seonghwa please” you moaned the first fat tear running down your cheek.

“You wish is my command sweetheart” Seonghwa whispered, lining himself up with your entrance and slowly sinking himself inside you until he bottomed out making you both groan in unison. Your mind went blank only registering the feeling of Seonghwa’s hands on your calves and his cock languidly thrusting into you, his hips pressing against your arse as he took his time savoring you.

“You only just started and she looks so fucked out already” Wooyoung laughed breathily but you could barely register his words as you focused on Seonghwa, the slight crease in his brow, the faint sheen of sweat on his chest and brow, the way his lips fell open each time his perfect cock kissed your cervix.

“Harder Hwa” you gasped your fingers tangling in the sheets beside you “need more”.

“Anything for you sweetheart” he groaned sensually snapping his hips harder against you, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls making you arch off the bed with a loud keen. Letting go of your legs Seonghwa moved to spread your legs even further giving him more leverage to fuck you as hard as you wanted. Your eyes rolled back in your head as Seonghwa changed the angle once again, hitting the spot that never failed to make you see stars.

“Ahh… Seonghwa… Don’t stop” you cried your legs beginning to shake as the force of his thrusts bounced you against him with each thrust.

“C’mon baby I know you’re close” Wooyoung ground out his voice tight as he got closer to his own high.

“Be a good girl um all over my cock sweetheart” Seonghwa grunted, gripping your waist tightly, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Seonghwa… Ngh…. Ahh too much” you sobbed feeling the coil in your belly finally snap making your whole body shake and your walls flutter around Seonghwa.

“Such a tight warm pussy sweetheart, Fuck want me to fill you up?” Seonghwa moaned, not slowing his thrusts down to drag out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Please, please please” you babbled your vision blurred by the tears falling from your eyes freely now. 

“You are so beautiful when you cry and beg” Wooyoung whimpered, his voice breaking off as he came all over himself watching his hyung ruin you.

“So, so beautiful” Seonghwa echoed before latching onto one of your nipples through their lacy covering nibbling and swirling his tongue around it. Your walls continued fluttering around him as he pushed you through your over stimulation, his soft moans against your skin sending your body into a pleasure overdrive.

“Fuck” you choked out raggedly before arching off the bed again your walls clamping like a vice around Seonghwa like they were trying to suck him deeper inside of you. Your vision blurry the tears and black spots now making it impossible for you to focus on anything as you trembled intensely against the sheets.

“Holy shit” Seonghwa gasped filling you up with thick ropes of his warm seed “Fuck sweetheart”.

“If I knew you were going to like hyung that much I would have asked him first” Wooyoung chuckled breathlessly, slumping back against the chair he was in.

“Shut up Woo” you whined, feeling empty as Seonghwa pulled out of you his fingers trailing along the skin of your calves soothingly. Wooyoung cackled getting up and going to the bathroom to get a washcloth to clean you up with.

“Got to admit sweetheart if I knew you were interested back then I would have asked you out before Wooyoung” Seonghwa whispered almost shyly despite having just fucked you senseless making your eyes widen and face flush a darker shade of pink then it already was. “He may have mentioned it when I got here”. You covered your face listening to his musical laugh slightly mortified.

a/n: Thank you for reading I'm sorry this one took a while to get posted I got sick again but I'm fine now. All your love reblogs, comments and support motivate me to keep going so I love you all to bits in return xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

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@skersey33 @jintastic-day @hwxbibi @onmykneesforateez

[jyae23]

Dark Rise Chapter 20 Crack Impressions

I have decided to condense my reactions and direct quotes by chapter for everyone’s sake

To set the mood of this post, new second date idea just dropped: You lift my head up by the chin with your beautiful strong hands while my unworthy blood pools from my mouth, tarnishing your rings as you call me weak 🥰 hashtag romantic hashtag true love

Very homoerotic very homo very 🤨 like okay, we get it, you have a hot guy scouring the earth to find you and pin you down. No need to rub it in, Will 🙄 (WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN 😫)

"James's beauty pressed in like a knife; it hurt." (Pacat 249). Fuuuuuuuuuuck 😩 next thing you'll know, James will "float like a butterfly" and be the prettiest thing Will has ever seen (Carry On reference wink wonk.)

If I had a nickel for everytime Will had his shirt in the process of being stripped, I'd have two nickels (Cyprian and now James) which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice

"I will find you. I will always find you. Try to run." (Pacat 250). This itched a part of my brain I didn't know needed an itch. James, what you doing chasing boys for 🤨 It's giving predator and prey but also, the way this is being narrated makes me think Will is lowkey into this. Not even lowkey. Everytime James appears, Will feels comfort, nostalgia, familiarty????? Something something this world insignificant. Something something James the only real thing. BRO HE’S GOING TO KILL YOU GET YOUR ASS UP NOWWWW (actually convinced James wouldn't kill Will at this moment because James seems the type to indugle in torturing people)

Are you really my enemy if you don't use your invisible magickal hands to feel my neck and chin while I lie on the ground comprimised???

Will coughing up blood added to the scene. Trust me, I'm a scene scientist. Will's blood running on James's hands was crucial to the plot. There's no other effective way, it had to be done.

"I'm the bait."

"Will felt James's fingers slip in the blood flowing sluggishly down his face, and he had the absurd thought that he was going to mess up James's jeweled rings." (Pacat 251).

Will. Be so fucking forreal right now. I know I'm not taking anyone seriously at this moment as I type this, but CAN YOU BLAME ME WHEN WILL THINKS LIKE THIS? I dont think Will worrying about James's jewlery would've made Will a more convincing bait, but whatever, Will. Keep on finding new words to describe his blond hair and blue eyes

I've grown far too attached to blonde beautiful bad boy. If evil, why is book reminding me of his irresistible tranceded beauty every other line? Is it really Dark Rise if they don't have a paragraph about how drop dead gorgeous he is everytime James is the topic? (Trying to think of a breasted boobily equivalent.) James beautied beautifully as his beautiful beauty beautied beautilly. I just took 69 mental damage writing and reading that.

VIOLET DOES VIOLETILLION DAMAGE FOR THE WIN LET'S GOOOO

I think I'm about halfway in the book now. I'm sad because it's almost over already :( I have the second book, but I'm afraid that'll leave me more gutted when I finish that one.

I wanna oogle at art of all the characters, but I'm afraid to spoil myself again

[aaxzlyte]

had a great and funny idea, courtesy of the plethora of DN ask blogs floating around – but i genuinely believe it'd be so funny if there was an AU where, post-Kira Nearlymellodramattic happened and, for some reason, the world was aware of the fact that Near and Mello were working as L (or rather that N & M were working as L) and Matt decided to have the bright idea of making a fucking Tumblr account

he frames himself as being N & M's partner and prompts people to ask him really invasive questions that he like... vaguely answers?? but Matt is also definitely partly lying or exaggerating everything he fucks says – also obviously nobody believes him lmfao

"you're dating the two halves of L and also help them in cases sometimes? yeah, right, buddy. keep dreaming!" and Matt is like "i dream about them every night while laying in between them while they cuddle me :3"

also i imagine Matt vague posting about them like "lol, me when the bitches won't stop bickering: *insert goofy ass meme image here*" – and Matt never actually openly complains about them ofc, but now the Internet has a weirdly personal, only somewhat accurate understanding of N & M's personalities which is more concerning

if you want to get bigger and better with this, Near and Mello definitely find out eventually and link Matt's account to actually BEING Matt, like for real – they sit him down at talk to him and he's like "guys :( you're hanging up on me, not cool" and anyway they both kiss him but also tell him he's stupid and he's like "they don't believe me anyway! no harm, no foul!"

um cus Mello and Near making their own Tumblrs and constantly flirting with Matt, 'pretending' to be N & M and Matt is like "guys, look! the famous detectives that make up L! my boyfriends!" and the entire platform just shakes their head like "these fucking weirdos roleplaying, what kind of weird kink is this???"

anyway there's my take on that...