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emmyrosee · 7 months ago

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Keiji is absolutely nothing if not an attentive, knowing husband.

He’s good, he’s good at the whole marriage thing, knowing what makes you tic and what makes you purr, your anniversaries and outings and just being an absolute maniac when it comes to knowing all about you.

So imagine your complete, your total, your absolute horrific discovery to find out that today, he’s not home.

There’s no flowers, no note, no chaotic breakfast that Mei insisted on making you with Keiji- she claims today is her favorite holiday- and there’s nothing.

Not one of those things, on this birthday of yours.

To be honest, you don’t really mind, he’s one for… however many years you’ve known him, he was bound to forget it at some point (you certainly know you’ve had a few close calls), it just feels strange to have a birthday just with you and not your loving husband or eager daughter.

You stretch, yawn and slowly get out of bed, making your way to the kitchen to prepare for your day off, eager to spend some time alone and not have to worry about anything until you pick up your four year old.

Who is just as surprised as you at Keiji’s forgetting. Who takes a vendetta against Keiji for forgetting.

“You mean daddy didn’t take care of you today?” She says sadly. “That’s not nice of him…”

You giggle, “it’s okay, it’s just one day, yeah?”

“But!” She whines. “I made you a card! ‘Nd we should have a cake! And a birffday party!”

You shrug as you continue to strap her in, “well, sometimes, things don’t exactly pan out like we’d expect them to. And that’s okay! Besides,” you take out your credit card and flash it to Mei, “now we can have a girls day, yeah? Brag to daddy all about it.”

She beams up at you, and you finish buckling her into her seat.

Nails have been painted, delicious pastries for dessert have been picked, a cake to be baked and decorated has been prettied up, and now, all you can do is wait for Keiji to come home and witness all the fun he’d missed today.

Sure enough, 15:34 rolls around, and Keiji comes through the door, sleepy smile on his face and jacket shrugging off of his shoulders. “Hey, my girls.”

“Hey,” you hum, making your way over to him. You toss your arms around his neck and pucker your lips out for a kiss, which he tenderly returns. “How was work?”

“Exhausting,” he says with a small whine. “So glad to be home with the two loves of my life.” He smiles and kisses you again, only to then make eye contact with his daughter, who eyes him in a scold. He crouches down and reaches out to pinch her cheeks, only for her to dodge him slightly.

“And how’s my favorite little-“

“Hmph!”

Immediately, Keiji is cut off by the sound of your four year old’s disapproval, and he watches with a displeased furrow as she stomps her foot with crossed arms and turns away from him. His jaw is slacked, at the mercy of Mei and your attempts to not cackle out loud.

His eyes, filled with incredulous confusion flick back up to you in search for your assistance in correcting her attitude, but you say nothing. Instead, you place your hands on your hips and look down your nose at him.

He straightened his back and took a deep inhale for patience, “excuse me?”

“I said:” once again, Mei stomps her foot and crosses her arms tighter over her tiny chest, “hmph!”

“Have i upset you, Mei?” He asks, crouching lower to try and get her to open up to him. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

“You should know,” she snips.

God she’s so cute, you could just bite her.

Keiji, right now however, may disagree with that sentiment.

“I don’t think I like this attitude, little miss-“

“Not my fault you didn’t wish mommy happy birffday today!” Mei pouts, and instantly, Keiji’s brows shoot up, from anger to surprise. When he turns to look at you in confirmation, your expression turns from one of amusement, to faux anger to match Mei’s. His gaze softens, and he reaches his hands out to you for your affection.

“R…Really?”

“Really really,” you confirm. “I was super surprised our four year old and Koutarou remembered before you did.”

All the color drains from his face, and for a moment your expression softens as he looks like he’s about to faint right in front of you. “Kou…Koutarou remembered?”

“Honestly all of the Jackals did- Kiyoomi even sent me a card that’s due to come.” The detail, all though a little unnecessary, again makes him deflate, and even if your intentions are cruel, he looks so cute trying to grovel for forgiveness.

“Baby… my love… I’m so, so sorry-“

“You should be,” you huff, crossing your arms dramatically. “It’s a good thing I had Mei to keep me company all day, apparently she’s the only Akaashi who loves me.”

“Yeah!” Mei’s voice echos behind Keiji. It makes him snort and drop his head against your shoulder, palms smoothing up your hips and sides in an attempt to be affectionate, though the action only has you melting into his embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” he hums from your neck, peppering soft kisses along the length. Your breath hitches and your own hands come up to rest on his own shoulders. “Is there anything I can do to make up for it?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, giggling softly when he tenses up, then looking up it you in betrayal. “I want ramen. I want ice cream and chips, and I want to watch classic Disney movies as a family, and I want to do those cute panda face masks Mei got us for our anniversary with Koutarou.”

“Okay… okay I can do that; what kind of chips?”

“All of them.”

“You got it.” With that, Keiji kisses your cheek and quickly turns on his heal to head back out to the corner store to stock up on everything you asked for.

“Mommy?” Mei asks, tugging your pant leg.

“What baby?”

“Are you mad at daddy?”

You smile and ruffle her hair, bending down to pick her up and help you set up the rest of your birthday wishes.

“Couldn’t be mad at daddy even if I wanted to be.”

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girlgenius1111 · 5 months ago

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chosen

alexia putellas x reader after insisting on going to r's childhood home to spend christmas with her family, alexia helps r navigate a rather difficult reunion with rather difficult parents. angst -> fluff / comfort :)

—

It was almost embarrassing, bringing Alexia home to a family so devoid of love. She’d insisted, though, never having met your parents, even though you’d met her entire extended family multiple times. She’d explained it adorably, that she wanted to see where you came from and the people that raised you. You weren’t entirely sure how to tell her that none of that was worth seeing, so with several complaints, you’d agreed to return home for Christmas. Alexia could be difficult like that; when she wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone.

She wanted you to get to spend Christmas with your family, and she was making it happen. No matter what you said.

What you absolutely couldn’t have, though, was Alexia getting to your childhood home unprepared. She had to know what she was getting herself into, and you did your best to prepare her. It started with small things, telling her how your mother was very religious, or how your father was quiet and probably wouldn’t speak much. But you couldn’t stop thinking of things to warn her about, until you were on the plane sitting next to her, a whole speech about your mother and her disapproval of your career falling from your mouth.

“And she’ll probably say something about us getting real jobs, and I just don’t want you to–”

Alexia cut you off, grabbing the hand that was gesturing wildly as you spoke and giving it a firm squeeze. “Amor, I have been hearing that for years from people. I can take it.”

Her smile was nothing but reassuring, and you weren’t sure how to express just how difficult your parents and your family could be. Your girlfriend knew that your relationship with your family was strained, but you’d always been very tight-lipped about the details. You were filled to the brim with anxious anticipation, and you could tell Alexia didn’t understand why you seemed to be dreading this. Christmas at home with your family should, theoretically, be an enjoyable and fun time.

It wouldn’t be. It hadn’t been, in all the years that you’d been travelling back home for it, and you knew it’d be even worse this year, because every second your mind would be consumed with being terrified of what your girlfriend would be thinking. Of your family and the way they viewed you, the way they spoke and belittled you. The fear that she would realize just how ugly and cruel your family could be and decide she didn’t want that in her life was all consuming.

You’d always heard that a person was the truest version of themselves with their family. This sentiment had always horrified you, your greatest fear being that it was correct. The version of you around your parents was the worst version of yourself, and Alexia was about to see all of it.

But didn’t Alexia deserve to see what she was getting herself into with you? In the end, this was what had you convinced to let her come home with you for the holidays. She deserved to know all of the person she was with.

“Amor, hey.” Alexia called, cupping your cheek with one hand as you focused back on her, apparently having gotten lost in your thoughts. “Where did you go just now?”

Her eyes were crinkled with concern, her fingers soft on your cheek, and you felt the sudden appearance of tears pooling in your eyes. Her brow knitted together and she leaned closer, gently kissing your cheek.

You inhaled deeply, letting her hand in yours ground you into the present. “I’m nervous. I don’t think you get that–”

Alexia interrupted you again, covering your mouth with her hand. “I understand that your family is difficult. I understand that your relationship with them is not the best. But maybe this can be your chance to try to mend things, no? And I promise, amorcita, nothing I see from your family will make me love you any less.”

Alexia kissed you again before pulling you into her chest as best she could with the arm of the airplane seat in between you. You let her hold you, wondering if she was telling the truth. If she’d really still love you after… what you were increasingly sure would be a disaster was over.

—

It started as soon as you arrived. There were a few moments of peace on the drive from the airport to your parents house, with Alexia practically smooshing her face against the window to get a glimpse of your hometown.

And then you’d arrived, and within a few minutes of your arrival, your mother had commented on your hair, your clothes, your career, and your lack of time spent at home. Alexia was quiet, as you knew she would be, because she still felt insecure about her English, and she much preferred to listen to it than to speak it.

Your parents seemed to like Alexia, at least, commenting on how put together she seemed, and how kind it was of her to bring the bottle of wine she had with her as a gift for them. You were still tense, though, standing in the pristinely white kitchen with your parents and your siblings, discussing the plans for the day. It was the 22nd, and there were still things needed to be done before everyone arrived on Christmas Eve. Alexia stood at your side, just observing.

“Alright, what else does everyone need to do?” Your mother asked, taking out a notepad and holding her pen at the ready over it, as if you all weren’t adults that could remember simple tasks.

“I need to get the ingredients for the Christmas cookies I’m going to make.” You stated, having done all of your shopping already and sent it ahead.

“Really? You’re going to make those cookies?” Your mother replied, her fast twisting with disgust. You shifted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yes, everyone normally likes them.”

Your mother exchanged a look with your father, smirking as she looked back at her list. “Honey, no one eats them. I throw most of them out every year when you’re not looking.”

Your face burned with embarrassment, and you shrunk into yourself, head bowed as you stared at the floor and willed everyone to stop looking at you. This was what you’d always done; instead of arguing back, you’d shut down. They could say what they wanted, but you didn’t have to let it hurt you. You weren’t exactly sure how to stop it from hurting, but they didn’t have to know that.

Yet as your Mom turned to your sister to ask her what she had left to do, Alexia stepped closer towards you, grabbing your hand and taking a deep breath.

“I like the cookies. And so does the team, they always ask you to bring them.” Her voice was soft, words accented, but the room was silent. Your mother turned to look at her, an odd expression on her face, and you sighed internally. You could feel nothing but deep gratitude for Alexia, sweet loyal Alexia who loved anything you cooked and and refused to let even you criticize yourself.

Your Mother chuckled, a cruel sound that made you wince.

“You don’t need to lie, Alexia, you’re already way out of her league. You shouldn’t have to eat her awful baking too.” Your Mother joked, a glint in her eye that told you she wasn’t really joking.

Still, Alexia seemed offended at your mother’s words, and you should have known she would be. Her grip on your hand tightened, and she stepped in closer.

“No, she is a good baker, and I–”

Your father cut Alexia off, speaking for the first time since you’d arrived. “Well, the Spanish do have weird tastes. Excessively affectionate, too.” His eyes flickered down to where your hand was intertwined with Alexia’s, his meaning clear in his tone.

You felt Alexia’s hand slip from yours, and you could see out of the corner of your eye that she had turned red. This was a step too far. Making Alexia feel embarrassed for showing affection towards you… you could take everything they had to throw at you, but they were not allowed to mess with the best person you’d ever known.

You stepped forward, despite the light tug on the back of your shirt from Alexia, clearly telling you to let it go. You couldn’t let it go; you could handle the disrespect from your parents, but you wouldn’t let them do the same to Alexia.

“That was rude, Dad.” Your voice shook pathetically, the big stand you were taking seemed pitiful as soon as you tried to speak.

Again, your parents just exchanged amused glances, and you could see out of the corner of your eye your siblings rolling their eyes. It seemed as if no one was on your side, and you weren’t sure why you were surprised. That’s how it always went.

Without another word in your direction, your Mother turned to your siblings, asking them what they had left to do. Of course, there was no criticism of the cake your sister intended to bake, even though it always came out dry. No one told your brother that the amount of alcohol he was planning on getting was absurd. It seemed the humiliation was only reserved for you.

The old feeling was back, the one of deep loneliness. You’d spent almost 18 years in this house, feeling like an outsider. Whenever you returned, it was like you reverted back to the 18 year old that had left, no matter how much time had passed. You always felt like an irrationally angry kid in the face of how your parents treated you, and you hated it. Always second guessing yourself, always half sure that you were the one in the wrong. Your parents, your brother and your sister, they all agreed that you were the problem. You were alone, here, like you always were.

Another tug on your hand, though, reminded you that you weren’t actually alone.

“Come on, show me your room.” Alexia whispered, her hands gentle as she guided you out of the room. She was shocked, to say the least, at your family’s treatment of you. She’d known you had a difficult relationship but she didn’t imagine it was like this. You’d been home for 10 minutes, seeing your parents for the first time in almost a year, and they’d wasted no time trying to embarrass you in front of her. She was hoping this was a one off, though, perhaps an inside joke she had misunderstood. So, she let you lead the way to your room, taking in the small space more critically than she normally would have.

Her room at her mothers house was left practically untouched from when she’d moved out. It was filled with posters of footballers and old memories. Your room here, though, was devoid of any sentiment. No pictures, no decorations, nothing that made it feel like it had been yours. Alexia wasn’t sure if your parents had cleared away any trace of you from the room, or if it had never really been decorated in the first place. She wasn’t sure which she preferred, honestly.

But as you leaned into her wordlessly for a hug as soon as the bedroom door shut behind you, Alexia began to worry. Making you bring her here was starting to feel like a mistake. She didn’t have the whole picture, or even most of it. All she knew was that she hated the blank expression on your face, and she hated the way you seemed to shrink into yourself around your parents. Like you’d rather disappear than be noticed by them.

—

It wasn’t a one off, the awkward moment upon your immediate arrival home. It had barely been 24 hours, but Alexia had witnessed at least 5 different instances of your parents treating you like an inconvenient annoyance instead of the daughter they hadn’t seen in almost a year.

First, it was your mother asking about your plans for when football ended.

“All I’m saying, honey, is that you are not going to be able to find a good job with your school records.” She tutted, before turning to Alexia. “I swear, she didn’t finish a math or science class with more than a C her entire time in school.”

Your mother smiled, as if she’d just told the funniest joke in the world. Alexia’s face was one of both shock and horror. Her mami would never have said something even remotely close to what your mother had just said, even if Alexia had failed every class she’d ever taken. It was so unnecessary, and your girlfriend could see the weight your mother’s words had over you.

It was more of the same from the day before; instead of saying anything in response, you just sank back into the couch, gaze fixed on the floor. This only seemed to mollify your mom, and as she kept talking, rehashing every test you’d failed, Alexia could see tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“Her marks were so bad before she left for football, I don’t think she would have even graduated.” Your mother chuckled. It was untrue; your grades weren’t that bad. Not the best, sure, but you weren’t in any danger of failing or getting kicked out. Still, it was like your mouth was sealed shut, and saying anything in response wasn’t possible. You couldn’t defend yourself, you couldn’t even look up from the ground. It was pathetic.

“Amor, can you help me choose what to wear tonight? I brought two sweaters, and I cannot decide.”

Alexia didn’t wait for a response from you, standing and reaching for your hand, well past caring that your parents seemed to think of Alexia’s affection as something of an entertaining joke. You followed her down the hall and into your bedroom, her hand warm and soft in yours, only making the sob caught in your throat more difficult to keep in.

As soon as you were safely in your sadly bare bedroom, though, she was wrapping you up tight in her arms.

You tried to defend yourself, mortified at everything your mother had said, words mumbled into Alexia’s sweatshirt. “I’m not dumb. She made it sound like I’m dumb, but–”

Alexia cut you off, holding you even tighter. “You are not dumb, I know this. Do not listen to her, do not even think about it. You are so intelligent, mi amor, I promise you.”

Your body began to shake in her arms, a quiet thank you breaking the brief silence. You were crying, and it was all Alexia could do to keep holding you until the tears stopped. What else could she say?

But for every conversation that followed in which your mother attempted to belittle you or make you feel bad, Alexia would find an excuse to pull you away.

When your mother expressed her distaste for your haircut, Alexia practically wrote you a poem in the garage about how much she loved your hair.

When your father made a thinly veiled comment about how you were most definitely not invited to church the following day, as the other families would be judgemental about your lifestyle, Alexia was right beside you, trying to hold back her absolute fury. She forced a smile, telling your father it was better you both stay home, because ignorance and stupidity were not worth engaging with.

When your mother suggested you eat a salad instead of the pasta you were going to order for dinner, Alexia very pointedly informed your mother that you were among the fittest on the team. And later, laying in bed, when she could tell you were still thinking about the comment, she… reminded you how much she loved your body. Twice.

Alexia had an answer for everything, a way to make your chest stop squeezing whenever your mother opened her mouth. You weren’t sure how she was doing it, weren’t sure why she was possibly still here. After all of your flaws were explicitly laid out in front of her, she seemed only more determined to make it clear how much she loved you.

It was easier, one you decided to just focus on Alexia and not what your parents had to say. With her there with you, it felt like this was a trip you could maybe get through.

But then Alexia offered to take the family dog for a long walk while you caught up with your sister, by far your favorite member of the family. She thought it was important that you have time together, and she didn’t mind a bit of time away from the loud chaos that had taken over the house.

She left with the dog, returning only 45 minutes later, with no idea what her absence had given the opportunity for.

Alexia came back into the house, unhooking the dog from his leash, the smile falling from her face when she sensed the tension in the room. You were nowhere to be seen, and your parents looked beyond furious, clattering around angrily in the kitchen as they cooked. Your sister sat on the couch, guilt written across her face.

“She’s in her room, go,” your sister whispered, catching Alexia’s eye and giving her a meaningful nod. It didn’t take a mind reader to understand what had happened. Things had been on the brink with your parents the short time you’d been home. It seemed everything had finally boiled over. Alexia moved towards your room as fast as was socially acceptable, knocking softly on the door before opening it. You were sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed, face wet with tears.

“Oh, mí bebe,” Alexia whispered, shutting the door quietly behind her and lowering herself onto the ground next to you. Her strong arms pulled you into a tight hug, and you burrowed into her, not minding the chill of her skin from the cold outside. No hug had ever felt warmer.

“I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, feeling guilt upon guilt at the fact that you’d brought your girlfriend into this environment, even if she’d insisted on it. How embarrassed she must be, to see you so easily humiliated by your parents. She must be rethinking everything, your whole relationship.

But, as Alexia was often inclined to do, she surprised you, tenderly wiping away your tears and giving you a reassuring smile.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, nothing.” She assured you, leaving a lingering kiss on your cheek.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Then let’s go. We can get flights back to Spain. Be home before Christmas, spend it ourselves. Just us.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course I would, amor.”

“You wanted to come here, though, I don’t want to ruin everything,”

Alexia cut you off. “I don’t want to be anywhere that makes you unhappy.” She said softly. You looked up at her finally, and the adoring expression on her face as she gazed down at you was almost overwhelming.

“Okay.” You murmured, pressing your face into her shoulder. She held you close, pulling out her phone to buy tickets on the next flight out. Once that was done, she guided you away from the safety of her sweatshirt, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Get packing. I am going to speak to your parents.”

“Ale,”

“No. I am. Stay here, pack. I will be back in a moment.”

—

You couldn’t be sure what Alexia said to your parents. They didn’t speak as you left the house, and neither did either of your siblings. They all just watched you go, a somewhat impressed look on your sister’s face. Alexia wouldn’t tell you, either, saying she’d just told them what they needed to hear.

The next half a day or so went by in a blur. You were emotionally exhausted from being home, and Alexia practically had to drag you through the airport once you’d landed in Barcelona. Before you knew it, you were at Alexia’s mother’s house for Christmas Eve. Eli had been delighted to have the both of you home, not saying a single word about how you were supposed to be at your family’s home.

You could relax, finally, at Eli’s house with people you felt comfortable around. You loved Alexia’s family, loved how they all seemed excited to see you, asked you enthusiastic questions about your life. It was nice, spending the holidays with them. With Alexia’s arms around your shoulders, making sure you were always tucked into her side, and her family so happily chatting around you, it was so nice to be around a happy, loving family.

Happy, though, wasn’t all you felt. You watched Alexia with her Mami, her cousins and her aunts and uncles. She fit so easily, smiling widely as she joked around with them. Alexia was loved by her family, but you were not. You never had been and you didn’t understand why.

There had to be over 50 people in the house, and you were confident that no one would notice if you slipped off, just for a minute. Someone had noticed. Alba noticed the tears in your eyes, too, the ones you hadn’t even been aware of. So, while you darted off to the bathroom, the brunette went in search of her sister.

She found her in a crowd of her uncles, in a heated argument about some football tactic. Alba didn’t have the patience to wait until the conversation had ended, and knew that if Alexia had seen you just a few moments before, she wouldn’t either.

“Ale.” Alba said quietly, pulling on her sister’s arm. The blonde shook her off, barely turning her head to look at her as she did so. “Alexia, now.”

With a roll of her eyes, Alexia exited the conversation. “Ay dios mio, what, Alba?” she huffed, dragging her feet as Alba yanked her in the direction of the bathroom.

“Your girlfriend snuck away, and it looked like she was crying. Just thought you’d want to know.” Alba snapped with a frown, turning on her heel and stomping away. Alexia would fix that later, she thought.

“Amor?” Alexia called, knocking quietly. “Are you in there?”

She heard a deep inhale, and then your shaky voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second.”

Alexia tried the handle again. “Let me in, please.”

A moment passed before the lock clicked open and Alexia practically threw herself through the door and into the bathroom.

Your makeup was running, and you were desperately trying to mop up the tears still streaming down your face.

“Come here.” Alexia said simply, opening her arms for you to collapse into. It was a good thing she was wearing a black sweater, or there’d have been mascara visible all over it. You sniffled against her for a few moments, and she didn’t push you to talk. She ran her hand through your hair, leaving a light kiss on the top of your head.

You pulled away after a moment, reaching for a tissue, but Alexia grabbed one before you could, gently wiping away the tears and running makeup off your face. She had a frown set on her face, and you misunderstood the cause.

“I’m sorry. I’m okay, you can go back to your family.”

Her frown deepened. “Do not say sorry. What upset you? Did someone say something?”

You shook your head, feeling more tears well up in your eyes though you knew you really shouldn’t be crying anymore about this. “No, no one said anything.” You were wilting under Alexia’s stern gaze, so she made a conscious effort to soften, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“Tell me what has you so upset.” She encouraged, pulling your body closer into hers.

You exhaled shakily, not quite sure how to explain it without sounding like an awful, pathetic person. “I… it’s just…”

Alexia sighed, resting her hand on your cheek and encouraging you to look up at her. “You can tell me, bebé. Whatever it is, you can always tell me.”

“It’s hard.” You mumbled eventually, studying the floor under your feet very closely.

“What is hard?”

“Being here.” You admitted. “With your family who all adore you, and they should, it’s just that my family… they don’t… and I just want…” Your voice broke and you slammed your mouth shut, unwilling to allow yourself to break down again.

“Amor,” Alexia breathed, engulfing you once more in a tight hug. “I know. It is not fair the way they treat you, I am so sorry. It makes sense that this is hard, I understand.”

You held tight to your girlfriend, letting the smell of her perfume wash over you. Alexia always knew what to say. Always knew how to make you feel better. You didn’t deserve someone as good as her, you were sure of that. As if reading your thoughts, Alexia leaned away from the hug and cradled your face in her hands.

“Let’s go home. I have a surprise for you there.” Her face was so earnest and hopeful, you felt your heart melt.

“But your family–”

“They will understand, and I am pretty sure they will not even notice us leave anyway, it is so loud in here, everyone loves to hear the sound of their own voice.” With a fond roll of her eyes and a half smile, Alexia had you convinced. She made sure the makeup that had run while you cried was wiped off your face, before expertly leading you out of the house. As she said, most of her family was too busy chatting to notice Alexia pulling you through the crowd, though she did stop to say goodbye to her mother. Eli gave you a tight hug, sending the two of you on your way with a large shopping bag full of wrapped gifts.

It didn’t seem to bother Alexia, leaving early. In fact, she seemed so excited about whatever surprise she had for you at home that she was practically bouncing in the driver’s seat. Her excitement remained all the way home, until you were sitting on the sofa in your shared apartment, hands dutifully covering your eyes.

There was some rustling in the front hall closet, what sounded like a box falling from a shelf and Alexia’s voice quietly swearing. You smiled to yourself, hearing her footsteps approach, before something was placed in your lap.

“Okay! Open!” Alexia sang, sitting on the edge of the coffee table just in front of you. Opening your eyes, you found a gift bag resting in your lap, puffy as though it was a bit too small for whatever was inside, tissue paper haphazardly covering the opening of the bag. “Come on! Open!”

You chuckled, pulling the tissue paper out of the reindeer covered bag, and reaching in. Before you had even processed the fabric in your hands, Alexia was leaning in to kiss you, bursting with eagerness.

“It is matching Christmas pajamas!” She burst out, grinning from ear to ear as you unfolded the red and white plaid pajama pants, white long sleeve shirts with a well decorated christmas tree adorning the front.

You couldn’t help but match her energy, smiling back at her as she explained herself.

“I looked up Christmas traditions we could start, just ourselves. I have a whole list, and this is the first thing on the list. New matching pajamas every Christmas Eve. A new… our family tradition.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you, that Alexia thought of you as her family, but maybe you just weren’t expecting anyone to choose you when your family wouldn’t even do that. You dropped the pajamas into your lap, pulling her in for a soft kiss. “You’re the sweetest. I love it. And I love you.”

“I love you more.” Alexia whispered, kissing you again before pulling you to your feet. “Let’s put them on and watch a Christmas movie!”

It didn’t matter that Alexia didn’t particularly care for Christmas movies. Not when she was waiting for you on the bed, her set of pajamas looking adorable on her. Her fading blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her face broke into a massive smile when she saw you in your set of pajamas.

And as you laid in Alexia’s arms, plaid pajama covered legs tangled together as a Christmas movie played on the TV, it didn’t matter so much that you didn’t have your family to celebrate with. You had Alexia, and that was more than enough.

—

have not proofread this so pls tell me if you find a typo

i hope you enjoy! i know the holidays aren't always enjoyable for everyone, and honestly it's gonna be a weird one for me, but i hope everyone feels loved and appreciated this year.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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bartonomy · 3 months ago

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PUNCHES AND PRANKS

PAIRING James Potter x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS James disguises himself, gets punched and earns another addition to his embarrassment streak

CONTENT WARNING Hufflepuff slander I’m so sorry, Otto being another victim to the marauders’ bullying, injury, fluff!

WORD COUNT 3.0k words

library.

“You lot do realize this is a terrible idea, right?”

Remus, ever the reluctant voice of reason, crossed his arms as he stared at his three best friends. James, Sirius, and Peter were huddled around a small cauldron bubbling ominously in the corner of the boys’ dormitory. The potion inside smelled faintly of apricots and something vaguely musty, a sure sign that it was not brewed by a professional.

“Moony,” Sirius said with a dramatic sigh, slinging an arm over Remus’s shoulders. “You say that about every idea we have.”

“Because every idea you have is stupid.”

James, undeterred, grinned. “Innovative, Moons. Not stupid. There’s a difference.”

Peter nodded eagerly. “Yeah! This is groundbreaking! No one’s ever snuck into the Hufflepuff common room before!”

“Because no one wants to,” Remus deadpanned.

James scoffed. “That’s where you’re wrong, mate. The mystery! The secrecy! Have you ever met someone who’s been inside? Exactly. And besides, I heard they have enchanted sofas that give you hot chocolate when you sit on them.”

Sirius gasped in mock horror, nodding enthusiastically. “And you don’t think that’s worth breaking a few school rules for?”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You lot are acting as if it's a restricted section. You could, you know, ask a Hufflepuff if they could describe it for you or even invite you in, instead of breaking into it with the idiotic idea of yours.”

“How dare you tell us to talk to the skunks,” James corrected. “And we are disguising, not breaking in. Completely different.”

“You stole Polyjuice ingredients from Slughorn’s office.”

“Borrowed,” Peter mumbled.

Remus exhaled slowly. “I don’t know why I even bother.”

James patted him on the back. “Because you love us.”

Remus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “debatable.”

The transformation process was disgusting.

James had barely choked down his portion before his body started twisting and stretching in ways that were definitely not natural. His bones grew longer, his hair lightened, and within moments, he was no longer James Potter, but Otto Bagman, a slightly taller, broader, and very irrelevant Hufflepuff.

Sirius, now transformed into some poor bloke named Edgar Bones, examined himself in the mirror with an approving nod. “Not bad.”

Peter wobbled on unsteady feet. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Do not vomit on the carpet, Wormy,” James warned. “Old Minnie already thinks we’re heathens.”

Remus, who had wisely chosen to remain uninvolved, sighed from his bed. “I’ll start drafting the letter to your parents now, shall I?”

“Save the ink,” Sirius said cheerfully, clapping him on the back. “We’ll be back in two hours tops.”

That was, of course, a lie.

James was striding through the entrance hall, still trying to adjust to his temporary new form, when he saw you.

You, standing there in your usual spot in the corridor next to the Grear Hall, flipping through a book with a determined expression. You, looking ridiculously attractive in a way that made his heart do something very stupid and sentimental.

And he had an idea, an absolute brilliant idea. Would it get him into trouble? Most likely. Would it be worth it? Absolutely. Grinning to himself, he sauntered up to you, his Hufflepuff robes swishing around his way too long legs.

“Oi, darling, where are you off to in such a rush? Care to give me some company?”

Your entire body tensed. Firstly, because tou were just standing, in no rush at all, and secondly, because there was no way Otto Bagman had just tried to flirt with you. He did not talk like that. Otto spent most of his time complaining that the Hufflepuff common room was “too damp” and that badgers were “a deeply unfortunate mascot.” Otto Bagman’s idea of flirting was saying, You know, my brother plays for the Wimbourne Wasps, as if that was supposed to impress anyone. Well, moaning Myrtle would probably be giggling at the rubbish leaving his mouth, but on a second thought, she loved every walking being with a prick between their legs. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting Sirius Black to be lurking in the shadows, laughing at some elaborate prank, but the corridor was empty.

You turned, blinking in mild confusion at the out of character Hufflepuff. “Pardon?”

James smirked. “Just thought I’d say you’re looking particularly stunning today.” He leaned against the wall opposite of you, tilting his head in what he assumed was an effortlessly cool manner, though he just looked absolutely ridiculous. “Fancy a walk, love?”

Otto-no, fake Otto, because you were 101% sure this wasn't real, and if it was, you were sure he was dating and snogging some Ravenclaw girl from your DADA class, and being seen hitting on you would cause another unnecessary scandal amongst the gossip-y students. The suspicious blonde pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward you. “No need to be so cold, sweetheart. Just thought I’d tell you you’re looking particularly stunning today.”

You were flabbergasted.

He had never addressed you as anything other than oi, can I borrow a quill? or hey, did you do the Potions homework? And now he called you love, darling, and sweetheart in the same conversation.

Otto Bagman, whom you barely knew, was trying to flirt with you.

“Not interested,” you deadpanned, stepping to the side.

But he effortlessly stepped with you, blocking your path. “C’mon, love, no need to make this so difficult.”

You narrowed your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’m taken.”

There was a flicker of something in his expression, surprise? Confusion? You didn’t know and quite frankly, didn’t care.

When he opened his mouth again, probably to say something equally idiotic, your eye twitched.

You stared at hard. He was expecting one of two reactions- either flustered stammering (ideal) or playful banter (acceptable). What he was not expecting was for you to square your shoulders, glare murderously, and yell at the top of your lungs:

“FOR GODRIC’S SAKE! I HAVE A BOYFRIEND, YOU ABSOLUTE SLUGGY PRAT!”

And then, without hesitation, you punched him in the face.

James had been hit with Bludgers before. He had been shoved off brooms, crashed into goalposts, and even tackled by Sirius during an overenthusiastic victory celebration.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared him for getting punched in the face by you.

Pain exploded across his nose. His head snapped backward, and for a split second, his vision blurred. He stumbled, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to regain his balance.

“Oh, bloody hell,” James groaned, voice nasally from the swelling.

But then he felt something shift inside of him.

Oh, no.

His body wobbled. His skin rippled. His bones twisted, stretching and reshaping in an absolute disgusting manner.

And then, suddenly, he was James Potter again. Bloodied, dazed, and standing in front of at least twenty horrified onlookers.

There was a beat of silence and you merely blinked twice.

He mirrored your blinking. “Oh,” James said dumbly.

Your mouth fell open in horror. “JAMES?!”

James managed a weak, bloody grin. “Er… surprise?” But his expression turned into a frown seconds later "Blimey, Bunny! What was that for!"

You stared at him, then at your own fist, then back at him. “Did I- did I just break my own boyfriend’s nose?” You shuddered

“Seems like it,” James croaked.

“And what—WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!” you screeched. " YOU WERE OTTO BAGMAN TWO SECONDS AGO, JAMES!”

More students are gathering now, whispering, pointing. Someone gasps. Someone else mutters, “Is that blood?”

James presses his sleeve to his nose, glaring at it. “Yep. Definitely blood. Excellent.”

“Oh my God, you are such an idiot-”

A new voice cut through the chaos.

"Mr. Potter.”

The entire crowd froze. James knew that voice. That voice haunted his dreams. Slowly-painfully- he turned his head.

Professor McGonagall stood there, lips pursed, eyes cold in a way that suggested she was already contemplating his punishment. Her arms were crossed, lips pursed in that terrifyingly disappointed way that made even the bravest students wither. She surveyed the scene: the scattered crowd, James’s bloodied face, him in a Hufflepuff uniform that is clearly too big for him, and the fact that he had just transformed out of Polyjuice Potion in the middle of the Great Hall.

James turned an alarming shade of pale. “Oh. Oh, no.”

McGonagall looked at him again, the crowd, the blood dripping from James’s nose, and his unusual uniform. Her expression darkened.

“Mr. Potter,” she said, voice dangerously calm. “Would you care to explain why you were impersonating another student?”

James swallowed hard. “Not particularly.”

Her eyes narrowed.

James caved immediately. “We, uh, might have, sort of, kind of borrowed some Polyjuice Potion?”

McGonagall inhaled sharply. “Borrowed?”

James winced. “Okay, stole is the word you’re looking for, probably.”

McGonagall closed her eyes briefly, as if asking Merlin for patience and strength. “I assume,” she said, voice tight, “this was another brilliant scheme of you and your babbling, bumbling band of baboons?”

“…Possibly. But you see, Min- Professor! It was all part of Sirius' pl-”

McGonagall let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Detention, Mr. Potter. Every evening for the next two weeks.”

James groaned. “Oh, come on, it was just a—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she warned.

He wisely shut up.

You, still reeling from the shock of everything, could do nothing but stare. Professor McGonagall finally turned her gaze to you. “Are you hurt?”

You glanced at James, then the group of second years behind him and then back at her, still out of it. “Only my dignity.”

James gasped. “I did nothing wrong!.”

"Three weeks now, Mr. Potter" McGonagall turned to you next. “And you, Miss L/N, while I do not condone violence, I must say your right hook is… rather impressive.”

You flushed. “Thank you, Professor.”

McGonagall fixed James with one last glare. “I trust this will be the last time I find you using illegal potions for idiotic purposes?”

James hesitated.

McGonagall’s nostrils flared.

James straightened. “Yes, Professor. Absolutely. Never again.”

“Good,” McGonagall said crisply. “Then I will see you at eight o’clock sharp for your first detention.”

She turned to leave, then paused, glancing back at James’s crooked nose.

“And do get that looked at, Potter,” she added dryly. “Merlin knows you’ll need a functional nose if you insist on spending half your time flirting.”

James grinned. “Don’t worry, Professor, my natural charm is unstoppable.”

McGonagall looked up at the ceiling, as if debating whether she was paid enough for this. She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples. “You are both dismissed. Get out of my sight before I decide to extend his detention to a month.”

You quickly grabbed James’s arm, dragging him away from the whispering crowd.

“You punched me,” James mumbled for the fiftieth time as you made your way to the Gryffindor common room, forgetting the fact that his nose is still very much broken.

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth. “Because you were flirting with me as another person, you absolute idiot.”

James winced as he pressed a handkerchief against his bleeding nose. “In my defense-”

“No.”

“Fair.”

Your eye twitched. “Care to explain, without coming up with excuses, what the hell you were doing?”

James flinched and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Right, so… Sirius had this brilliant idea, as you heard—”

“Oh, of course Sirius was involved.”

“-that we should try sneaking into the Hufflepuff common room using Polyjuice Potion, because, you know, we’ve never done it before-”

“Let me guess. You picked Otto Bagman because nobody would care if he mysteriously disappeared for an hour?”

James hesitated. “…I mean. I wasn’t going to say it like that.”

You groaned. “James, you absolute menace.”

James gave you a pitiful look. “In my defense, it was going really well until you punched me in the face.” For which he only got a glare from you

And after a moment, he peeked up at you with wide, hopeful eyes. “You were absolutely wicked, by the way. It was so hot”

You exhaled sharply. “Shut up before I give you a broken jaw to match your nose.”

James grinned, and despite yourself, you gave him a small smile back.

Then, just as he was about to say another surely ridiculous thing, you smirked.

“You know,” you mused, “Sirius is never going to let you live this down.”

James’s grin vanished.

“Oh, no.”

“You what?” Sirius Black howls with laughter, clutching his sides. “You got decked by your own girlfriend?”

A few hours later, the three boys, you, and your still injured boyfriend were huddled around the fireplace in the common room, everyone taking great joy in James' misfortune and big blow to his already tarnished reputation.

James scowls. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Remus, struggling not to laugh, clears his throat. “A misunderstanding where you hit on her while disguised as another boy?”

James grumbles. “It sounded romantic in my head.”

Peter snorts. “Yeah, mate. Real romantic. Oi, love, let’s take a walk while I pretend to be someone else.”

Sirius wheezes. “Oh, Prongs, I will never let you live this down.”

James scowls at all of them, then turns to you, expression pleading. “Bunny, please fix my nose.”

You cross your arms. “Hmm. I could.”

He brightens.

“But,” you continue, “I could also let you suffer for a while.”

His face falls. “Bunny, I'm a dying man!”

“You hit on me as Otto Bagman out of all people, James.”

Sirius erupts into fresh laughter, his hair falling over his eyes as he clutched his stomach.

James groans "You broke it!"

“Serves you right.” You exhaled sharply.

James gave you a pitiful look. “You’re not even a little sorry?”

You crossed your arms. “Are you sorry for pretending to be Otto and flirting with me?”

James hesitated. “Okay, yeah. Maybe a little sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up from the carpet. “Come on, let’s get you to the Hospital Wing before you pass out from blood loss, idiot.”

James grinned, following after you. “So, just to clarify- does this mean I’m still your boyfriend, or do I have to woo you all over again?”

You threw him a glare over your shoulder as he held a hand out for you at the exit. “That depends on how long it takes me to stop being angry.”

James pouted. “At least let me buy you a butterbeer to make up for it?”

You sighed. “Fine. But if you ever pull something like this again-”

“Got it, got it, you will hex me. No more Polyjuice-related flirting,” James said quickly. Then, winking, “Unless it’s you Polyjuiced as me, in which case—”

You shoved him and he laughed. You supposed you’d forgive him. Eventually. Maybe.

So,” Remus began, a bored expression in his eyes, “did you two ever actually make it into the Hufflepuff common room, or was that part of the plan just another failure?”

Sirius snickered. “We got very close, actually.”

“Until we heard someone getting scolded at by the Great hAll from some second year,” Peter added with a grin, eyeing the door where Hames stood just seconds ago.

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “So, no Hufflepuff sofas and hot chocolate for you then?”

“Sadly, no,” Sirius said dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “All we got was a front row seat to James’ humiliation.”

The wolf smirked. “Well, that’s something, at least.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I guess I’m just curious if the Hufflepuffs even noticed you trying to breaking in.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Oh, they noticed alright. You should’ve seen their faces when we bolted.”

“Bet they were thrilled to see a Hufflepuff they didn’t even know sneaking around,” Remus teased, shaking his head.

“Next time,” Sirius grinned, “we’ll do it properly. With fewer broken noses.”

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter x yn #james potter headcanons #james potter drabble #james potter headcanon #james potter fic #james potter #the marauders

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elisabeth-maddison-piastri · 1 month ago

Text

Everyone Loves Her

Oscar adjusted the collar of his team shirt as he walked through the bustling paddock, the hot sun gleaming on the freshly polished cars lined up in the garages. His mind was already halfway into race prep mode, strategies and lap times buzzing in the back of his head. But beside him, walking in heels that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe combined, was his twin sister—Yn.

Yn wasn’t just visiting. No, she was making an entrance.

Oscar had barely announced her arrival before the entire paddock seemed to stop functioning for a moment. Engineers paused mid-briefing. Team members subtly elbowed each other. Cameras that were supposed to be focused on the drivers were now subtly tracking Yn as she gracefully strode through the area in a chic, flowy jumpsuit in a soft champagne tone, hair curled to perfection, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose.

Mark, trailing just behind them, leaned in toward Oscar and muttered under his breath, “Well. This’ll be fun.”

Oscar glanced at him, frowning. “Why do I feel like something bad is about to happen?”

Mark just clapped him on the shoulder sympathetically.

The moment they stepped fully into the McLaren hospitality area, the drivers descended like bees to honey.

“Is that her?” Lando was the first to spot her, nearly choking on his smoothie.

“Yn?” Charles looked up from his phone, eyes going wide. “Oscar’s sister? That Yn?”

“The Vogue one?” Pierre added, already adjusting his shirt and casually tousling his hair.

Oscar blinked, watching the group of grown men suddenly abandon whatever they were doing to make a beeline for them. Yn, of course, noticed immediately.

“Oh no,” he mumbled.

Yn took off her sunglasses slowly, revealing big, sparkling eyes framed by long lashes and perfectly done makeup. She smiled. “Hey boys.”

And that was it. Game over.

Lando nearly tripped over his own feet. “Wow. I mean—hi. Hello. Yn, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Lando, right? I read about you in that GQ spread last month. Nice suit. Didn’t love the shoes, though.”

Lando flushed pink, half-embarrassed and half-thrilled. “Noted. You can help me pick next time?”

“Oh absolutely not,” Oscar muttered.

Max appeared next, as smooth as ever. “Yn, I’m surprised you didn’t come earlier. Oscar’s been hiding you.”

“Protecting,” Oscar corrected grumpily.

Yn ignored her brother and extended a perfectly manicured hand to Max. “Well, I’ve been very busy. Fashion week in Milan, meetings in Paris, you know the drill.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Max said, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. “But you make it look effortless.”

“Ugh,” Oscar groaned.

Charles was next, stepping up with that soft Monaco-boy charm of his. “Bonjour, Yn. You are even more beautiful than I imagined. Do you speak French?”

“Un peu,” she said, grinning. “But I prefer the way you say my name in that accent.”

Pierre nearly tripped beside him.

Lewis arrived with all the grace of a king. “Darling, you are absolutely glowing,” he said smoothly, pulling her into a gentle hug. “Welcome to the chaos.”

“Oh, finally. A gentleman,” Yn teased, sending the others a smug little look.

“Excuse me?” Carlos said, raising his eyebrows. “I haven’t even had a chance yet.”

He stepped forward, took her hand, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “You must be the most stylish person here.”

“Obviously,” Yn quipped, winking.

“Yn!” Alex waved, already grinning. “Oscar’s told me literally nothing about you. Which is honestly suspicious, because I feel like we would get along.”

“We might,” Yn replied, giving him a once-over. “You're charming. Dangerous combination.”

George arrived, tall and proper, but clearly flustered. “Hello, Yn. Very pleased to meet you. You look… well, breathtaking.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Yn said. “I like your watch. Vintage?”

“Gift from Carmen,” he said, smiling sheepishly.

“A man who wears sentimental accessories. Cute,” she said with a little nod.

And then Fernando, smooth as ever, took both of her hands and kissed each one. “Yn. Welcome to Formula 1. You have completely changed the mood of the entire paddock. For the better.”

Yn laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. “I didn’t realize I’d be this popular.”

Meanwhile, Oscar stood rooted to the spot, mouth half-open. “What is happening.”

Mark handed him a bottle of water like he was a war veteran returning from the front. “They’re all in love with your sister.”

“This is a nightmare,” Oscar said.

“It’s your fault. You never told them she was this stunning,” Mark said, amused.

Just then, Oscar spotted Yuki—Yuki, the man who never flirted with anyone—sitting with Yn on a bench and… feeding her sushi.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Yn beamed as Yuki held out a piece of salmon nigiri with his chopsticks. “Open,” he said, eyes wide and adoring.

“Oh my god,” Oscar muttered, watching as Yn happily accepted the bite, touching Yuki’s hand with a soft smile.

Around them, the rest of the drivers were hovering like adoring fans at a concert. Lewis was leaning in to fix a strand of her hair. Charles and Max were bickering in the background over who spotted her first. Pierre was whispering something that made her laugh, and George was awkwardly trying to get a selfie.

Yn turned to Oscar and said brightly, “I love it here. Can we do this every weekend?”

Oscar opened his mouth to say something—probably a firm “no”—but Lando interrupted him.

“Yn, want to come check out the McLaren motorhome? I’ve got a playlist I think you’ll like.”

Charles jumped in. “But first, Yn, let me show you the new Ferrari livery. I swear it matches your vibe perfectly.”

Lewis added, “You could give us fashion tips for our next campaign shoot.”

Pierre dramatically clutched his heart. “Or just stay here and bless us with your presence.”

“She’s not staying!” Oscar finally burst out. “She’s not your fairy godmother!”

“Actually,” Yn mused, sipping the iced tea someone (probably George) had handed her, “I might be.”

Mark nearly choked laughing.

Yuki popped another sushi roll into her mouth. “I think she should stay.”

Oscar just groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I should’ve left her in Paris.”

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x sister!reader #oscar piastri #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #fernando alonso x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #george russell x reader #lando norris x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen x reader #alex albon x reader #piastri!sister!reader #piastri!twin sister #pierre gasly x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #elisabeth maddison piastri

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reidmotif · 1 year ago

Text

Dialing up for Trouble

Summary: Reader and Spencer were fuck-buddies, until Spencer cuts her off quite suddenly. A party and some risque images may be enough to get them back to their old routine.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: semi-public sex, sexting, mentions of nude images and descriptions of generic lingerie, masturbation (f!receiving), penetrative sex, semi-dom!spencer

Word Count: 3.5 k

Masterlist

Clichés bothered me. There was no other way to put it. I’d grown up hating the likes of love triangles, meet-cutes, chosen ones, and right now, I was being reminded more than ever of that hatred because, what the fuck?

“Too much of a good thing” was the reasoning Spencer had cited when he proposed we stop sleeping together casually, and return to our previous relationship of “just coworkers”. I’d let him know how ridiculous I found his sentiment, and attempted every possible method to continue our secret rendezvous, but he was absolutely dead-set on his decision, it seemed.

No more sex. No more late-night calls. None of it. It was all over. All because of a cliche.

We seemed to agree on one thing, and that was, yes. The sex was fantastic. It really was that good. While I’d never wish weariness on Spencer Reid, I couldn’t deny that in the aftermath of stress and frustration from whatever life had chosen for him, the way he’d deal with that was absolutely electrifying for me.

I’d find myself constantly breathless, pulled into hotel rooms, storage closets- anything resembling the barest hint of privacy, and allow him to use me as he saw fit. I gave him complete trust and control over my body, and in turn, he rewarded me with some incredibly life-changing orgasms. And for what it’s worth, he seemed to get an equal amount of satisfaction out of our hidden trysts, which only made his recent decision that more devastating.

It’d been roughly a month since we’d had sex, or anything resembling the sort, and I found myself absolutely deprived. When the FBI gave out invitations to its semi-annual gala, I imagined the festivities would be enough to distract me, but I was completely in error for assuming so. Amidst drinks and conversations, there was the occasional lull where I couldn’t help but absentmindedly imagine the feel of his hands over my skin, squeezing the fat of my hips. His lips trailing up and down my neck, focusing on spots only he knew about. The way his hair would tickle against my thighs when he’d bury his head-

“Hey.”

The voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and I have to remind myself not to choke on my beverage. There he was. The current subject of my thoughts, standing in front of me, live and in the flesh. Spencer Reid.

“Hey.” I mirror back, taking a sip of my drink, acting as lax as I could, given the circumstances. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, gesturing to the party in front of us, the general ambience.

“You know me.” He replies, pausing for a second, keeping his gaze trained on mine. “Not my scene but.. doable.”

I chuckle for a moment, understanding perfectly. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most social guy out there. I was honestly surprised he’d chosen to come to this thing at all in the first place.

“You look nice.” He says, suddenly. “Your dress. It’s nice.” He rushes out the words, as if he’s scared to say them in the first place.

I smooth down the fabric instinctively, nodding. I try not to let the compliment affect me so much, keeping my head down for a split second to hide the creeping heat emanating from my cheeks.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

I surprise myself with my own answer. The silence for that tick is horrible. I appreciate it? Jesus. I couldn’t think of the right words anymore. The correct and witty response that would allow this conversation to flow smoothly.

I truly wanted to fuck this man so bad, it made me look stupid.

And stupid I was, because yet again, I attempted to test the current parameters of our relationship he’d put us on. I swallow my pride, lifting my head to meet his eyes with mine.

“If you like it so much, you could- you know. Take it off.” I say, biting my lip. There’s a light tease in my voice, but it’s obvious I’m being as forthcoming as I possibly could. No games. No jokes. I didn’t want to dance around it, and I hoped my boldness would reward me as it did previously in the past.

But no, it seems that fortune does not favor the bold, because Spencer’s immediate response was to shake his head, lowering his voice. He pulled on my arm to decrease our proximity, to the point where it was ensured no passer-bys could possibly hear our conversation.

“Come on.” He pleads, almost looking desperate. “I told you we should stop- hasn’t that worked out? We can be coworkers. This works.”

I roll my eyes, letting my displeasure show plainly over my face. “This works?” I say, and the sarcasm is clear in my voice. “Sex worked too, you know.”

“I know it did!” He says, in a hushed whisper. “But- we can’t. No. It’s not right. Too much of a-”

“If you finish that sentence, I swear to god.” I say, my expression turning much more volatile. I forcibly shrug his arm off me. “This is stupid.” I continue, trying not to let my voice rise. “I see the way you look at me. I know it was good for both of us. I know you’re thinking about it just as much as I am, so why not!” There’s a hint of hurt in my voice as well. Underneath all the sex, I’d grown to miss the interactions after. The giggles under covers and the feel of his hair in my fingers. I missed him. All of him.

There’s a miserable pause on his end, and I hold my breath waiting for his next words. Spencer sputters, looking absolutely defeated. “Because- because we just can’t, okay?” He replies, helplessly, stepping back from me, as I’d done with him. “Look. I’m just going to enjoy the rest of the party, okay? Take care of yourself, yeah?”

Before I can get in another word, demanding a real explanation from the man, he leaves me alone, replaying the words of his confusing outburst in my mind.

I take a short time to myself, electing to go use the restroom and take a breather from the party, a bit on edge after our exchange. Was it possible he was completely fine with what the loss of our arrangement had done to us? Was I the only one absolutely losing my mind? Any attempt to diverge my attention from the topic proved futile, and I remained in the closed room, mindlessly adjusting myself in the mirror with no real rhyme or reason. There’s an eventual use of my phone, focusing the camera directly on my face to make sure nothing had smudged or looked off on my face in the time I’d last checked my makeup. In the use of the device, I remembered the pictures I’d taken before coming here.

The pictures weren’t meant to serve any true purpose. I’d bought new lingerie for this dress, as my previous bras weren’t suited to the cut and shape of the specific piece of clothing, and decided to take a few pictures for myself. It was lacy, and pretty, but nothing truly special. The bra had a slight push-up effect, and the panties were a bit cheekier than my normal, day-to-day undergarments. The actual lingerie was innocent- harmless, even. Looking at the images right now, though, a salacious idea creeped into my head.

Under the right circumstances, these could be exactly the catalyst to finally receiving what I wanted.

I open the messaging app on my phone, finding Spencer’s contact, and beginning to type out a simple message.

hey.

The response is immediate.

What’s up?

You good?

Where’d you go?

I laugh a little. I imagined him scanning the crowd for me, trying to figure out where I’d gone off to.

all good, don’t worry

so we’re still sticking to the no sex thing?

I see his typing bubble pop up, then pause. Then starts up again.

Yes.

Trust me, it’s for the better.

I groan internally. Of course he thinks that. Always thinks he knows what’s good for everyone.

trust me

if you knew what i had planned for us

you wouldn’t say that

I feel my phone vibrate in my hand, indicating he was now calling me? I hadn’t planned for this.

“Spencer?” I remark, waiting for his voice on the line.

“What do you mean?” He says, quickly. I can no longer hear the bustle of the party in the background, so it’s only reasonable to assume he’s moved somewhere quieter. Still, I ask.

“Are you around other people?” I murmur, keeping my voice low.

“No. Alone. What did you mean by your last message?” He repeats, quickly.

There’s my in. I respond, feigning an unmistakable innocence in my voice. “Mind if I show you?”

“Show me?” The confusion in his voice is palpable.

“Show you.” I reply, more definitively. “Check your messages.”

I bring my phone away from my ear, electing to send the first picture I saw in my camera roll, which prominently featured my breasts- a feature of mine I knew Spencer was quite interested in. I return to the call, my heart pounding wildly.

“Did you see?” I ask, hesitantly, when all I can hear is his breathing on the other line.

The response is a choked out, breathy mess of a sentence. “Yeah- I did. Jesus.”

“Want more?” I murmur, biting my lip as the realization dawned on me that this possibly had a chance of working.

There’s a delay in his words on the line, before I finally hear:

“Yes. God, yes.”

I grin ear-to-ear, beginning to send an assortment of pictures I’d taken previously in the day. Knowing this was having an effect on him, that somewhere in this party Spencer was sitting alone, his gaze trained on his phone intently, did something to me. He was behaving this way because of my body, because of what I could do to him.

It was hard not to get wet at the thought.

“You look so good.” He breathes out, and the desire in his voice is unmistakable.

“Yeah?” I mumble to the speaker. “You think so?”

“Mhm.” He murmurs. “You’re wearing this right now?” He asks, seemingly needing that confirmation at this moment.

“In all its glory.” I try not to giggle before murmuring teasingly, “What, you wanna see?”

“Where are you?” He asks, suddenly seeming very determined. I can hear the shuffling on the other line, indicating he was now starting to move from where he was currently situated. He was completely, and utterly serious about this.

“Bathroom, on the left corridor of the entrance.” I say, feeling exhilarated at the thought of him meeting me here. This was happening.

Finally.

“Stay.” He replies, and the call cuts.

There’s an impatient itch that creeps up on me during the two-minute wait for him, before I hear a solid knock on the door, and my name being whispered through the door, belonging to a voice I’d grown so accustomed to and fond of.

My fingers undo the lock, opening it just enough so that he could squeeze through without drawing too much attention to ourselves right now.

And as soon as he’s managed in, he’s practically on me, devouring me with a kiss with a passion I’d never felt from him before. My hands go to wrap around his neck, pressing our bodies flush against each other, every ragged breath of his shooting directly to my core, which was now throbbing with need.

“Fuck. Missed this so much.” He breathes out, gasping for air in between our kisses. I couldn’t so much as get a whimper out, before he’d dive right in again. It’s like he wanted to eat me alive.

And I’d let him.

I moan softly into his mouth, starved for more contact between us. It’s as if he can read my mind, because in an instant, he guides us from the center of the bathroom, towards a wall, slotting his thigh between my legs. He takes a momentary break from ravishing me with his lips, now adopting a slower, more sensual pace as he works down my neck, each soft kiss leaving me craving him even more.

His hands drift down to my hips, keeping me pinned against the wall as he murmured soft praises. My legs felt wobbly, absolutely taken aback by how quickly I could go weak for this man.

“You like this, mm?” He mumbles, letting his teeth nip over the lobe of my ear, before switching to a more neglected side of my neck. “Like me that much, mm?”

I don’t care about the cockiness in his tone. I don’t care how smug I render him. I just need him to continue this, for as long as I can have him.

“Yes.” I breathe out, my voice higher-pitched than it normally would be. “God. Love this so much.”

There’s a flash of hesitance from him, as he pulls his face away from my neck, staring at my eyes with his own. I can’t dwell on the pause, because for once, I’m finally seeing him. His hair was absolutely ruined, sticking up wildly in different directions. His cheeks were a light pink, serving to make his features even prettier and doe-like than before. But what got me were his eyes. His pupils were blown out, the normal honey-hazel I’d seen on a daily basis replaced with an absolute abyss of black. The darkness served to cause a surge within me, practically launching forward to meet his lips with mine.

There are no words required for what happens next, as I feel his hand creep up my back, pulling me away from the wall and towards the closest surface, which happened to be the sink. He guides me to bend over, and I do so with no resistance.

He could have me, whichever way he wanted, whenever he wanted. All I needed was his touch.

I can feel him crouch to his knees, slowly reaching under my dress to hook his fingers around my panties, slowly pulling them down. I can feel a string of my arousal clinging to the fabric, and it seems Spencer can too, because he practically moans as he drags the soiled piece of lingerie down my thighs. I step out of them quickly, and turn my head back, fast enough to see him stuff the proof of our debauchery down his suit pocket.

“Eyes ahead.” He whispers, leaning down close to my ear to nip at the sensitive flesh again.

“Okay.” I murmur, slipping into a more submissive version of myself that he seemed to bring out in me. There’s a sense of relaxation and excitement all at the same time, and I’m absolutely wracked with lust for him.

His fingers stroke my clit for a moment, applying pressure in just the right way. The movements are practiced, precise and guaranteed to hurl me off the edge if he continues this way.

“You’re soaked, sweetheart.” He murmurs, almost amazed, letting his fingers slip away. “All this for me?”

I can barely respond, whimpering and nodding. “Yes. Please- Spencer.” I beg, needily.

“I know, I know.” He replies, and I can hear how pleased he is. There’s a certain delight he derives from my submission, and while in any other circumstance, the smugness he displays would turn me off, right now it only served to further my hunger.

I can feel him start to work on his belt, sliding the coarse material of his dress pants just enough, so that his cock could spring free. I can’t see it, but I can feel it, his tip sliding through my folds, and I clench at the thought of him finally being inside of me.

Just when I believed his teasing to be done, there’s a knock at the door, and we both freeze. Spencer swallows, and quickly raises his voice. “Occupied!”

There’s silence, and that previous sense of lust and content drifts back into our bodies, Spencer’s fingers trace up to my face, and he lets his finger slip into my mouth. I can taste my arousal on his fingers, and there’s a genuine struggle on my end to stay upright. How could I, when the man behind me rendered me so indisposed?

He draws his fingers out of my mouth. “Good girl.” He whispers.

It seems the universe has other plans though, because yet again- a knock sounds at the door. I can hear Spencer’s groan, and watch through the mirror as he attempts to come up with a response that would give us the seclusion we required.

My patience however, had worn thin. His cock was right there, and I’d be damned if I was forced to wait any longer. I turn my head towards the door, complacency and submission gone from my voice.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to fuck him in here!” I say, snarking out the words.

There’s a silence, and a murmur of mortification on the other side of the door. Footsteps. And then at last, silence.

Spencer quickly leans down to kiss my cheek, mumbling out an “I love you.”

Before I can even comprehend the words, he’s guiding himself into me, sliding his cock through my walls, and I have to bite my lip to keep a scream in. He feels so fucking good inside of me, stretching me out in ways no man ever could. I can feel the underside of his cock hitting that spongy spot deep inside of me, and my breathing turns rapid in mere seconds.

“There we go, relax for me baby, yeah?” He mumbles. “Nice and slow.”

I moan out my affirmative, gripping onto the sink as I let my jaw drop, eyes squeezing in absolute ecstasy. “So good for me.” He murmurs. “So warm and wet, Jesus.”

And with that, he starts a pace that works for both of us. It’s hard and fast, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. The feel of his cock gliding through my puffy walls is intoxicating, and I can only wonder how I went so long without feeling it.

It seems Spencer’s having similar thoughts, because through my moans and his occasional groans, I can feel his grip on my hips get more bruising by the second, marking me as his own. I can hear occasional fragments of words through his noises.

“Never letting you go. Oh fuck. Fuck.” He mumbles, and despite the overwhelming amount of arousal shooting through me, my heart swells.

“Me too.” I whimper out, gripping the sink even harder. I can feel my wetness seeping all around us, splashing against my thighs with every movement he drives into me. “Need you so badly.”

“Rub your clit for me.” He demands, whispering out the words. “Need to see you come on my cock first, pretty girl.” The words are strained, and I can tell he’s doing everything to keep from spilling inside of me prematurely.

There’s no reason to temporize, and my fingers make their way down to the sensitive bundle of nerves, and the effect is almost immediate. It takes roughly a minute of my incessant rubbing and the feel of him inside me before I’m coming with a soft shout, growing limp against the sink as my muscles twitch and fill me with a deep sense of relief and satisfaction.

Spencer isn’t far behind me, humping into me a few more times before coming inside of me, the release signified with a loud moan and a sense of warmth flooding my deepest point. He slumps against my back, pressing a few, soft kisses to my neck.

As we both come down from our highs, I recall the words Spencer mumbled in my ear previously. I let out a self-satisfied giggle, which Spencer smiles at.

“Mm. What’s that about?” He murmurs.

“You love me?” I ask, softly.

A pause.

“A little.” He responds, voice equally as soft.

“Is that why you stopped having sex with me?” I mumble out, gently.

He presses another kiss to the nape of my neck. “Mhm. Please don’t be mad.”

I let out a soft chuckle. “Not mad. The opposite, really.”

He pulls me up, causing us both to look at each other. “You feel the same way?”

I nod, biting my lip. “We could try this out, I think. I want to, Spencer.”

I stop, and decide I do need to tease him a bit, especially after the sex-less agony he put me through for a month.

“Though, I do recall someone telling me too much of a good thing can go bad..”

His lips part in confusion, before he picks up the teasing nature of my words and leans in for a soft, simple kiss. He keeps his forehead on mind, his eyes staring into mine with a gentle reverence.

“Let’s indulge just this once.”

holy shit has it been a long time since i've written a fic!! i'm so sorry?! i've been dealing with life and other assorted things and writing sort of took a backseat in that period of time <3 i hope this was okay. as usual any feedback, likes, comments, reblogs are so so greatly appreciated. i love writing for spencer, and i hope you guys like that writing too <3 i'm sorry that the two previous fics i promised seem to be delayed, i swear i'm gonna write those next, but inspiration sort of just struck on my end f or this, and i hope it was good <3 but yeah!! thank you so much for reading and interacting with this in any way you choose!! i appreciate it greatly!!

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daylighted · 4 months ago

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WEDDING BELLS & 5-STAR HOTELS ─ dean winchester!

. . . or, the first time in a long time dean's stayed in a hotel room without mysterious stains in the carpet or on the sheets.

no warnings <3 just fluff! and newlywed cutesie shit!

dean was so fucking glad you talked him out of a vegas wedding.

the thought of being married by a guy masquerading as elvis presley still sounded funny as shit to him, but he did agree with the sentiment that you deserved this. the grand wedding arch, strung with flowers, the huge cake, every eye of every single one of your loved ones there for you.

you deserved to be spoiled. dean didn't need to be told it to know it, but it was hard for him, sometimes, to remind himself that he could slow down. appreciate things. you'd helped him a lot in that regard, but it was hard to untrain a soldier into being a man again.

"this bed is nice!" you call to him from the bedroom part of your suite, and he actually laughs a little at the sound of it, hearing the little bounce of the mattress springs punctuating your words.

he undoes the tie from around his neck, draping it across the back of the couch, before he circles around it to find you, exactly how he thought you'd be: jumping on the bed like a damn kid.

you looked downright beautiful, even now. especially now. hair released from it's earlier style, flowing dress replaced with a shorter, more manageable one for the after party, your heels strung across the room. you'd even put the veil back on, the end of it catching in the wind as you jumped.

dean leans in the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, mouth tilted up in amusement. "are we having fun?"

"i'm having fun," you correct, the jumps stilling, your stance a little wobbly trying to balance on the springs, "you're watching me."

dean opens his mouth to say he's always watching you, but he didn't want to come off like a weirdo or anything. you knew you were marrying a weirdo, but, like, there were limits to how much weird a person could take in their partner.

your limit, apparently, was a supernatural hunter with dead parents and a talent at killing things. maybe, actually... you wouldn't have minded to hear about how often he just watched you.

watched you jump on every hotel or motel bed you'd both gotten. watched how your eyelashes fluttered in your sleep. watched as your eyebrows pinched together when you were cleaning the blood off of his face, or, for some godforsaken reason, doing his eyebrows. he was a much gentler, more lenient man since falling in love with the likes of you.

"stop staring at me like that," you laugh, having the audacity to sound sheepish, as if you weren't literally the prettiest person on the damn planet.

dean pushes off of the doorframe to cross the distance between the both of you. once he was close enough, your hands came up to rest on his cheeks, smushing them between your soft palms.

"like what?" he manages to mumble through it.

you lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. dean absolutely does not blush at that, either, shut up. "like you love me or something crazy like that."

"oh, can't love my wife now?" hard to speak through your light hold. easy to argue about loving you.

your hands fall to his, bending at the knee to try and haul his ass up onto the bed, too. "love me from up here." you somehow have even less balance, now, as you step backwards to make room for him on the king-sized bed, and his hand falls to your waist to steady you. "well, isn't this just the rom-com scene of the century."

dean snorts, taking your other hand into his to mimic the stance of your first dance, earlier that evening. "only you would have me dancin' on top of a bed." he pauses, shrugging lightly. "only you would have me dancin' at all."

your smile is wide and knowing. of course it is. he's not kept it a very good secret that you've got him going molten and soft, just for you.

there's no music. no sound at all beyond the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional traffic outside. even the sounds of the other hotel room doors opening and closing seems quieter here, in this moment with you. so he dances with you, keeps you upright on your feet, and doesn't seem to mind at all that this night doesn't seem to have an end in sight.

"told you the bed was nice," you say idly, just as he lowers you into a dip.

dean holds you there for a little bit of time, taking those few seconds to rake his eyes over the pristine white bedspread, and the mountain of pillows. pillows would be on the floor come morning time. sheets and blankets would be wrinkled to all hell. "not a single stain in sight," he agrees, lifting you back up to clutch you to his chest in an embrace, "wanna change that?"

"dean!" you try to scold but laugh instead, your palm flattening on his chest, curling into the white button-up's fabric. "shut up."

"what? it's a rite of passage for hotel sheets."

there's not a denial to follow, so dean breaks into a toothy, shit-eating grin.

"i think it's a great first thing to do, too, with these new wife and husband titles," he hums, mostly to himself, since you aren't arguing with him anymore.

you lift the veil off of your head and settle it on top of his, and dean really is a goddamn sucker now, because he even leans down to make it easier for you to reach. "okay," you sigh, as if you're resigning yourself to the inevitable, your mouth brushing his in a chaste kiss, "on one condition."

dean chases your mouth for a couple of more kisses, while he's got you so close. "and what's that, angel?"

you tug on the end of the veil on his head, now wearing a shit-eating grin of your own. "veil stays on during sex."

maybe he'd married a little weirdo, too.

notes. literally saw this gif on pinterest and immediately had to write something wedding related for my pookie wookie. <3

tags. @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4jackles @deansbite @whisperingwillowxox @bombarda-babe @whyyouegg @bluemerakis @loverslantern @bitchykittenconnoisseur @jensenacklesantidote @keira-kaz2y5 @sthefferrete @depressionbarbie2023 @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @bleuatlas @minettacreekk @moonstruksandco @moodyquesadilla @severe-mental-illness @gibson-g1rl @deansbeer @bluestrd @mccartneyqp @im-bili @chevroletdean @angelblqde @lyarr24 @psyches-reid @momoewn @globetrotter28 @starzify @florchids @ryngzmn @aileenunfiltered @beausling @frosttbitessam @amberlthomas

#dahlia's ☆ journal #married!dean #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester drabble #jensen ackles drabble #supernatural drabble #spn drabble

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witherby · 5 months ago

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I just wanted to make another Littlest Wayne drabble. Featuring Batlantern of course.

Hal startles badly when the front door of his apartment practically slams open. He jumps up, hands clenched into fists, and prepares to throw down with the intruder before recognizing Bruce's stupidly sexy Michael Kors fur-lined coat. It drapes him perfectly, from the broad lines of his shoulders to his sinfully small waist, and what was he doing? Oh fuck Bruce is talking so fast.

"Babe," Hal says. "Babe! Stop. Relax your shoulders. Smooth out your face. Take a damn second."

Bruce does stop, mouth closing with a click of his teeth. He shrugs his coat off and drapes it over the back of Hal's couch, then walks around it and perches in his lap after nudging him to sit down.

"Oh, shit, hell yeah," he mutters, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Bruce's hair, but he's halted with a palm to the chest.

"Mouse," says Bruce, which kills the bedroom vibes immediately.

"Uh. What about Mouse?"

"They're going to kill me, Hal."

Hal waits. Bruce does not elaborate. He sighs and sinks deeper into the cushions, settling his hands on Bruce's hips instead.

"Alright, I'm listening. Go ahead."

"I think I'm doing the Dad thing right this time," Bruce immediately starts, hands fluttering for emphasis as he speaks. "Today I knocked my coffee over by accident. They looked at the spill and said "uh oh! That's fine! Just clean it, no harm done!" Which is correct! No harm done, because I don't want them growing up in that big, old house and think they can't make mistakes. I didn't expect them to start echoing that back at me this soon!"

Hal, despite the disappointment at the lack of a quick hook-up with his boyfriend, can't help smiling at his enthusiasm.

"Yesterday, Damian nicked his finger sharpening his katanas again — I've shown him the proper way to do it a thousand times by now, so I think he's doing it wrong out of spite — anyway, Mouse grabbed him a bandaid, soothed him, and kissed his finger. It was the cutest thing I've ever seen. I'm so glad I have cameras everywhere, I'll show you the video later if you want it."

"Whoa," Hal says, "first of all, absolutely I wanna see that. Second of all, when you say cameras are everywhere..."

The smile Bruce gives him is terribly lewd. It sends a bolt of lust right down Hal's spine. His hands on Bruce's hips automatically tighten.

"I think you're trying to kill me," he mutters.

"I'll certainly give it my best effort. After I finish telling you what Mouse did."

Boner gone again.

"Most of this started last week, the whole 'echoing sentiments' behavior. Jason was pulling them along the gardens in a wagon, and they jumped out and said it was his turn. We're really working on the importance of sharing is caring right now, and they wanted to share the wagon with him. You can imagine how insane it looked to spot a six-foot-four, two hundred and thirty pound man scrunched up in a little red wagon out my window as a five-year-old tried to pull him along. I have that footage, too; I grabbed it right before Jay could get in and scrub it from the system..."

#batfam x reader #littlest wayne au #batlantern #bruce wayne #hal jordan

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foldingfittedsheets · 1 year ago

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Hands down one of my worst experiences in high school was when the seniors decided to extort the entire school by using tactics that were banned by the UN to get them to pay for the senior party! If that sounds like a wild sentiment stay tuned because this shit got crazy.

I was living in Arizona at the time and I was a freshman. Our campus was largely open air, with walks between class room buildings and some covered outdoor tables. Our event began with a morning announcement. The seniors were collecting donations for the senior party, and when they reached their goal, their fundraising method would stop.

Their fundraising method:

To pipe the entire schools speakers with "If You're Happy and You Know It" on loop. To this day, I cannot hear this song without experiencing a degree of rage and madness that is frankly alarming. One of the worst parts of the entire thing was that the recording they chose had the female singer do a little clap and say "Yay-ha-hey," at the end. So it wasn't just the song, it was this awful little cooldown stinger at the end.

If this sounds a lot like psychological torture you'd be extremely correct! This practice has been banned in some countries, but the good old US hasn't ruled it a human rights violation, and what a fun silly way to raise money, that definitely wasn't damaging to adolescent psyches!

Every morning for 15 minutes before school began, every passing period, every lunch, and after school for another 15 minutes they blasted that fucking song on unceasing repeat through every speaker in the school. Everyone found different ways of coping with this and mine was to observe my classmates descent into madness and categorize the stages.

The first stage was almost completely consistent, and it was a smug almost exasperated eye rolling phase. Often accompanied by derisive comments about the song or the tactic, this phase was extremely mildly annoyed. Most people figured it would blow over soon, and no one anticipated this continuing for a week and a half, creating a miasma of fraught tension.

The second phase was elevated annoyance, starting to snap and be less amused characterized this level of irritation. People would try to cover their ears or put on headphones, humming aggressively to block out the syrupy repulsive children's performer with her loathsome little clap. This phase had people picking their absolute least favorite part of the song. Her inflection on certain words, her timing between verses. I think it's pretty clear already which part I hated most.

The next phase was a bounce back out to absurdity. It became funny how annoying it was and people would sing along as if to challenge the song's authority over their psyche. This paired exceptionally poorly with people in phase two as they'd often lash out at the people giving more voice to their hell.

The fourth phase was a dead-eyed madness. People would stare straight ahead and their lips would silently mouth the familiar words. The song had pounded its way into their very soul and was inextricably linked to auditory output. They often didn't even realize if they began chanting along.

The fifth and final phase was pure uncut pubescent rage. Kids would scream, attack each other, and in a truly epic end to the event hurl a cafeteria chair with such force at the speaker in the cafeteria to irreparably damage the sound system.

The seniors got funding for a party, but some of it had to go to repair the damages, which were substantial.

#ramblies #funny #ffs foibles #high school #when I transferred back to my home state they tried something similar with the song “Blue”. The teachers were threatening to walk by lunch #I'm honestly astonished that none of the teachers rebelled in arizona? It had to be just as bad for them and it played in classrooms

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asteropewpew · 1 month ago

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dearest shooting star 🌠

loving anaxagoras felt similar to the momentary awe whenever you spot a shooting star. that quick, brilliant flash of light streaking across the midnight sky, so vivid and arrogantly defiant against the moon.

i shine brighter than you, it would say to the soft glow of the moonlight illuminating the late night. this shooting star was so bright that it seemingly cut a large swathe across like very definite sword strike, all the while burning up the rest of itself during the end of their cosmic journey. so look only at me.

"Your students looked quite... apoplectic." You look observed, tone filled with knowing amusement as you watched his students amble their way out of his classroom with varying expressions of frustration. Or in some cases, with a look of absolute vengeance. "A lively morning earlier then, yes?"

Anaxagoras doesn't quite chuckle, but the small, involuntary huff as his lips curved slightly in smug glee gives away his current sentiment regarding his students. His form tilted slightly forward as he turned to face you, a pair of vivid seafoam eyes gleaming brightly with all the knowledge and intellect that captivated your attention like a treacherous lure.

It's both fortunate and unfortunate (for your heart), that your own class ends at just around the time that his class ends—with the bell tolling overhead to signal the students to do a self-study session (or exchange shared moments of misery) at numerous amphitheaters or at the central library of the Grove.

"As always, our class ended with another debate."

"About the gods, Professor?"

"Naturally." Given his rather vocal stance as a blasphemer, it was no surprise that his students had seen fit to challenge him to yet another debate. More likely in hopes to humble him rather than commit to any intellectual exchange, you mused. "And as always, they are infuriated whenever I poke out the holes in their arguments."

"Their collective spite would end up with you getting killed one day, you know?" A lie. For as notorious as Anaxagoras had been in criticizing the actions of the Flame-Chase Journey right alongside, his students had somehow decided that he was deserving of their gifts and...other knick knacks that you were most definitely sure were priceless antiques.

Poor Hyacine who's been given more work by the rising mess around his office, no doubt. Although Anaxagoras' new student named Phainon had been mentioned as some sort of precious antique collector and appraiser, which made organizing things much easier, if any.

"If they commit as much dedication to verbally eviscerate me on court trials and debates, they should focus it on their thesis proposals." The sneer in his face made your lips quirk into a smile.

"You should really stop goading your cute little students, Professor Anaxagoras."

He opened his mouth, likely retorting his favorite correction before realization caught his would-be misstep. The small "tch" made your smile widen even as he shot you a warning glare, not missing your clear attempt at throwing him off despite following his numerous insistence regarding the matter with his name. "Telling me how to handle my students now, Professor?"

It should feel criminal how your name comes out of his mouth in a slow, lilting drawl. Almost indulging, if you were to entertain your own fanciful whispers.

"Just a word of advice as a fellow lecturer." But his unimpressed look told you as much about just how convincing your excuse is.

loving anaxagoras felt like loving a shooting star. there is joy in catching that moment of fleeting beauty across the sky, knowing that it would forever be different from any other shooting stars in the world. but like all things, even shooting stars are unforgiving towards their admirers.

they were utterly beautiful in their destruction, the broken fragments carrying with it such a devastating power that perhaps a part of you would break in return; echoing the shatter of a brilliant celestial body with your own hapless heart.

"What did you do?" You rushed to ask, voice trembling ever so slightly as you looked at the ragged exhaustion across Anaxagoras' face.

"Merely created something that puts us in equal standing with the gods." He sounded victorious, as if the price of his triumph wasn't riddled with blood and pain. Anaxagoras looked inappropriately disheveled, clothes rumpled and singed at some of the hems—pale blue hair clinging to his face that was full of grime and sweat and a few cuts here and there. "And I have succeeded in finally making it useable."

There are tremors in his hands, visible ones and you couldn't take your eyes away from the inflamed skin where the bright red of the Philosopher's stone adorned his right hand. Instantly, you feel the impossibly heavy weight of his trust in allowing you inside his personal alchemical laboratory.

There's a myriad of things that you could say to him, and yet all of it would make you nothing more than a hypocrite who allowed the one that you cherished most to completely ruin himself in pursuit of knowledge. All those years that had you faithfully shadowing him in his unquenchable thirst for answers, barely managing to reel him back just in time before he truly hurtled towards the deep end.

All those years of endless exasperation and countless debates as you hurried to catch up to him, all of it cultivated into biting back down a few choices of words directed at his dangerous recklessness. "Really? Treating yourself so poorly while you're in an experimental binge doesn't quite count as a logical course of action."

You hurriedly knelt down beside him as you brought out a roll of fresh bandages from your satchel, and he was mindful enough to not give you much grief as he obediently placed his trembling hands in your hands.

"Am I ever in danger with my own experiments?" His retort made you purse your lips as you carefully started tending to his wounds, a deep frown crossing your face for all that your hands remained gentle in treating his injuries.

The silence that followed, was a little stifled. Even with you, as immersed in your irritation and worries, didn't fail to notice the tension lining over his shoulders.

"This won't be the last." In the end, it was Anaxagoras who broke the silence, sounding a little gruff as he ducked his head to avoid your gaze. "I still need to find the answers to my new questions... far too many thing—"

"Be that as it may," you interrupted his halfhearted reasons with a pointed glare, "you are still expected to teach your own students instead of passing all them off to me every time you get possessed in doing your experiments!"

He tilted his head in consideration, as if only belatedly recalling that he had spent longer in his laboratory than he had expected.

"The brats should know better than compare you with me." The stupid, foolish, heretic scholar with one of the sharpest minds of today, missed your very non-subtle show of concern. Amazing. Truly a mind of the ages indeed. "And besides, you're the only one that wouldn't revise my lesson plan without consulting me first. Or make those impressionable students learn something that they shouldn't waste their time."

"No, I just want to get them off me because I'm tired of grading forty students every week on two different subjects."

"..." The foolish professor didn't even try to object, knowing better than to test your limits.

You also refrained from pointing out that his students have this weird tendency to debate with any professors that even dared to make them stray off his meticulous curriculum, for all that they are keen to put him through the wringer for at least once before they could graduate. "No personal laboratory time for at least a while."

"You can't possibly demand that of me."

The smile on your face dared him to argue any further than this. "I believe Hyacine would appreciate being notified of your... occupational injuries."

There's another beat of silence, but it was a little easier this time. Familiar.

Although your worries still made your chest grow tight, his disgruntled look soothed something within you as he obediently tilted his head up for you to dab at the small cuts and abrasions across his face.

Even more, the victory was sweeter when Anaxagoras eventually grumbled in defeat.

loving anaxagoras felt a little like condemning yourself to watching the fleeting destruction of a shooting star. you, a criminal who was sentenced to chase and watch the one that you loved the most, meet his own end with the most joyous laugh that you've heard from him.

anaxagoras who would completely burn up himself upon reaching the zenith of his journey, content in defying the tranquility of the evening night in a blaze of brilliant light. the false sky, as he had claimed, with eyes sparkling like the simulated constellations in the astronomy laboratory where alchemy fabricates a sky without the threat of aquila's temperamental gaze.

how you wanted, to valiantly preserve that shine without losing the brilliance that belonged to anaxagoras and his endless curiosity. except he was the kind of person who was never meant to be caged, confined and conforming to conventional ideas.

because he was always and foremost, meant to be free.

(and you could only hope that he can come back to you from time to time, if his time permits it; which was a factor that was slowly getting dwindling with each passing day.)

...Perhaps you'd have known it then, that he wouldn't simply just stop at embedding a Philosopher's stone in his right hand. That nothing could truly ever satiate his thirst in finding out the intricacies wrapped around Amphoreus and the ever-enduring Flame-Chase journey.

That he would embody your most favorite celestial body in all its vivid, and gut-wrenching beauty like this.

"Anaxa—are you crazy?!"

You saw him, slumped over the pillars of the central table while the contents in his personal laboratory which looked as if a veritable storm had swept upon it. Potions and vials lay shattered all over the ground, his alchemical gun lying innocuously beside him while numerous papers full of almost unrecognizable scrawls were scattered on the floor.

For a brief, frightening moment, you feared the worst.

"My name...is Anaxa...goras," he rasped after a moment, lone eye a little dull and unfocused as he struggled to recollect his thoughts when you rushed over to him. "Do not...call me Anaxa."

"And very soon, those words will be your last words if you don't get to the Courtyard as fast you can!" Panic was laced in your voice as you tried to check whether he had any debilitating injuries that require a mad dash to the Courtyard.

(Thin. He's thinner again.)

"This is a...culmination of my life's research and a milestone...regarding my capabilities," he argued, wheezing as he bared his teeth in an attempt to hide his pain when he tried to shift his position as you carefully prodded at his form.

"Which would be utterly useless if you don't make a patent of it while you're still alive," you snapped, finally letting out a breath when your preliminary search yielded nothing but a couple of bruises and symptoms of dehydration alongside exhaustion. "Have you truly decided to throw your life away like the foolish blasphemer that you are?"

Ever since he came back from that one conversation with Empedocles after he'd lost his eye, you know that he was a little different.

Sharper perhaps, much more intense as he had been before. Yet he looked perpetually weary, for all that his back stood tall and unwavering while handing out criticisms and advice for his students and fellow scholars.

As if he was always desperately running towards something that remained just out of reach.

"Why...do you care anyway? You're always so...meddlesome." The question made your heart grow still. It felt like being in the middle of Aidonia's harshest snowstorm, the wind howling at your foolishness for daring to even hope. "Don't you understand...why I must...do this?"

He is so thoughtlessly cruel at times, your dearest shooting star.

"I can't accept that what you're doing is so important that you would throw away your entire life for it." You didn't beg, but all of your emotions saturated each and every word. "Please, just take a break, Anaxagoras. There is time. You have time."

"Nothing is more important than seeing the Truth...of the false sky." His voice was hoarse, yet unwavering with the weight of his own conviction and obsessive desire. "And proving that...the Flame-Chase journey is not so linear in its approach. Everything else...was just an afterthought."

"Perhaps I had thought too highly of our time spent together." It hurt, when you could sense nothing but the genuine truth laced in his words. He's definitely suffered some sort of altered mental status right now, but it did little to lessen the sting. "And that my effort towards a dear colleague and companion, was nothing more than a show of charity in your eyes."

Anaxagoras didn't speak, nor did he even need to, as he had finally passed out in abject exhaustion and pain-filled sleep.

(Perhaps it was the best, that he couldn't hear the bitter disappointment in your voice.)

You allowed yourself a look, a last glance, feeling like you've swallowed knives with each indication of self-neglect over his form. His clothes were bigger than it should be on him, not to the point of fright but enough just to indicate how much he's foregone sustenance at least multiple times. Likewise, there's a clear expression of exhaustion in his face. His clothes were disheveled, likely from his latest stunt more than an unconscious habit—but he looked utterly... small in that moment.

It would be easy to hate him. To rage and hate his foolishness, the ease in how he discarded his own present in favor of crafting a future that he had decided that was not his to see. The sheer hypocrisy by how passionate he was in insisting the sanctity of life and autonomy over "misguided notions" of honor and obligation, when each of his choices had contributed to his eventual ruin.

But you couldn't.

Despite all your frustrations and concerns, you never would be able to hate him for as much as you cherish him.

You know you were not so important as to be able to anchor his feet, but you can't help but wish you were.

loving anaxa meant suffering from daring to attempt that you could handle the intensity of a shooting star. it's like being a moth drawn to his vibrant flame, helplessly oblivious to the eventual agony of being burned alive.

you loved still loved your shooting star who had captivated your attention so tightly, before he spirited your heart away from your hands without any intention of returning it. nor even trying to take care of it.

anaxagoras was a great many things, but he was also utterly oblivious at the best of times. you should have created a boundary with him early on, to rein in your feelings as soon as your traitorous heart thundered at the sight of his bright, satisfied smile.

(but you didn't. and equally hurt and filled you with humility for every time you could see a part of anaxa that perhaps few or rather, none had ever been privy to see it.)

your blasphemer was always meant for great things, regardless if he would be scorned or admired for his actions.

and you could only watch and try to help him when he has burned himself too early in his journey towards searching for the truth of this world.

the astronomy laboratory was one of your favorite ventures, and you keep to your silence even as the door opened to welcome the familiar clack of footsteps coming towards the center of the laboratory.

"...I didn't know that there's someone using the astronomy laboratory."

"It's occupied." your voice was clipped, sparing only the barest words as you didn't bother to turn around and acknowledge the illustrious anaxagoras. there was a brief pause, before you heard a rustling sound as he carefully sat down beside you.

ever since that day, when you had rushed anaxagoras into the courtyard after he had collapsed, you decided to keep your distance. a futile attempt at drawing a boundary when you've already reached a point in no return, but you held strong even when hyacine had cautiously asked if you would like to visit him even just once.

it was more for your sake than his, and you were confident that he wouldn't even notice—for all that he's dedicated his focus and attention to his dogged pursuit of the truth.

"You weren't present to the general meeting with all the Professors." it took everything in you not to flinch when you felt the weight of his gaze on the side of your face.

"I was busy." you were very much grateful that the darkness hid much of your expression as you drew your knees close to yourself.

"Busy with what?" he probed, because he never did have a sense of self-restraint when it comes to satiating his curiosity. "Hyacine told me that you asked to be relieved of another class to handle. And that you also applied for a...sabbatical leave."

the latter sentence echoed his mystified confusion, the notion of a vacation apparently being a foreign one to the foolish scholar.

"I'm accompanying Hyacine and Phainon on their usual visit back to Okhema." there, that should be enough to get him off your back and leave.

except it doesn't.

"You've never shown any interest in leaving the Grove for that holy city." it was evident how poorly he had regarded the capital with the eternal light, and you've heard his sentiments regarding a certain chrysos heir residing in the city often enough to understand his position.

but you didn't care much for that.

what pricked at your still smarting heart was—

"I don't need to report to you nor justify any of my actions to you for anything, Professor Anaxagoras." you replied, voice chillingly cold and void of your hurt as much as you can. "As you have made yourself quite clear on my interference to your pursuit of knowledge."

There was another pause, the fabric of his coat rustling as he abruptly moved closer to you.

"That day when you rushed me into the courtyard," his voice was faintly urgent, promptly you to finally give a glance at his pinched expression with a carefully distant look. except the faint unease within his piercing eyes made your traitorous heart flutter once again. "Did I say anything?"

this close, you could see that hyacine's work had lessened the exhaustion and overall gauntness of the scholar's face. despite you still childishly holding on to your anger, you felt a tension within you finally relax.

"Nothing but the truth, Professor." it was maddening, how your anger was quietly doused by seeing just how much he had recovered (even if you could still sense an air of weariness around him).

"That's not—" anaxagoras tsked, ever astute in deducing a hint from your response. "I said something."

you kept silent, because you refuse to be considered a puzzle where he would look for clues to satisfy his own questions. no, it would hurt you far too much if he treated what had happened as nothing more than a logical problem to be straightened out.

(it would be like holding out your still mending heart for him to destroy.)

"Whatever it was, it was enough for you to refuse a visit to me at the ward." the intensity in his gaze proved too much, and you ducked your head to look away from him. you saw his hand make an aborted move towards you, before it stopped and curled into a tight fist. "It happened when you caught me in my personal laboratory, and I was cognizant enough to respond but not enough to retain the memories of our brief interaction before you brought me to the Courtyard. You're angry. And I hurt you."

your foolish scholar had known nothing but the thorny path that would lead to his goals, and it was your own foolish decision to chase after him like a persistent shadow. in the end, everything can be traced back to your own decision to accompany him for so long—like that hapless moth who was drawn to the raging inferno that was anaxagoras the blasphemer.

you knew that he would change the world, at any and at all costs. even if the damning price was to ruin himself in the process.

"What did I say?" he asked again and... abruptly, you felt very tired.

forget it.

"It's alright," you murmured, finally looking up to give him a lopsided smile. don't worry, went unheard. "It was...my fault more than yours."

there was another pause again, before he spoke again.

"I am in need of a...companion for Hyacine to finally relinquish her watch on me." he said, stumbling over a particular word while you gave an inquiring hum.

you like to think that you know the undertone of his statement. don't go.

but you never truly left him, even in the height of your anger and hurt. hyacine would never fail to give you updates regarding his wellbeing and any additional expenses quietly paid for by you (under the guise of an anonymous benefactor), and combined with her stubbornness and the threat of making ika sit on his chest was enough for him to veer off from going back to his laboratory far too soon.

"...I can do that." it would be another story if you saw his main table and be reminded of how you initially saw him, but that was a thing for the future.

his shoulders slumping over slightly made a smile finally crack across your face, and he swiftly closed the remaining distance to rest his weight against yours.

"Good." and he sounded like he meant it.

you know that anaxagoras doesn't apologize for his actions, not because of pride but because he would not regret any of the actions that he had made. that each of his actions were driven with a purpose that would ultimately bring him closer to his goals.

when his hand carefully rested above yours after a while, the warmth spoke more than his clumsy attempts at making it for his apparent misstep. you gazed back upon the twinkling constellations, with the weight of anaxagoras' presence sitting close to your side.

your shooting star, if only for a moment, paused in his relentless pursuit to accompany you for the night.

it wasn't quite an apology, but it was more than enough.

(p.s. first time trying to do this so please tell me your thoughts? would you also want an anaxa pov to compliment this hehe)

#anaxa x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #anaxa honkai star rail #hsr anaxa #anaxagoras #more on introspection #also i feel like anaxa would be the type to not really notice how much he's interested in you #like his tone may look bored or distant but his body language definitely tells you everything that you should #he's a little emotionally constipated and that's okay #self indulgent #can be read as platonic or romantic ngl #pining #yearning #requited love #anaxa as anaxagoras #fluff #angst with a happy ending

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bradleysass · 5 days ago

Text

elbow - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 991

Evan stood at the threshold of his living room like a man betrayed.

“You have got to be joking.”

Barty didn’t even glance up from where he was lounging on the couch like a cat that paid rent. A thick book—something deeply academic and undoubtedly about cults—rested open on his chest, and Evan’s hoodie was draped around his shoulders. Correction: Evan’s favorite hoodie, navy blue, waterproof, just oversized enough to be comfortable, and lined with soft fleece. He’d bought it in Paris during a particularly romantic and rainy weekend. It had sentimental value. Emotional weight. Pocket zippers.

And now it was on Barty Crouch Jr., villain, menace, and certified clothing thief.

“I’m cozy,” Barty said, flipping a page with all the arrogance of a man who knew he looked good in someone else’s hoodie.

“It’s pouring outside,” Evan said, incredulous, gesturing wildly at the window where the rain slammed against the glass. “I was literally about to leave to go get groceries—”

“Ew.”

“—and I need that hoodie because it’s the only thing I own that doesn’t immediately cling to me like a second skin the moment water touches it!”

Barty finally looked up and blinked at him, sleepy-eyed and infuriatingly beautiful.

“You own, like, thirty jackets,” he said casually. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Don’t be so wrong,” Evan hissed, stepping forward. “They’re decorative. That one is functional. And you’ve already gotten cat hair all over it!”

Barty looked over at their cat—Treacle, a tabby who didn’t belong to either of them but had decided this apartment was now hers—and gave a smug shrug.

“She has good taste.”

Evan sighed like a man pushed to the edge. “Barty.”

“Yes, darling?”

“Take off the hoodie.”

“No.”

Evan marched over and stood at the edge of the couch, hands on hips.

“I’m not going out in this weather in a faux-leather jacket, Barty. I’ll look like a drowned bat.”

“Sexy drowned bat,” Barty corrected, smiling up at him.

“I mean it.”

“Then take it off me yourself.”

A beat passed. Then another.

And then Evan lunged.

“NO—” Barty shrieked, rolling to the side like a feral child, kicking his legs as Evan tried to pry the hoodie off him. “THIS IS A VIOLATION—GET YOUR COLD, UNGRATEFUL HANDS OFF ME—”

“It’s my hoodie!” Evan grunted, wrestling the sleeve halfway down Barty’s arm. “You sleep in it more than you sleep in your own flat!”

“Because your flat has you in it!”

The struggle intensified. Barty kicked a cushion off the couch. Evan yanked the drawstring so hard it snapped free, and Barty made a noise like he’d just been stabbed.

In the chaos, Evan’s elbow flung out and hit something solid.

Barty froze.

So did Evan.

Then:

“You hit me.”

“You moved!” Evan gasped. “That was your fault!”

“That was my ribcage, Evan!”

“I didn’t mean to—oh my god, are you okay?!”

“No,” Barty said, already collapsing onto the floor like a wounded hero in a soap opera. “I think you’ve punctured a lung. I’ll die here. In this hoodie. Which you will rip off my corpse, no doubt.”

Evan squatted down next to him, hands fluttering uselessly.

“Shit, let me see—”

Barty opened one eye dramatically. “Unless you kiss it better, I’m not speaking to you.”

Evan shoved his face into Barty’s shoulder and groaned. “You are the worst. Do you know that?”

“I’m wearing your favorite hoodie and bleeding internally from love.”

“You’re bleeding from nothing except the absolute chaos in your bloodstream,” Evan muttered, but he still leaned down and kissed Barty’s ribs through the fabric. “There. You happy, drama queen?”

Barty made a small, pleased noise. “Only a little.”

With a defeated sigh, Evan sat on the floor next to him, hoodie still only half-off Barty’s body. “Seriously, though, why do you always steal this one?”

Barty shrugged, head lolling toward Evan’s shoulder. “Smells like you.”

“That’s gross.”

“You’re gross.”

Evan looked down at him and softened a little. “You could just ask, you know.”

“I don’t ask for things,” Barty said sleepily. “I take.”

“Oh, that’s healthy.”

“You didn’t complain the night I stole your fries. Or your hoodie. Or your toothbrush.”

Evan wrinkled his nose. “That’s a separate toothbrush now, and I will die on that hill.”

Barty grinned. “Possessive.”

“Says the one who’s marked all my sweaters as his emotional support items.”

“You’re my emotional support item.”

“You’re an emotional catastrophe,” Evan said fondly.

They sat there for a moment, curled on the floor in a pile of stolen clothing and overdramatic affection, as the rain lashed outside. The apartment smelled like cinnamon tea and sandalwood cologne, and Treacle the cat had taken up residence on the now-abandoned couch cushion.

Evan leaned into Barty’s shoulder, pressing his forehead there.

“Okay. I’m actually going to go now.”

Barty whined. “Don’t. It’s awful out there. You’ll get wet and miserable and I’ll be here all lonely and dying from rib injuries.”

“I’ll be ten minutes. You’ll survive.”

Barty tilted his face up. “Will I?”

Evan kissed him, slow and warm and lingering. Barty hummed and smiled against his lips.

“You’re so annoying,” Evan whispered.

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Bring me back marshmallows?”

“Only if you give me the hoodie.”

Barty made a deeply reluctant groan but finally peeled it off, surrendering it like a man parting with a cherished relic.

Evan grinned. “Thank you. You can have it back when I get home.”

“I’m going to put it under my pillow and sleep on it for eight years.”

Evan tugged the hoodie on, then layered his raincoat over it and grabbed his keys. At the door, he paused and glanced back.

Barty had returned to the couch, curled up with the cat, wearing Evan’s second favorite sweater now. Treacle was purring. The heater hummed. The room glowed gold.

“Barty?”

“Mm?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Love you too.”

Evan smiled and stepped out into the rain.

#rosekillermicrofic #rosekiller microfic #rosekiller #marauders #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #microfic

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