#I wonder how much they had spent on fireworks...

[godofthestupid]

Happy New Year everybody!

hope everyone had a wonderful time and let's see what this new year will bring us (⌒▽⌒)☆

I personally spent it drawing just for the drawing to be kind of shit lol I will be redoing it and take proper care to make it look good instead of the trash it turned out to be

My personal goals for this year aren't really different from last year(which I managed to fulfill!) ,I want to improve my art skills,maybe start making a simple game(I already have an idea for it),actually start working out(have also been doing this but I want to do it every day instead of every other day),go to the doctor to sort out the pretty obvious allergies I seem to have,get a job I actually like that also pays well and become more extroverted ∑d(°∀°d)

[weasleysbliss]

𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

pairing: george weasley x gryffindor!reader

summary: when y/n is asked to tutor george weasley, she expects nothing but chaos. but as their study sessions turn into moments of laughter and vulnerability, what starts as an obligation blossoms into an unexpected romance.

word count: 2.7k

➽────────────────❥

You were the top student in your Potions class—well, pretty much in all of your classes. With an average just shy of 100, you managed to outdo your friend and academic rival, Hermione Granger. Sometimes, you couldn't help but wonder how you weren't placed in Ravenclaw.

You were patiently waiting in Professor McGonagall's office, as she'd asked you to be there at 10 a.m. sharp. It was already 10:05, but you didn't mind. After all, she had hundreds—if not thousands—of students to deal with every day. You couldn't imagine being in her position; it must be incredibly stressful.

You saw Professor McGonagall quickly walk into the office. "Sorry, dear, I wasn’t expecting to be late. I had to deal with one of the twins again. Fred and those fireworks he won’t stop setting off... I can’t seem to catch a break," she said, clearly irritated. You chuckled.

Fred, along with his twin George, were infamous for their pranks—especially their fireworks. You weren’t particularly close with the twins, though you knew George from Potions class. You’d never really talked, but you’d heard plenty about their mischief. This definitely wasn’t the first time they’d caused trouble.

"No worries, Professor, I’m in no rush,” you reassured her. “Speaking of Fred, I actually called you in here to ask if you'd be willing to tutor his brother, George. His struggle is with Potions, and I know you’d be a great help, Miss L/N."

Her request caught you off guard for a moment. You had no problem tutoring anyone—especially since you were confident in all of your academic abilities. But George? Would you even withstand a single session without him pulling at least ten stunts on you? Despite not exactly wanting your "client" to be George, you couldn’t let Professor McGonagall down.

"Yes, of course, I'd be delighted to tutor him." Not that you were exactly thrilled. You didn’t have a problem with George, but you could already imagine the chaos his pranks would bring. If he pulled anything on you... well, you’d just have to pray you could withstand it.

Nonetheless, you had high hopes.

"Lovely! You both can start tomorrow at 6 p.m. in the library," she said. "I will let him know about the schedule. You'll be expected to tutor him three times a week. I have no doubt his grades will improve with your help." She gave you a warm smile, clearly pleased that you accepted her request.

You returned her smile and made your way out of her office. Now, all that was left was to wait for your first session tomorrow evening.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The next day, 6 p.m. rolled around much faster than you anticipated. You spent most of the day going over your notes and brainstorming effective ways to tutor him.

You found a seat in the library, one that George would be able to see when he walked in. Shortly after you settled in, his tall, lean figure appeared in the doorway. Your eyes met for a moment, exchanging weak but genuine smiles, before he walked over and took a seat beside you.

"Glad you came, Weasley," you said, a hint of sarcasm in your voice, though it wasn't meant badly. "Not like I had much of a choice, y’know. McGonagall practically twisted my arm…" he laughed. "But I have to admit, I was pretty lucky to get you as my tutor. You’re brilliant, Miss L/N—though I probably shouldn’t inflate your ego too much." You chuckled at how formal he sounded when using your last name.

"Yes, well… I'll try my best to make this session quick and effective. I'm sure you have plenty of other things to do outside of this," you said, scrambling through your notes. "Don’t worry about it, I’ve got all the time in the world," he assured, smiling. His comment made your cheeks heat up, but you quickly brushed it off as you laid out the notes.

"Right, let's begin!" you cheerfully said.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Nearly 45 minutes into your session, everything was going smoothly. You’d covered most of the first topic you wanted to go over, and George seemed to be doing well with it so far. However, there was just a little bit left of the lesson to finish.

"Okay, and finally…" you began, but you were cut off when you noticed the cup of ink you had dipped your pen in was gone. "Oh… did I misplace it somewhere?" you said, your voice tinged with confusion.

"Have you seen the cup of ink, George?" you asked, still looking around in a frenzy. "No," he replied simply, his nasty and mischievous smirk making it clear he knew something you didn’t. "George, stop messing around. Give it to me," you said, trying to remain calm. You only had a couple more things to explain, and you were ready to be done. You weren’t having it with his pranks, though you knew they were coming.

The cup of ink came into clear view when George stood up, holding it high above his head. "Reach for it, if you dare," he laughed, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to reach it. "George, cut it out!" you said, clearly annoyed. You didn’t even try to get it; it would be impossible unless he brought it down some inches shorter.

Seeing the irritation on your face, George finally lowered the cup, holding it out in front of you. Just as you reached for it, he quickly pulled his hand away, making your face burn with embarrassment. "George, stop! We’ve been here for an hour already, don’t you want to leave?" you said quietly, trying to keep your frustration in check.

"I dunno, there’s just something hilarious about you when you’re mad," he said, a grin slowly creeping onto his face. He finally placed the cup on the desk, your eyes following his hand. Now, you can get back to finishing the lesson.

Once the session came to an end, you both discussed when you'd meet again—two days from now. "Same time, same place. Don’t be late," you said, your tone firm. "Right atcha," he replied with a playful salute before spinning on his heel and heading out of the library.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The next day wasn't one of your tutoring days, but you decided to sit next to George in Potions class. After all, you were tutoring him in the subject, and you figured it’d be a good chance to get to know him better outside of academics.

"Well, well, well," he sang as he saw you take a seat next to him. "Oh, shut up," you said, swatting his arm playfully.

For the entire period, you both got to know each other on a more personal level. Not too personal, but enough to now be considered 'acquaintances'.

George Weasley wasn’t as bad as you’d expected.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Next day, second tutoring session.

You and George met up at the same spot, same time. Library, at 6 p.m.

"Okay, now that you’ve learned what I taught you a few days ago, it’s time to apply it to an actual potion. This is when you’ll actually make one." you said, pointing to the empty glass tubes.

You handed him a piece of paper with a specific potion written on it—the one you’d ordered him to make. He took the paper and got to work. You watched his every move, from the way he added the ingredients to the tube, to the way his hands moved.

Something about his hands intrigued you. They were veiny, slim, and just perfect overall. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a loud explosion-like sound.

Your gaze immediately shifted to the glass tube, where black smoke was billowing out and clouding the air. He must’ve added the wrong ingredient.

"Guess I didn’t quite hit the mark with the studying, did I.." he muttered quietly. Yeah, clearly. The notes you’d given him to study had gone to waste—he’d messed up one of the easiest potions to make.

You rolled your eyes in annoyance, but despite the mistake, a laugh escaped you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Another two days later, another tutoring session awaited you.

This time, you really hoped George’s effort would get you somewhere, rather than wasting both of your time.

"Believe it or not, I actually did some studying this time. Turns out your notes are pretty brilliant—who would’ve thought?" he said as you both stepped into the library. "Wow, Weasley. I’m impressed, but let’s see if it paid off," you replied, smirking at his comment.

You handed him another potion to make, this one more difficult than the last. To your surprise, he actually perfected it. It warmed your heart knowing he’d put in such great effort.

"Told you," he said, showing off his creation like a nine-year-old flaunting a Lego set he’d built.

It was nice seeing him improve, finally succeeding in something he’d struggled with, all with your help.

"Nice one, Georgie!" you cheered, patting him on the shoulder. "Trust me, if you keep this up, you'll be in the high 80s."

"Yeah, I definitely need that. A 52 isn’t exactly something to brag about, is it?" He said, a bit embarrassed, but with a playful tone. He had clearly exposed his grade, a bit more than he intended.

Your hand was still on his shoulder, but neither of you seemed to mind. You didn’t think of letting go. "Don’t let yourself down. We all start somewhere. And you’re getting better—thanks to me," you said, flicking your hair away as you emphasized your contribution. He laughed at your sassy move, clearly amused by your confidence.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Another session went by, then another, and many more after that.

You were seeing George every day—whether it was sitting with him in Potions class, during your occasional tutoring sessions, or even grabbing coffee and lunch together now and then. Though those outings weren’t exactly romantic, they still felt special in their own way.

He'd made immense progress, and it was clear when he told you he was averaging an 85 in the class.

Just like that, in two months, he’d gone from a 52 to an 85. Needless to say, you were proud—of both yourself and George. You felt accomplished, knowing you’d successfully helped a student improve their grade, and proud of George for sticking with the sessions and putting in the effort.

Despite his rare pranks and annoying moments, he made the sessions much more fun than they should’ve been.

Rather than being professional and straightforward, the sessions almost always turned into the opposite—filled with laughter, inside jokes, casual flirting, and lessons that took far longer to finish because of it.

You didn’t realize it at first, but those two months spent together had made you develop feelings for him. Not a full-blown crush, but something close. You’d gotten to see the things that made him attractive, and more importantly, a good person.

His lean, masculine figure, his hands, and his noble, humble, and brave personality made you realize he wasn’t all chaos and jokes.

He was exactly your type—almost everything you'd wished for in a guy. His good looks weren’t something he flaunted; instead, he prioritized maintaining a reputation for being generous and courageous.

You admired that about him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

On one particular tutoring session, which was close to being one of your last—since he was already excelling in the class—you both shared a moment you'd never forget.

After your usual laughs at one of his ridiculous jokes, he suddenly shifted the atmosphere, his tone turning serious.

"Y/N, you do realize this is one of our last sessions, yeah?" He asked.

"I know. I’m going to miss moments like these. But hey, it’s not like we won’t still have class together! And I see you every day, stop being dramatic," you replied, playfully shoving him, earning a chuckle in return.

"I know, but I feel like these sessions are what really built our friendship. Honestly, if McGonagall hadn’t set this up, I’m not sure where we’d be." He said.

What he said was completely true, and you’d even considered it yourself. Where would you guys have ended up, in terms of your relationship, if Professor McGonagall hadn’t played matchmaker? It was like a butterfly effect.

"Yeah, I don’t think either of us would’ve spoken to each other," you laughed. In your defense, you wouldn’t have talked to George back then. You’d thought very differently of him.

"You're right. I'm scared of pretty women," he said.

That one simple comment made a thousand, if not a billion, butterflies erupt in your stomach. He always knew exactly what to say to earn a blush from you.

You were too flustered to respond, so instead, you shot him a small, shy smile, afraid you’d say something you would regret.

"I’m glad she paired us together, though," he said, breaking the silence. "Well, I happen to like you—a lot, actually. And somehow, it all snuck up on me so fast." he confessed.

His words sent your heart racing, pounding faster than it ever should. This was one of the rare moments where both of you were completely vulnerable and serious with each other.

"I’m really glad you enjoyed my company, Georgie. Honestly, these sessions meant more to me than just schoolwork." You hesitated for a moment, a small smile on your face. "You make me feel so… at ease. Like I can just be myself. And, well, I didn’t expect to get so attached, but here I am."

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and his eyes widened slightly at your statement. For a moment, panic gripped you.

Oh gosh. What if he didn’t mean it like that? What if he only sees me as a friend? Did I just romantically confess to him? Am I dreaming? Get a grip, Y/N!

"You like me, L/N, don’t you?" he said, not even posing it as a question.

Your cheeks flushed instantly at the sound of your last name on his lips.

You couldn’t outright deny it—that would be a lie. But admitting it felt too direct, too vulnerable.

Standing against one of the library tables, you avoided his gaze, your lips sealed as you struggled to find the right words. Deep down, you knew the truth—you liked him.

He stood from his seat and stepped closer, closing the space between you. His finger lightly grazed your chin, gently tilting your face to meet his eyes.

"There’s only one answer," he murmured. "Let’s not lie now."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you fumbled for a response, finally managing a soft, unsure, "Maybe."

By now, your bodies were so close that his warmth seeped into you, making your breath hitch.

"I thought so," he said, his voice low and almost teasing, his gaze locking with yours.

Your eyes remained locked on his, staring into the rich, chocolatey depths of his gaze.

"Y’know, you’re not exactly subtle about how you feel, Y/N. But lucky for you, I’m happy to help," he said, his voice soft but confident.

Confusion flickered across your face for only a moment before it was replaced by the warmth of his lips pressing against yours. One hand found the small of your back, the other resting gently at your waist. The world seemed to stop as you froze in the moment, every part of you except your lips paralyzed by the intensity.

Your lips moved in sync with his, creating a rhythm that sent heat coursing through your body. Slowly, your hands unfroze, snaking their way around his neck and pulling him closer.

As if the ten seconds of kissing weren’t enough, George seemed in no rush to stop. His hands moved to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you on the table behind you.

Now, with nothing to steady but each other, you let yourself melt into him.

His hands slid from your thighs to your hips, his fingertips brushing the fabric of your skirt. Your own hands stayed around his neck, tugging him even closer until there was no space left between you.

The kiss was electric—otherworldly. It wasn’t just passion; it was connection. It felt like bliss, the kind of moment you never wanted to end.

This wasn’t your first kiss, but it was the first one that made you feel completely and utterly alive.

Unbeknownst to either of you, every tutoring session had been its own lesson—a lesson in love.

[jinxthequeergirl]

Fireworks

pines family x parental figure!reader/ implied stanfordx reader

Summary: based on the song "Fireworks" by mitski- you've lost yourself in your journey to bring back your friend from another dimension that you've almost forgotten about your family.

Warning: ANGST BABY!!!!! WOWOW! Also corny as hell

Enjoy

~~~~~~~☆~~~~~

You wondered how long you'd feel like this. The sense of constant unease and dread and guilt.

"You're going to drive yourself crazy staring at those pages."

You blinked with heavy eyelids as you stared at the half complete layout of the large portal machine. "I can figure it.. I know I can..." You mumbled.

"There's nothing we can do until we have the last journal."

You said nothing but focused on the pages, thinking till your brain was numb.

Stan sighed, realizing he wasn't getting you away from those books without a fight.

"ME and the kids are going to be outside incase you care to join us."

You mumbled or groaned he couldn't really tell the difference. He frowned he had noticed a change in you most recently though he knew you didn't think he did.

A slight grey in your eyes as you continued to work. He knew you wanted to bring Stanford home so did he. But not to the extent you had been pushing it too. So he quietly went to meet the kids upstairs.

You felt your eyes growing heavy. Your thoughts drift as you stared at the page and wondered when you had gotten to this point.

You had spent so much time crying for Stanford to come back, so much time blaming Stanley for losing him. Then the feelings just fossilized one morning. You knew they where still there. You still felt the grief, the guilt the anger.

But for some reason, you'd forgot how to cry.

You heard a faint popping from upstairs but didn't think much of it at first. Still dazing into the old journals.

Trying for anything. A spark of an idea a glimmer of hope, the courage to face what you feared be true, to feel less lifeless again.

hoping that the almost numb feeling wasn't your lost feelings for him. If that was the case, then that would mean you'd given up hope on finding him again.

You hear the popping again, followed by cheering. You look up for the first time in what feels like hours. Your neck hurts, and you groan in pain as your eyes are met with a photo of you and Stanford.

Is this what he would want for you? The feelings you had were real and still hurt. The feelings you had for Ford were just the same.

Your eyes drift to the photo next to it. You and Stanley and the kids squished together to fit the frame. A wide grin across all your faces.

You heard the popping and booming louder this time.

This isn't what Stanford would want for you. You decide as you push yourself out of the chair with a stretch and up the basement steps.

You he'd want you to realize that what you felt was healing. Not losing hope or feeling for him like you feared.

Your eyes adjust to the light as you step into the warm summer night.

He'd want you to connect with the people you called family.

"Y/n, you made it! We still have some fireworks left!" Mable cheered as you shut the door that led to the roof. "I saved all your favorite colors incase you came out."

Take care of yourself.

"I dunno guys. Isn't this kinda dangerous?" You asked. The twins shared a look with eachother before you laughed.

"Who am I kidding? Hand me the biggest one you have!" You exclaimed.

Stan laughed. "Ah there they are the y/n we all know and love!"

And more importantly be there for them.

You placed an apologetic hand on stans shoulder and offered him a smile. Which he returned.

You sat on the edge of the roof watching the fireworks for most of the night feeling your worries wash away.

Everything was gonna be alright with them by your side.

It always had been.

~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~

[incidentallysunny]

Through The Skin

Real Uncle!Leon

Dead dove warning.

7k word count. Proof read lightly. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I'd like to appear in the tagz pls so here's a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing fxcked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don't be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, age-gap, overall just some disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, public female oral-recieving, Leon has dick piercings surprise, make and female oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, spitting, any probably some other irrelevant shit I'm forgetting my bad.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it's a long one.

To be quite frank, you didn’t give a shit about a single holiday party that your parents threw. Having to hug and touch on people you didn’t even know, putting on a fake smile and pretending as if you remembered them at all. Exhausting for a young woman to keep up this charade for so long. You’re sure your relatives noticed the dying spark in your eyes over time. Living Growing does that to a person. You spent all night fetching beers and other pre-packaged, alcoholic drinks- hoping he would show up every time you had to hand one out. Still one less face you’re can be enthralled to see.

You sat at the dining table, leaned onto an elbow with your face in your palm. Clearly a dejected and annoyed pose but everyone here was too cheery or already deep in the ‘special occasion’ wine bottle to even piece that together. Your other hand traced the ringed patterns in the wood surface, wondering how old it had been before it was chopped down ruthlessly by some hot guy with a chainsaw who was getting paid way too much to be fucking up nature left and right. All so that some college-aged girl could sit at the furniture it had been made into and sulk. God, an almost 40 year old tree. That’s pretty fucking old. You’re glad it lived a somewhat long life (in human years, not tree years.) ‘Cause some trees live a few hundred or even thousand years. So maybe it was taken too soon before it became the placeholder for your familial drunken talks. While you were distracted, annoyed, and pitying yourself, the table all erupted into ‘Hey, long time no see!’s , laughter, and other delightful sentiments that were jolly and deafening enough to make you jump. Loud noises weren’t your thing.

Before you could regain your composure and turn your torso in the hand-carved, deep-brown varnished chair- a hand graced the presence of your slumped shoulder.

“Hey, babydoll. Long time no see.” The voice greeted, husky and rough like a patch of concrete you’ve definitely scraped your knee on a time or two. Basically, it was familiar, which is what you’re getting at.

Uncle Leon.

You turned your full body now, swinging your legs to the side of the seat- a few laughs slopped from the table.

Everyone knew how much you loved and fawned over your Uncle- your dad rivaling how much you seemed to prefer his brother over him. Well duh, dad. It’s because he’s fun and you’re a hard-ass. And ugly to look at. Your poor, poor mom.

It had been years since you saw your uncle. Since you were freshly 18, to be exact. Your dad wasn’t too keen on having him around his barely-legal daughter- probably because he could practically smell it on you that you want your uncle to pop your cherry. You still remembered his few quirks, too. He was always sloppy yet casually drunk wherever he was, he hated fireworks (due to PTSD as your dad explained), and he had always been known to be grabby with people- probably because of the alcohol. He was a weird guy, but you loved him all the same. It broke the normalcy of your home and made things interesting to be around him. However- none of this was the focus. His stubble, dark-liquored bags under his eyes that almost resemble eyeliner, and dark-tinted hair were. And god, his chin. Could be a replacement for a Sybian, if you had one. All of that aside, he looks sexy. That’s so fucking weird to say about your dad’s brother, but calling it weird is also so outdated. Fucking your hot, middle-aged uncle is in; getting a boyfriend your age is out.

You stood up swiftly, hugging him tightly around the waist and almost toppling him. He chuckled, steadying himself with one arm around your back and the other on the table to catch himself. Once he felt he was steady enough, the other arm joined around you- the embrace squeezing you like a stress ball. You worried that your eyes might be a little more loose in your skull than before.

“Gotta be careful, kiddo. You’re gonna take down your uncle one of these days.” He teases, moving out of the hug and letting his hands explore their way down your back- resting on the small of it. Digits perched like a bird where your back starts to curve into your ass- not sweetly or gentle- but like one of those huge-taloned hawks that would rip your flesh off. You only say that because his hands are big and rough- and you’ve heard stories of what your uncle does for work (plus the alcohol is making him need to stabilize himself so he doesn’t crash you both into the nearby counter and cause any serious brain injury. At least then you could excuse the bubbling of strange feelings as TBI). Oh, and with how handsy he was known to be (Just ask your Aunt Claire on your mom’s side). But he had never been that way with you- not until now.

You see your dad eyeing him like the same kind of big-taloned hawk from across the table. They’re cut from the same feathers- except your dad must have been the one that never learned to fly. Pushed out of the nest by a sharp shove of a beak and bit every branch of the ugly tree on the way down. Cause he’s a lot weaker and uglier than your uncle. How he pulled your mom is a miracle and a mystery.

“Hey, uh. Honey. Come sit back down. No need in playing into your uncle’s fashionably late, drunken stupor.” He quips towards you while grilling Leon about being late, nursing his own drink with that ugly grin. You roll your eyes. Leon removes his hands from you- putting them up in defense of himself and leaving your back with an empty feeling.

“Hey, hey. Just hugging my beautiful niece.” He turned to address you again. “Been years since I’ve seen you, sweetheart. Look even better than your momma.” You feel a blush creep up at Leon’s words, but your dad clears his throat and your mom pays him no mind. Just an eye roll and sip of a wine cooler. To be honest, even she probably fucked your uncle. You couldn’t blame her if she did.

You huff and sit back down, crossing your arms. Your dad always had to ruin everything. If you fuck your uncle or kiss him or whatever and don’t like it, you can just go to therapy. Leon snickered behind you, patting your shoulder before leaning in next to your ear.

“Come join me out on the deck in a bit. I’m sure you’re tired of being smothered in here with the fun police.”

You feel muggy from his words. Like a Louisiana swamp type muggy. Is your hair sticking to you? Are there zika-virus bearing mosquitos pricking you or is that just undiagnosed anxiety?

You bounce your leg under the table while you hear the sliding door open and close in the distance. Minutes pass of you twiddling your thumbs- and you excuse yourself to sneak off- exiting out the same heavy sliding door that Leon used.

When you sealed it behind you- the smell of whiskey filled your nostrils- sizzling off any hairs that your nose so proudly grew for much needed germ-protection. A hand slapped itself gracelessly onto the glass above you in the dark, trapping you in place. Predictable uncle.

“Shit, sorry sweetheart. Lost my footing. Y’know how it is. I’m always taking spills here and there.” You felt giddy and blistered all over, speaking back to him.

“S’okay. Sorry about dad.” You excused, breathing in. Leon’s other hand patted you low on your hip as he chuckled into your ear- sending off more whiskey breath.

“It’s okay, sweet thing. Your dad can be that way. I’m not exactly safe to be around in his eyes. Besides, he’s just doing his job- looking out for his little girl.” He explains, not making any efforts to move. You predicted this- but it wasn’t unwelcome.

“Why’s that?” You dare to ask, sounding purposefully puzzled- but Leon knows better. And you know the answer.

“It’s ‘cause your Uncle likes ‘em young and pretty.” He mulls the information over you, the words sliding down you like a vibration that sets off a perfect sensation to your already throbbing clit. Because you’re always horny. The hand on your hip now kneads your ass under your skirt- somehow getting there without notice.

“O-oh.” You choke on the word like it’s quicksand in your throat- but only the quicksand is the prospect of having your uncle plow you until you develop early onset dementiaSo really, the quicksand isn’t bad in this instance. You jump into it face first for a good mouthful.

“Shouldn’t be wearing something so short when you know your dirty old uncle is coming over. Can’t keep my eyes where they’re supposed t’be.” He mutters low, leaning down to tickle the shell of your ear with his voice.

“Knew you were coming over. I wanted to look pretty for you.” Saying it makes your head spin, but like in the good way. The sound Leon makes is between a groan that says ‘good god, I’m going to bury my cock inside you right the fuck now’ and ‘I figured as much’. A simple cocktail of horniness and knowing.

“Mm, just want to kiss you everywhere, you know? Love it how sweet you are.” He murmurs into your scented hair, using the hand from the wall to push aside any strands that are in his way. He kisses the back of your neck and his breath scorches your skin. The affection is sloppy and leaves small bits of saliva behind, his barely-darting-out tongue making you ache even more.

“U-uncle.” You shuddered, a slight protest to your voice. Not ‘cause you don’t like it but because you’re worried someone will see. Or that you’ll never want off of his dick. He can be your personal IUD, all buried in your cervix.

Leon ignored the shared thought that someone could see because the way you referred to him made his dick jump in his jeans. Plus, the whole family knows he’s a sleeze. They’d see him balls deep in you and say ‘Ah, that’s Leon for you’ And look the other way until his next sexual prospect. One of the many reasons that Aunt Claire doesn't visit and Aunt Ada divorced his ass. Her loss. You’d happily share him if it were you. It’s only right to share a man that looks like a washed-up pornstar. His dick is great too. Not ‘cause you’re guessing- but because you saw it one time. Last time you saw him actually- the whole incident that left you wanting to see him again oh-so-badly. He had stumbled in the bathroom to piss- ignoring you at the sink. It’s whatever, he was totally wasted and probably didn’t see you. Nor did he probably see the fact you were gawking at his big dick. Or his nice ass, cause he had let his pants drop completely in his hazy state.

“Mm, what is it, babydoll? Hey- Think anyone’d notice if I fingered this sweet little pussy right now?” His voice cut through your memory and thick, long fingers teased the swell of your pussy lips through your underwear, making your hips contract with excitement. Your breath fans over the glass and smogs it.

“I don’t know- maybe.” You huff, trying to keep your composure. It sure is fucking hard when God’s gift to women is about to finger-fuck you at your parent’s house with 20 or so family members inside the property. You second guess yourself now. Maybe God's gift to women doesn’t go around playing with a pussy that belongs to their niece. Or maybe God was fed up with some girls missing out so he created sexually-attractive uncle’s to even any scores. You’ll be attending church this upcoming Sunday. Not because you’re going to follow through with blood-related fornication but because you want to thank the higher-ups properly for this fine piece of ass you’re about to receive from. Or maybe you shouldn’t step foot there, the whole ‘bursting into flames for egregious sinning’ type thing. Wait a minute- there’s literally daddy-daughter incest in the Book of Genesis, so you’ll happily sin away and tell god to fuck off while doing it. Okay maybe that’s a little uncalled for.

Leon tugged your panties to the side, breathing shakily.

“Fuck. I gotta see it, baby.” He mumbles, dropping to one knee with the other bent and still supporting the front of him. Underwear aside, he uses his hands to spread you out- taking in the sight of your damp folds. Damp is putting it lightly. His thumb collects some of your slick and he nearly cums right there.

“You save your first time for me?” He questions. In his mind, you’ve already had a dick or two. He can work with that. Those little guys your age don’t match up to him, but he’s blindsided when you whine about being a virgin, begging him to stick it in or something. Now, Leon’s not the greatest guy morally. At all. But if he’s going to pop your pussy like a soda cap for the first time, he’s going to do it in private cause he’s not stopping for anything. And privacy allows just that. Again- it’s not about it being special, just private. He’ll turn you out good and well.

“Sorry sweetheart. I wanna fuck this needy hole when it’s just us. Think you can wait?” He asks, before darting his tongue out to taste you and lapping up any of you that’s continuously dripping out from pent-up arousal. Your knees almost buckle and he puts his hands under the curve of your ass to hold you still. Your brain goes so mushy you almost forgot to respond.

“Y-yes, uncle Leon.” You whine like a pathetic puppy- begging for something that it didn’t need. But actually, you did need your uncle’s dick so badly. He laughs against your cunt, seemingly happy with that answer. Before you can properly nut like you want, you see your dad pass by in the distance of the sliding door. You tap the glass gently to alert Leon with a small series of clicks. He shoots his head up, yanking your panties back into place and using the sleeve of his leather jacket to wipe his mouth.

“Fuck- always such a blue-balling asshole for anyone, I swear. Sorry, pretty girl.” He smooths down your hair, making sure you look presentable. Well- besides your face that’s red enough to be used as a lit flare.

“Go inside. I’m sure he’s looking for you, babydoll.” He grabs you drunkenly by the upper arm, pulling you in to kiss you on the cheek.

“Come by mine sometime. I’ll be home, for once.” He mutters the last part, loosening his hold on you and starting down the steps of the deck.

“Okay. I’ll see you later, Uncle Leon.” You sound so disappointed and miserable. Pouty. Leon gets it.

“Later, babydoll.”

He heads down the path of the backyard and through the connecting gate that leads to the driveway, the sound of his motorcycle’s engine revving is the cue that he’s definitely headed off.

You let yourself back in, acting inconspicuous. But your dad is already waiting with crossed arms. Yuck.

“Did I not tell you several times about hanging around your uncle. He’s a weird guy. I don’t mind him coming over but, god.” He lays into you, mostly just insulting his brother. You roll your eyes as you normally do. You’ve never not had an attitude with your father. He was born to be shit on in your eyes- barely deserved your mom, as is. Besides, He had no backbone whatsoever.

“Just go upstairs.” He asked, cause he never told you to do anything. Just asked and hoped you’d listen. You were pleased enough to have gotten as much as your uncle tonguing your cunt, so you can comply a bit longer. You go upstairs to your room, shutting the door and lying down.

—

It’s a week later when you finally get to see your uncle. You managed to convince your dad to let you borrow his car, ‘cause you’re a broke college student and can’t afford that right now. Plus you’re spoiled but not enough for a car, apparently. Whoops. Probably because your dad knows as soon as he signs the papers, you’re going to drive to his brother’s house and impale yourself on his dick for life. He’d rather you go to college and get a train ran on you or something, at least.

You hoped you had remembered the right place at first, until Leon’s motorcycle was spotted in the lot. Good, he’s home. You still questioned your memory as you were walking up the flights of stairs in the apartment building, tugging down the back of your skirt when you felt it was airing out your ass too much (for any passerbys, not Leon). After reaching the 12th floor and navigating the scarily clean hallway (the few decorations in the area made it less horror-esque), you found the right (?) door. Your knock was soft because again, you weren’t entirely sure. Just going off of childhood memories.

After hearing a shuffle inside, it didn’t take long for it to swing open, Leon standing in the doorway shirtless with a pair of grey, thin sweatpants loose on his hipbones. His v-line was saying hello to you. Hello to you, too.

“Pretty girl! Hey! Thought you’d never come by. Sorry about the attire- been having a lazy day since I’m off work.” He moved aside for you to come in, the door shutting behind you when you accepted the unspoken invitation. His place was nice. A little cluttered with a half-packed suitcase; clothes messily thrown on top and some paperwork and a passport in a heap on the desk nearby, but still nice. Not to mention spacious. Thank god.

“It’s okay, really. You deserve some relaxation time, you know?” You try to be cool and collected- not getting to the main point of your visit. Even if you did have genuine interest in your uncle as a person.

“Isn’t that the truth? Want a drink?” He asked, already walking towards his kitchen. You don’t immediately reply because the sway of his ass is… something else, but you manage to snap yourself from the hypnotizing gaze of it. He’s got a whiskey glass and bottle already on the counter, waiting for a reply.

“Sure.” You tell him, knowing damn well you can’t handle your alcohol. You get all fucking lovey and touchy, and you’ve only drank like 3 times. And sure. You did come here to fuck him, but you were nervous. Okay, never mind. That gives a complete need for liquid courage.

He makes his way to the hallway- switching something on the AC control before sitting on the couch, adjacent from the chair you’re nestled in. You’re taking small sips of the whiskey, burning your throat, sinuses, and any nervousness down like a forest fire. Leon just sits, legs splayed apart like how men always sit. Except you can see his fat-ass dick print. God, kill me now. Or after I’ve sucked it, at least. You see, too, what looks like indents in the fabric- piercings maybe? Or the folds of the pants are sitting weird.

“Did you find the place okay?” He asks, coming off like he cares- which he does- but he’s mostly waiting to get you and himself sloppy for fucking so he’s just stalling now.

You nod, bottom lip tucked into your mouth- if you talk it’s going to be about his dick being huge or his dick being inside you. Leon allows you another deep sip, finishing off the liquid completely.

“I actually remembered how to get here just about perfectly.” You spoke, laughing a little. Yeah, you’d be gone completely in a few minutes. You already felt yourself slipping into a hazy, bubbly state. Leon could tell, too. Good for him. He loved when the girl was sloppier than the pussy attached to her.

“Smart girl. Always have been.” He took a long, heavy drink- finishing off his glass. You watched how his stomach twitched or moved even the slightest when he adjusted himself, the same with his arms. He was muscular yet lean- like he didn’t eat enough some days. Figures. Beauty isn’t easy and he looked good, and maybe that’s why he got plastered all the time so easily. No appetite=no tolerance. However, you were most certainly not afraid to look at the hard work. Even more so with alcohol brewing in your stomach acid and then liver.

Leon patted his leg, fingers drumming on the material of his sweatpants.

“Come sit. You can tell me more about it on your uncle’s lap.” Gross. Gross in the hot way. The gross-hot way you want him to fold and twist you like a pretzel. So no, you don’t abhor the idea of sitting in his lap.

You don’t even hesitate, standing and nearly falling over- realizing you forgot how wobbly your legs could get while inebriated. Leon reached forward to grab your hand and waist, letting you fall directly onto his lap, ass to crotch. Like a puzzle piece. An incestual puzzle piece- which ideally shouldn’t fit together but it just does.

You feel his cock twitch under you; he’s anticipated this, obviously. His hands slid up your thighs, and down again, then back up- like he’s appreciating them.

“Got the prettiest legs, baby. Want them on your uncle’s shoulders, don’t you?” He cooed, scooting you to the edge of his lap just enough to get his cock out of his bottoms. You turn to look behind you, twisting yourself a bit to get a look at it. Christ. One, he was big. The kind of dick that couldn’t stand ‘cause it was heavy and long. Two. It had a few piercings down the front of his shaft, gleaming in the light. So not only were you about to take your first dick, but a pierced one (like you had suspected). Okay…you didn’t remember seeing those the only other time you ever saw his dick by accident. New additions.

Leon stroked your hair with the hand that wasn’t holding his dick.

“Trust me, feels a lot better than it looks. I promise it doesn’t hurt. Even for virgins.” He adds, like he knows that for a fact. “Nothing you can’t handle for me.”

Okay, he’s right. You’d take his fist if it meant his approval, honestly. How bad could it be?

You move to spin yourself around on his lap, Leon’s amused at your eagerness. He holds his cock, spitting down onto it so he can stroke himself while he puts a hand onto your neck. You’re pulled by the hold into a slow, messy, spitty kiss. He’s definitely experienced, as you are not. His tongue makes its way against yours like he’s silently teaching you how to kiss him open mouthed. Not so hard, you think. He groans into your mouth as he handles himself, maneuvering his cock to brush against your underwear; prodding your clothed clit under your skirt.

You mewl against his lips which only spurs him to kiss you a little more rough now, assuming you’re ready for it. Which you definitely don’t mind. His hand squeezes the side of your neck affectionately, a thumb tracing the skin. You’re thankful you’re in his lap because your knees are weak and your head feels dizzy. It was an exchange of sighs and heavy breathing- no distance. Your hands tangled into his dark locks which is something that Leon loved; having his hair pulled (you could tell by his lusty growl and the shift of his hips). He truly was the epitome of a kinky, dirty old man. If pushing 40 was old. Well, to be fair, you did call the dead tree of a table at your parent’s house old, ‘cause it was 40.

He pulled off of you, your now un-joined mouths drippy with saliva.

“Get in between your Uncle’s legs. Wanna see that pretty mouth on this cock.” He urged, and you found yourself with your calves folded under you in between his parted thighs. He held his cock proudly, and to be honest, the piercings look daunting. How did you even expect yourself to suck on it like you’ve seen in porn? Maybe you should have spent more time watching guys with pierced dicks instead of the step category. You had a preference, clearly.

You snaked your hands up to him, holding his cock with a puzzled look clear on your face. Leon laughed, not like he was laughing at you but the way you laugh at someone when you think what they’re doing is cute.

“Don’t worry about them too much, gorgeous. Just do it how you think you would normally. But pay careful attention with your tongue. Won’t hurt me any, promise.” He reassures you thoroughly, chuckling through a sexually intense gaze. Okay, it seems…. easy enough. Didn’t know dirty old uncles could be so sweet about having their dick sucked.

You lean forward, Leon guiding the head to your mouth.

“Just go slow and focus on the tip. Don’t want my girl to be uncomfortable, now do I?” His girl? You liked the sound of that. Enjoyed it very much. You’d be his girl wherever and whenever. You took him past your lips- suckling on the tip softly and swirling your tongue around it.

“Just like that- fuck- you’re doing great, babydoll.”

The praise edged you on, and you managed enough confidence to glide your tongue down his shaft and over the piercings- flicking over them pornographically. You felt like it was just right. If fucking your uncle could be right in any way of the sense. Leon groaned and his head fell back onto the couch. A large hand found its way to your hair, holding it into a makeshift ponytail. You discovered that it wasn’t too daunting- it was possible to bob your head a little while keeping your tongue exploring the piercings in small swirls and flicks. Just makes your jaw a little tired faster. Besides, seems less scary than taking it inside you.

It’s an alternation of the previous movements and kitten licking up the front of him, and the adornments on his skin only seem to make everything feel much more stimulating. His breath deepens and he guides you now with your hair in hand- looking down at you through deep-brown bangs.

“Fuck- that’s it. Just look at you, dirty little niece I’ve got here, sucking her uncle’s cock like she was made for it. God- so damned pretty with your tongue on me.” His head falls back again for a moment, before he sits up- his labored panting evident.

“Christ. Okay- can’t take it anymore. C’mon, baby. Up.” He says, smacking your bottom when you stand in front of him. You’re feeling a bit ‘five seconds away from crashing into the coffee table and impaling yourself on the broken wood’ type of drunk now.

“Uncle Leon’s gonna pop that cherry, got it? Now sit down and let me lick that sweet pussy. Can still taste it after last time.” He’s speaking filthy things you should hear and run in the opposite direction from- but you don’t.

“My room. Remember where that is?” He mumbles, standing behind you now while he runs his hands down your sides- possessively grabbing at any fabric on you.

You shake your head no.

“Can’t remember. Need you to show me.” You whisper to him, putting your hands over his on your sides. He just muffles a laugh into the crook of your neck and shuffles you along in front of him, the two of you almost falling over multiple times on the way to his bedroom. You’re sure that something did get knocked off the wall at one point, but you literally do not care in any way.

Leon staggers you into the room and pushes you back onto the bed, shedding off his sweatpants. Naked, no boxers. Just full, thick cock and a trail of hair leading up to his belly-button that you haven’t let your eyes leave for however long you’ve been here. Oh, and muscled thighs. One of the greater parts of a man. His hands find their way to your thighs, tugging you to the edge of the bed before invading his thumbs into the waistband of your panties.

“Let’s get these off.” He grunts, pulling them down your legs and tossing them only for the undergarment to land in an unseen place. You go to tug off your skirt, until his hands pin yours to the bed.

“Want you to keep that on. Looks cute.” He says, retracting from you and sinking down at the edge of the bed. In no wasted time, his mouth is lazily lapping at your cunt- making your back bend in the reaction of immediate, overwhelming pleasure. You grabbed at the sheets until you remembered how his body responded when you pulled at his hair- so you found your hold there instead. Tugging his darkened strands with the pace he was eating you out at- stubble against your pussy and nose in your mound. His cheeks tickled your thighs, punching out a soft giggle and squirm from your body between the moaning. It makes him smile into you- reaching a hand up to knead your breast. Honestly, you hoped that the roof caved in right now and took you to your death because no moment would be better than this and that in itself made you suicidal.

You feel a finger slip past your hole, curling itself into that soft wall of fleshy, orgasmic sponge. The noise that left you was new, for sure and the muscle in his mouth jerked against your clit in tandem. It seemed Leon had the same deep feeling and worry you did about his dick even fitting, cause he added a second finger. Then tried to add a third but gave up because he actually wanted his dick to do that labor. He can be selfish, okay? It didn’t take long for you to cum either, duh. He was a skilled whore of a man and you’re a virgin. Or will be for only a few more minutes- probably less.

Your legs shake and tense, your heart thumps viciously, and your fingers threaten to tangle his hair into knots and make him start balding. Not happening no matter how hard you yank, though. His genes are too good for that. He was made for rough pulls to his mane. Made to take damage both mentally and physically. Made for splitting open cute, slutty nieces like you.

While you recovered, he licked his lips and fingers as clean as he could- missing the further parts of his stubbled cheeks. He stood up, hand on his lower back (‘cause duh, he’s old as dirt), and reached into the nightstand for a condom- which you gave him a look before he could open it. A look that told him ‘please, please, please don’t put it on! sure, fuck your blood-relative niece raw and possibly knock her up! Might not have to worry because you’re an alcoholic and your sperm quality is low, though.’ So fuck away.

He was a sucker for your big, glossy eyes and the slutty pout of your bottom lip. Not mentioning- he wouldn’t have worn a condom anyway. Would have just slipped it off before he stuck his dick in you. A virgin couldn’t tell the difference. What? You expected a man that fucks his own family to have morals for things lesser than that? No chance.

“Please, Uncle.” You begged softly, Leon knowing what you want without actually saying it. He’s great at reading people.

“Fucking hell. You’re something else. You want it that bad, huh?” He laughed, pleased by you beseeching him with so little words. You nodded, no objections about it. He tossed the unopened condom back in the drawer and shut it impatiently, making the lamp wobble.

“Changed my mind. Everything off. Gotta see that pretty set of tits.” The words were matter of fact and laced with a bit of erection-fueled urgency.

You reach your hands up to remove your shirt, then discard your bra and skirt. Left in the nude as naked as the day you were cut from your moms stomach. C-section baby and all that. Only this time there was no blood. Yet, anyways.

When you were stark naked, Leon pushed you firmly onto his bed again- folding you by the backs of your thighs, legs pressed to your chest and gifting your stomach with that cute roll thing it did. Leon liked that on a woman.

He grabbed his cock, positioning it against your slick that dribbled from your yet-to-be-abused hole. He was gonna change that. You could feel his one of the piercings resting against your skin down below- a tsunami of anxiety settling over your delicate village of a body.

“Might hurt a little, babydoll. Can’t promise I’m gonna be gentle with her.” He referred to your pussy, your hole fluttering when he talked. You gave a look of understanding and acknowledgement.

“God, want it so bad.” You whined under him, the position he had your legs in made you even crazier about having him in you, like, yesterday.

He didn’t savor the moment so that he could push into you, he just did it. The feeling of each piercing bumping your hole on the way in. It felt fucking good, but also his dick stretching you out was intense and stung like a papercut.

His hands held your thighs down into your stomach- giving you a novice contortionist experience, and you could see the veins in his forearm pop a little. Your mind raced with the following anxieties; ‘What if a piercing cuts my insides and I die from sepsis or something? What if a piercing ball comes off and is lost inside me forever? Maybe I should stretch more.’ The first two were irrational but maybe not so much so, or else you wouldn’t be thinking of them. You’re not the first woman to think any of it.

“Fuck- there we go. Shit. You feel incredible, baby.” He dropped the doll in favor of calling you baby this time, making you squeeze around him as he bottoms out, balls against your ass. Yep. A bruised cervix was in your future. Going to have to come up with an excuse for why you won’t be able to get out of bed for the next few days. You thought other girls were just exaggerating this whole time about feeling yourself be split open, what the hell was he trying to do? Dig out your uterus with his dick? Does he really have to be so deep? It’s, like, really hot and feels really fucking good, but also, slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the position.

Either way, he’s feeding your ego.

You let your head relax onto the bed instead of continuing to hold it up, ‘cause doing that was much more painful.

“God.” You muttered, relieved to be full and get the virginity loss out of the way. You should be getting a cake and celebration for this, if it wasn’t your uncle. But still. Taking big, pierced dick deemed trophy worthy. Or maybe a plaque.

Leon gazed down at you through straight locks, shaking them out of his face a little. He pulled himself out, minus the tip, before pushing back in with a groan- his Adam’s Apple bobbing hypnotically. Your spine arched, lifting your back off the mattress and your hands dug into your own thighs, helping hold them in place.

“You like that, huh?” He asked, the difference between it being pure hormones and condescension was blurred. Could have been both. He doesn’t give that much of a timeframe to start dragging his cock in and out of you, slowly picking up speed and bottoming out each time- balls slapping against your bottom.

You babble nonsensically, the ribbed sensation of his piercings almost sending you into hysterics. Something about yes, yes. I love it. Need you to fuck me so hard that my dad disowns me because I’m wheelchair bound and he knows why.

“Feels good, baby. I know it. Bet it’s hitting places you didn’t even know you had.” If he wasn’t so fucking hot, you’d probably have the ick from how cocky he is. Or not, you’re fucked up.

He leaned forward over you more to tangle into your hair, guiding your head to more of an angle and exposing your neck. You were so overwhelmed from how hard and deep he’s fucking you, not to mention his dick feels like how you imagine a beginner level bad dragon dildo to feel. Or maybe a less monster-y version anyways. It just feels fucking good and that’s all you needed to care about. Soft, airy cries crawl their way from your throat and leave you between that and moaning. Uncle, please. Please, please, please, harder.

“Let it all out, that’s it. Uncle Leon’s gonna take good care of this pussy.”

You nod as much as you can with his hold on your hair, and he pants into your collarbone, sweaty and nasty on top of you. You feel like you’re almost being crushed under his weight but it’s only hotter, and gets even more when you feel his free hand slip between your damp bodies to thumb your aching and still-sensitive clit. You tighten around his cock in reaction- gasping.

“Take it, babydoll. Fuck. Show me how much you want your uncle to make you cum. Belong on my cock, you know it?”

Your brain is off somewhere in a hot air balloon, far from its preferred skull. Which is yours. He speaks in ways you didn’t imagine you’d ever get to be spoken to or even enjoy. But it’ll be the only thing that gets you off from now on, no doubt about it.

“Uh huh, belong on your dick forever. Never wanna take it out.” Yeah. You’re stupid for him.

“Fuck. That’s my girl. Keep talking like that and I’m not ever letting you go.”

You nod your head.

“Want that, want that so bad. ‘D let you fuck me whenever you want, uncle.”

His lips curl into a half-pressed grin before he’s panting again- a bead of sweat dripping onto him. You remember he did something with the AC. Yeah-to the heat in the apartment is frying you good and well. Guess he wanted the sex to be extra clammy and gross. You know, besides the incest.

“Christ. Fuck, yes.” He groans deep, throaty and carnal.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. You’d be the prettiest little girlfriend. Sitting around waiting to get fucked all the time. I know how needy my baby is.” Christ. You’re going to the deepest abyss in hell. You’re sure whatever torment awaits is worth it though, so it’s not a big deal right now.

“Wanna be yours.” You choke, throat dry. Ah, you remember you’re intoxicated. That must be why you’re so loose at saying this stuff.

“Open up.” He huffs, almost face to face with you but still enough that his breath is hot on your features. You’re hasty to open your mouth like a whore, Leon dribbling his gathered spit down onto your tongue.

“Gotta keep you hydrated, baby. Can’t have that throat getting raw, can we?” You nod, there’s so many nasty things happening you can’t process it properly- unaware of everything as you cum a second time on his hand, squeezing his dick like a much softer and less dangerous guillotine.

His thrusts were a little more sloppy and erratic- alcohol fully set in for the both of you. Normally, he’d be able to hold off his orgasm a little longer- but combatting it wasn’t an option in this drunken state.

“Christ- so fucking pretty and tight when you cum on my dick. Gonna cum too, baby. Don’t think I can pull out right now.”

You shake your head no.

“Don’t pull out, please. Please uncle, ‘ll do whatever you want.”

He laughs brokenly, choked up from the moans that need to come out first.

“God, yes. Okay. Gonna fill this sweet pussy up, baby.”

He focuses a few more thrusts, hard enough to make it hurt a little and sloppy enough to still be just the right amount of perfect.

“Here it comes, baby. Need you to take i- shit.” He buried deep inside you as he came hard, rasped voice and all while he held his place firm. His hair is stuck to his face in some areas, his natural scent emanating off of the sweat droplets.

His dick spasms inside you, filling you with every bit of semen he’s got pent up in him. You could almost feel the way your cunt was full of his cum, having no room around his dick to go anywhere, really.

He relaxed a little, letting out a long, pleasurable groan. You yourself joined him in letting your body go limp as it could in this position. He grabbed your legs to straighten them out and let them wrap around his waist, making you realize they were folded too long and that they ache a bit.

He kissed your collarbone, picking up his head and kissing your cheek next.

“Mm. Did so great for me, babydoll. Not gonna be able to let you go now.” He teased, another peck to your mouth that you managed to reciprocate just in time.

“Then don’t.” You tell him, mumbling.

“I can manage that. Could easily be my girl. Would have to be our little secret, though.” He adds at the end, threading his fingers in your hair.

Yeah, you’re not turning down that offer.

[sirxlla]

Spending New Years with the Batboys 🎉

----------------------------------------------------

Dick: Of course being the social butterfly Dick was he wanted you to both be out and about. Of course being Bruce's son he was invited to several several New Year's Eve parties. This man was a complete Hufflepuff at heart with the way that he just loved people. He had one of those little cone hats on that had the little metallic plastic pieces that would go everywhere on top, putting one ontop of your head as well. He was always wondering about the cliches and everything so of course as everyone around the room counted down... dick pretended to be focused on the countdown as he shouted as well but as soon as it hit that final moment of the new year and abruptly kissed you almost knocking you off your feet at the same time. How could someone so agile, be so clumsy at the same time?

Jason: Already halfway through the night you were drunk as a skunk. This asshole challenge you to be your pong which of course he was a thousand times better at and you had down several several cups of cheap beer. Jason practically had you hanging off of him swearing your words and flirting with him in ways that made absolutely zero sense but also telling him you had a boyfriend? He was laughing his ass off cuz he thought it was just the funniest thing ever.

Bruce: Bruce had some sorta charity gala so he got dressed up all snazzy and he'd bought you this beautiful outfit to wear. Of course his entire night was filled with him having to make speeches because of course everyone in the entire city wants to hear Bruce Wayne speak. As the time got closer to the New Year arriving and he pulled you to the side into an unoccupied area so that he could spend some time with you alone to celebrate this together. The both of you watched the fireworks together in silence standing very close to each other and just enjoying each other's presents silently. As much as you wish Bruce would talk more there was times like this where you were so happy that the both of you could enjoy them and each other without saying anything.

Tim: "No, I promise. I can 100% stay up til then!" The both of you had been up for nearly 72 hours because of crimes and such in Gotham, this man also broke his coffee machine after already having six cups and he was bouncing off the walls like a ping pong ball. The two of you didnt even make it to ten p.m. before the both of you were past out on the couch after crashing. He did pass out before you which prompted your tired self to think it was funny to draw a mustache on his face and a dick on his cheek.

Damian: Damian thought the tradition was interesting but growing up within the League, a new year was still something to celebrate. Even so it was something you did on your own and not something you made a specticle of yourself out of to do it. There were no fireworks, resolutions or large acts of love. Damian never needed a holiday to prove his love, its one of the reasons he hated Valentine's day too. He spent his New Years Eve in the cave sparring with you occasionally and secretly catching his watch. He might not have been into the holiday stuff but he knew you kinda were and he kissed you as soon as his watch turned to midnight.

(Send me prompts, if you'd like <3)

Masterlists

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

This year, I want to be a wetter, I mean better person - Mark Webber x reader

cws: age gaps (reader is in her 20s, Mark is in his 40s), perv! Mark, semi-public, squirting, dirty talk, author loves dilfs and hopes that one day dilfs will love her too

Whichever spirit possessed your parents to decide to move to the middle of nowhere, England was a hidden blessing. It may not have seemed that way when you had to endure their company for the 4 hour drive from the airport or when you knew that there was no one fuckable for miles. Not that you could get down and dirty under a family roof, whether it was somebody else's or your own. Nothing more haunting than staring down at the lone poster of Fernando Alonso from his Renaut era on your hideously painted walls while cumming. Or, more accurately faking an orgasm. So you spent a nice, festive Christmas Eve and Christmas in your new family home. Catalogued everything that went wrong in your life to land you in this position from the 26th onwards. Actually explored the town and found that at least 1 bar (as if it would have more than that not on the main street) was open on New Years.

Your parents were not party people. By 8, they had tucked in on the couch and were yawning through a holiday concert of some Dutch guy. You shimmied into the one presentable dress they had seemed to pack from your childhood home. "Conveniently," your cute clothes were in storage, and the owner was somewhere in Dubai at the moment. So you have to make do with this black piece. It's not your first choice. But at least the fact that you had grown some tits since being 18 a few years ago was comforting. You pass your parents by with a promise to not be long now. Being met with a sleepy "Don't worry, sweetheart." you know that they're going to sleep through the fireworks anyway.

To nobody's surprise, the bar isn't crowded. The raging bull is in a pathetic state. Some top 40 hits radio station is playing. The floor is sticky. The bartender looks like he's your parents' age, and it doesn't seem like he knows just what goes into your favorite Long Island iced tea. You sit down and ask him to keep pouring you rum and cokes until either he runs out or your wallet is empty. You sip his very boozy concoction slowly, as you're texting your friends. Complimenting their party fits. Asking details about potential hookups. Looking at pictures of their pets in ugly sweaters. As midnight draws near, someone else actually gets inside the bar. You look up and see a pair of green eyes and holy shit, it's a holiday miracle. It's Mark Webber. 9 time GP winner. Manager of your current favorite driver on the grid. Ultimate celebrity crush, Mark Webber. With the grace of a newborn giraffe, you slide out of your chair. You don't want him to see you, but at the same time, you need it to survive. There goes your cover of not knowing who he is. Now, the bar name makes sense. It all aligns like a jigsaw puzzle. The car themed coasters. The signed cocktail napkin framed on the wall. The only “fancy” drink on the menu being named the Aussie grit.

After you not so subtly go to the bathroom to reapply your lipstick and try to work wonders with a mascara wand, you go back to your place at the bar. Only Mark is next to you, bendy black straw into his namesake cocktail.

"Look, I don't know how much they paid you to tail me here, but I can double it." he says, and you're confused.

"You're some kind of journalist or something.” You shake your head, still too stunned that he's here, talking to you.

“Don't tell me you're just some big city girl whose boyfriend brought her to meet the parents, and now you're single because you found him groping his cousin. Because, believe me, that romcom's more of a staple than you think." He continues.

"Wow, how bad is this town that a young woman in a bar on NYE is news. My parents moved here in April. I'm visiting them for the first time. And so far, I haven't encountered any guys, much less the ones that think the best part of waking up is Folgers in their cup." You explain.

"Are your folks the couple who hate each other but are always bragging about their daughter's graduation in March?" Mark guesses, and you are once again stunned by just much this small town gets to people. Not only does a man that's starred into many of your wet dreams know your parents. No, that's not enough, he also knows they're not the perfect relationship role models. You can't help but wonder if it's hereditary and also the reason you haven't brought home a partner. Pushing that to the side, you reply to him with

"Just the ones.”

"You know your dad thinks we're best friends, and your mom keeps asking if I can hire you at Porsche or McLaren." He says and suddenly all the facetimes with your parents come back to you. The man with a very nice house who they invite over for tea sometimes. The one that's been a little under the weather lately. The one who drives a sports car to the center.

"You're motorsport Mark? Of course you are. Be grateful that you don't have any kids my age because I'd practically be your daughter in law too." You speak before you think, momentarily forgetting about the man's wife and kid. Then you wonder why he's out here with you and not back at home. You're inching to ask, but there is no way to say “are you divorced, and if yes, can I ride you into next year, please?"”. Especially after he hits you with a reminder of why that's a bad idea.

"You should be happy that your parents are proud of you, sweetheart. And that they want you to stick around with them here." He says.

"If I was, wouldn't I be about to watch the fireworks with them?" You ask.

"Still some time until that, isn't it? Wanna make it count?" He replies to your question with a question.

You agree, and there's two more Aussie Grits on the bar. The bar tender also places two laminated sheets of paper and two markers in front of you. The comic sans text on top says "New Years Resolutions" and the neat little lines give you 5 rows to write in.

"Sick of hearing us talk, aren't you?" Mark asks the other man, and the latter just grunts.

"Bet I can write mine before you finish your drink." The former driver says, clearly still a speed fiend. You shake on it, and you start chugging the strong drink. Meanwhile, he's adding chicken scratch sentences to the A4.

He beats you, and to his credit, all his resolutions are thought out and personal. You're happy to see that he's put "do more for Oscar" in there and giggle at the "post more on Instagram?". While you're still reading, he's busy gloating, making fun of you for not learning the most important thing in college - how to hold your liquor.

"What, like you could do any better. Mark, I'm surprised you're standing after the drinks you already had. I bet that I'll have to see you get locked in here till the morning for your own sake." You say, both posing a challenge and remembering the "beauty" of some more traditional British pubs. You hope that the one booth you see is at least comfortable. He doesn't back down, and you're on the clock, writing down what you want to accomplish in 2025. But your brain is buzzing from the drinks, from the way liquid is dripping down Mark's chin and onto his pants, by the fact that you're a horny drunk and the unavailable dilf next to you is too delicious to pass on. You lose, unsurprisingly. Handing over the list, you absent mindedly say

"You know I wouldn't mind your help with the last one, I'm sure you can make it happen, wink wink, nudge nudge.". You're referring to the item "attend my first grand prix," a dream of yours since getting into the sport. But apparently, in the rush, you had added a more nsfw goal under it. Because the item on your list that ended it prematurely was, in fact, "squirt for the first time.".

"You wanna double-check your work before saying things, sweetheart. " he asks, and you're mortified when you do. You start apologizing and gathering your things to leave. Mark places a strong hand on your bare thigh to stop you.

"I never said I wasn't going to do it. I'd be glad to. I'm just making sure that here and now is the place you want to bring this up." He says. Your jaw drops, and you're like a fish out of water.

"Aren't you married?" You ask. It's not the first that you thought would come out of your mouth. Yet, you have to hear him say it.

"Divorced. Technically, in the process of, but no ring. Empty house, and a cold bed. Only my left hand for relief." He says and you're picturing Mark pumping his cock in his fist. You cross your legs and clench your thighs slightly, which doesn't go unnoticed by the older man. He moves his hand and spreads them.

"And you, sweetheart? Do you have some secret boy toy to make your switch into adulthood more fun? Or a nice pretty girl like yourself that you've been shaking up with since your dorm days?" He asks.

"No. Same as you, but I use my right hand. My clit's too sensitive if I switch up my technique." You say, hellbent on making that man go crazy for you.

Mark looks around and tips a crisp 50-pound note from his wallet. You can't help but notice the little blue wrapper peeking out of the Italian leather. He calls over the bartender and asks for "2 coffees when we come back." You think the Aussie's going to take you to his car. Have you ruin his custom leather seats and make you lick up your mess as punishment? You guess he might even take you to his house, not that you have any idea where it is exactly. Ask you to hold on tight as the headboard to his once marital bed slams against the wall. Makes sure your sensitive little clit humps against the pillow as he's fucking you from behind.

But Mark drags you to the men's room instead. Spreads your legs and makes you grab the sink.

"You know I'm a man of few words. And as much as I'd love to start you off with a hands-on approach, I think you haven't earned it yet. So let's show you some videos first, huh?". He pulls out his phone and opens his Google drive. He's got a folder titled xxx and in it is maliciously organized subfolders by years.

"I can click any of them? And I'll see you making a woman squirt?" You say, impressed.

"Never met a girl whose pussy I couldn't make gush. Although I'd stick to the pre-retirement years." He says and you settle on a 2012 video. You know the later ones probably feature his ex. But this one stars a faceless blonde, all curves and moans. You squirm when Mark smacks her ass, watching it jiggle. You keep your eyes on how his tongue slides between her folds. You try to ignore how he's rolled up your dress and is just staring at your underwear. Watching it get wetter and wetter. You're too preoccupied with younger him to ask for his touch now.

The next video is a brunette, with pierced nipples and a possible disdain for Mark. That's gone when he slides into her, fingers pinching her clit. He makes her come too, and the next one and the one after that. You've seen enough. You turn and find him eye level with your cunt, long legs bent into a squat. He may be more than a decade older than in the video, but an old dog doesn't stop learning new tricks.

"Mark, I need you, please." You beg, beyond ready to be treated like one of his "little starlets" from the spank bank. You wonder if he'd film you too. Have your pussy soaking his cock in your juices as a memento of your time together.

"How do you want me, sweetheart?" He asks.

"Need you to fuck me, want to feel your cock inside of me, please." You moan out. And he's a perfect gentleman, because he promises he'll give it to you.

But first he slides his fingers to the front of your underwear and two of them are on your clit, rubbing. Maybe it's because of his height, that the length has spread even to his limbs. Maybe it's the dexterity, the sheer speed of his movements. Usually you'd prefer it starting slow, and building up. But with Mark, it was all climbing, starting at a 100 and moving towards 200 and above. Your hips are bucking against him, searching more. He slows just for a second in order to thrust two fingers inside of you.

"Look at you, already a mess. Did I get you so rilled up, sweetheart. Does this old man do it so much for you?" He asks and smiles as you can only groan and beg for more. He's not someone who draws out things, so he tells you to keep it up for him as he opens the condom package. He watches you whine that your fingers don't feel as good, that they aren't enough.

"Oh sweetheart, just you wait. You're going to be ruined." Mark says as he feeds you just the tip. He makes you take your hands off, replacing them with his. He thrusts up, matching his movements on your clit.

"It's too big, please." You say. Were you asking him for more or to stop? Your body seemed to favour the latter , because you were practically dripping on the bathroom floor. Mark uses his other hand to bring you closer to himself, his shallow thrusts pumping deeper and deeper. He's hitting that spot in your body, the one which you didn't even know existed.

"Be good and cum for me, will you, sweetheart? I don't have all night. So unless you want me to drag you out like this and fuck you on the town square under the fireworks, you better let go." Mark says. He does miss how tight you get around him when he talks like this. He continues, telling you how good you make him feel and how he can't wait to see your pretty orgasm face.That's what tips you over the edge. They're tears coming out of your eyes, you're pretty sure you're drooling and Mark's cock is indeed soaked with your juices. You can hear the obnoxious squelching of his last few thrusts, before he also comes.

He's still inside you when your alarm rings, the sound coming from your purse, long forgotten on the floor. You scramble to turn it off.

"One minute to midnight. Well, it's more like 20 seconds now." You announce. Mark takes your face in his hands (still slick with you) and kisses you gently. He doesn't have the heart to tell you that this is the first kiss he's had all year. You don't have the heart to tell him the same. All you know is that your return flight might be rebooked to a later date. You finally found something interesting to do in your parent's new town.

[whateveriwant]

Ok ok ok hear me out for a second. What if Simon has dimples?

I know that in reality, even if he did have dimples, the chances of you knowing is probably slim to none. I mean, it’s not like that man is exactly forthcoming when it comes to sharing his identity with others, right? For Christ’s sake, his own teammates have likely seen his bare face only a handful of times. I doubt the number of times they’ve seen him visibly express any kind of emotion is much better.

But just imagine that you do get a chance to see his dimples; that you’re one of the lucky few that can say you’ve had a glimpse of the real man beneath the mask. Imagine you’re sitting in a dingy pub one night, shooting the shit with your mates, trying to slyly admire the rare peep you have of your Lieutenant’s unmasked face. Maybe Johnny or Kyle or whomever tells some dumb joke that gets the whole group laughing, and as you instinctively look over to catch Simon’s reaction, imagine the awe that would overtake you upon spotting his lopsided grin.

In all the time you’ve worked with Simon, you must’ve imagined what his smile looks like a thousand times. In your mind’s eye, you’ve conjured up a hundred different variations – how his lips would part, his nose would crinkle, his cheeks would round with gentle amusement. But in all those fantasies, all those hours spent daydreaming, you never, not once in your life, imagined he could have dimples. And now that you’re quite literally face to face with the evidence, you wonder how you could have ever been so daft to exclude them.

And it’s amazing, really, how much those two little indentations seem to instantly transform Simon’s face. They shave about 10, even 15 years off his age, imbuing him with this sort of boyishness that offsets his otherwise grisly appearance. To most people, the sight before you would be nothing remarkable – a smile no different than any other. But to you, this cheek-splitting grin reveals so much more. It shows you that beneath the scars and the marks and the brutal reminders of his past lies a handsome, benign man just begging to be noticed.

Of course, with the way you’re admiring him like he’s a block of marble carved by Michelangelo himself, sooner or later Simon is bound to feel the weight of your gaze pressing into him. So when he turns to look at you with that quizzical notch to his brow, you’re quick to swivel your head in the opposite direction, but not before meeting his eye for a second or two.

Shame heats the back of your neck for having been caught staring at your Lieutenant, burning a hole in the side of your head from where he now peers at you. And yet, despite your sense of embarrassment, there’s another feeling boiling away in your belly. It’s a curious sensation, tingly almost, like how you imagine a child feels the first time they witness a magnificent fireworks display.

In all honesty, you feel like you could float out of your seat right now, not stopping until you reach the Earth’s upper atmosphere. It’s like one look at Simon’s infectious smile has fundamentally rewired your brain. Though by the time you risk another glance at him his dimples have totally vanished, that doesn’t stop that giddy feeling from churning inside you, nor does it stop your mind from racing.

And so for the rest of the night, as you sit in that dark pub only half listening to conversations going on around you, you make a silent vow to yourself. You swear to do everything in your power to make Simon smile again and to keep him smiling for as long as physically possible, because, in your eyes, there’s not a prettier sight in this world to behold.

[nonnewtonianracoon]

Okay, I was listening to music and my mind hurt my own feelings so I spent four hours expanding on that! All characters and storyline is from @scientificallywrongsoap and his heart wrenching countdown series on tiktok, the song lyrics are Thank You by The Jolly Rogers, and the pain is ours to share. Grab a pet or stuffed animal, some tissues, and whatever other comfort you need, and strap in because it's long and painful 🙂

We all laugh and tell old stories

Just sittin' in the dark

And not one of them knows that

When we land I'll disembark

Pain, unlike Smith has ever felt. He thought he knew pain, but fuck, it feels like Zed injected lava instead of Ed’s serum. Cuts, breaks, bruises, even bullet wounds he’s nursed time and time again, but this is different. All consuming, stealing his breath as his body begins to mutate. He can feel it before the changes become visible, and he gasps and tenses, hands trembling as he rips off his mask. His desire for privacy is overtaken by the desperate ache in his chest, lungs screaming for fresh air, and he barely notices Zed’s eyes widen as he sees his face, *his* face, for the first time. It’s like looking in an old mirror, the streaks and chips distorting it slightly, a myriad of scars that don’t match, but the base is the same, faces nearly identical even as they’re currently masks of a Venn diagram of expressions: one shocked, one tortured, both terrified. Smith’s racing heart sinks in his chest as a cold feeling of dread washes over him.

We've spent so much time together

Out prowling on the sea

That somehow this strange group of men became a family

Family. What a strange concept. Foreign and familiar all at once. He’s got the Shadows, certainly, but since coming here it’s been…different. He loves his brothers, deeply and fiercely, but it feels almost programmed into him to do so. Not necessarily an obligation, but an unquestionable fact. But the others, the men he’s met since coming to help the doctor with this project, the ones he begrudgingly calls friends only within the privacy of his own mind… they grew on him, like a particularly stubborn fungus, or a wart he just couldn’t dig out the root of. Love is a bit of a strong word, but as his mind whirls through years of memories, he’s surprised to find a lot of them are from the last few months, as opposed to the collage of solely memories of his unit as he had expected. They say the last seven minutes of your life, your brain tries to comfort you by playing a highlight reel; who’d have thought this bunch of chronically ridiculous bastards would have wormed their way into mine so quickly?

We started out no more than boys

With more guts than brains

Doing what they said could not be done

They thought we were insane

But of course, as expected, there are many memories of his brothers. Well, brothers and sister, he mentally amends. I wonder if she’ll ever work up the courage to tell Graves. We all know he’d accept her, but I also understand the fear. How my heart was pounding almost as fast then as it is now when he followed me to that bar, and how worried I was about his reaction, and his dumbass idea was just to throw a paper airplane of “wingman” tips at me with a wink, leave a list of resources and surprisingly helpful books on my bed, and an offer to listen or pretend it never happened. Memories of explosions, fireworks and C4, laughs and screams, kites and drones, life and death, all flashing before his mind’s eye even as the ceiling blurs above him, tears and sweat stinging his eyes as his hands tangle in Zed’s shirt, fighting to stay as aware as possible, time warping around him.

One by one they wandered to their bunks, ready for another day

And I'm left alone here with the stars

Where they can't hear me say:

Thank you, lads, for all you are

And all you've been to me

Thank you for the laughter and

For all the memories

Thank you, for being there

Through the good times and the bad

And thank you for being the best mates I've ever had

Nobody knows. Nobody but Zed and Doc. It was never even discussed to tell the others; not the specifics, anyway. Everything was relatively normal tonight, heightened emotions and anticipation hidden by a practiced facade of disinterest and sarcastic humor. The König brothers had made dinner for everyone; Jack found a new recipe for some ridiculous dessert. It was so bad, but everyone mutually agreed to eat it anyway and choke it down with a smile. The kid had worked so hard on it, and nobody wanted to hurt his feelings. While Jack is a grown man too, every bit as capable and vicious as the rest, he has a fragile quality that tugs at Smith’s protective side. Not quite like WZ and his ridiculous projected naivety, he thinks as a choked laugh bubbles in his aching chest and burning throat, the stupid little pink cat ear headphones he manipulated his way into possession of popping into his head unbidden. No, Jack has an optimism and hope that’s managed to stay untarnished through everything, and the way the kid had literally started radiating a soft yellow when everyone complimented his efforts was worth the horrendous experience of the dessert currently re-appearing all over the floor, forced from Smith’s body as he writhes in agony as a raw scream tears from his throat.

We have seen success and we've watched our fortunes grow

And we have shared more happy times than many men will know

We were all there together when each of us found a wife

Love was something he had never envisioned for himself. Didn’t think it to be possible before coming here, not for someone like him. Stained from the moment he entered the world, designed instead of conceived, honed instead of raised. But watching Swagger and 7-1, as well as WZ and Ghost, he had started toying with the idea, and now the what ifs swirl through him, as bright and hot as embers in the breeze, pinpricks of pain that have nothing to do with the serum overtaking his entire being.

And we proudly watched the children grow

And have a happy life

Childhood. What a novel idea. The thought of being so small, so defenseless and helpless, utterly dependent on the adults around you… it terrifies him. Children terrify him, he’s always known he wanted nothing to do with kids, even as Graves made sure they had as much of a chance to be kids as he could provide. Decorating a Christmas tree, brightly wrapped boxes, chalk and stuffed toys mixed in with new weapons and survival guides. Days where they’d run around a training field with paintball guns or bubble wands instead of actually doing something useful, or watch animated movies with popcorn and candy, building impressive but sloppy forts with blankets and pillows. Graves has his faults, to be sure, but he also did his best to balance what their existence was curated for with the life he said they deserved, and Smith finds himself more thankful for that now than ever before.

And we have shared great tragedy

That none should bear alone

And with every loss and heartache

Our brotherhood has grown

I'm not the first to leave, it's true

Some have gone before

I know without me the crew

Will reinvent once more

Zachariah. Victor. Aaron. Jacob. Eric. They’re skilled, but they’re not perfect, and sometimes good plans go bad. It’s like losing a limb every time, a part of his soul going cold, a corner of his mind going dark, a nail in the coffin of his sanity every time one of his brothers falls. But they always come back stronger, angrier, out for revenge. Some of their best ops were carried out in the name of vengeance. He distantly hopes nobody that doesn’t deserve it gets hurt, the only ones at fault being himself and Ed. Zed and the rest have no blood on their hands, they don’t deserve retribution for his choices.

Thank you, lads, for all you are

And all you've been to me

Thank you for the laughter and foe all the memories

Thank you, for being there

Through the good times and the bad

And thank you for being the best mates I've ever had

As the pain intensifies, Smith hears yelling. A small flicker of hope in his chest as the doctor walks in, but it quickly fades as Ed’s eyes fill with disgust and distant loathing, looking at him like nothing but the bodily fluids pooling around him on the floor, cold and clinical, nothing like the warm amusement he thought had been there mere hours ago. Broken tools aren’t worth their space on the shelf, he thinks bitterly, hands tucking under his chin as Zed shoves them off him. A bolt of panic shoots through Smith’s heart, sharp and white hot. “Please,” he tries to say, but the thick, swollen lump of his tongue won’t move right and all that comes out is a disheartened wheeze as his teeth enlarge and change shape, morphing to razor sharp fangs within his gums. Please, he thinks desperately, please don’t leave. I don’t want to die alone, I don’t want you to go, please don’t walk away too. Don’t leave me, please….

With that the coughing starts again

The crimson hard to hide

Hands, on his throat. A sharp pinch, different enough from the agony of the mutations that it stands out. Heat flowing into him, but not the burning flame of the serum; comforting, like sunshine on a spring day. His eyes fly open, eyes he didn’t realise had fallen shut. The foolish engineer crouched above him, silhouetted against the glaring fluorescent light like an angel, even as he curses himself for thinking something so repulsively, dreadfully cliche. But Zed is visibly irate, trembling with righteous fury even as he handles Smith like he’s made of porcelain, touch achingly tender as he monitors the flow of something into the cannula he’s inserted into Smith’s jugular. The substance becomes apparent as the mutations slow, the pain easing slightly, and hope buds again as he stares into the same eyes that greet him from his reflection, as dizzying now as every time before. The weirdest deja vu, even with his unit, he’s never been able to get used to it.

I'm sorry my brothers

Hope you never know I lied

Omission. The guilt is eating him alive; he thought they’d never need to know. His friends here, his family there, he was foolish enough to believe he’d be able to handle this tonight and go back to life tomorrow. Hubris, pure and simple. He had too much faith in himself, and didn’t think to so much as leave a video or note. He thought he was being noble, thought he’d be doing a good thing by helping them, but now he just feels selfish for not having a backup plan for this. He’d had too much faith in the doctor, blind faith, and now he’ll be little more than a cautionary tale once they find out exactly what happened.

But this one won't get better, lads

And I know it's true

So I choose to walk away before I burden you

The pleasant warmth is fading, the australium not doing enough to counteract the serum, and Smith now knows with certainty he’s going to die tonight. There’s no peace, no grim satisfaction of a job well done, no morbid excitement at the possibility of reuniting with his fallen brothers, just the cold claws of failure sinking into his heart as Zed’s tears fall on Smith’s face, the former having noticed the pain creeping back into the latter’s eyes and reaching the same bitter, cold realization.

I will say the time is right

For me to go my way

And I know you'll understand

Or at least that's what you'll say

The excuses he’d made when he came here, the cajoling and borderline begging he’d had to do to try to get permission, the way it failed and he slipped out in the night because this felt so goddamn important he was willing to risk everything to help. The excuses he’d made to himself to justify it, staying in contact with a couple of his brothers to keep them from panicking and launching a search party. How he’d had the lecture of his life when Graves found him and called him back, and he had to explain everything and promise seventy three times, in ninety two ways, seventeen silly voices, twelve ridiculous accents, and four languages to ***be careful*** and here he is, dying on a cold tile floor because he overestimated his abilities; something they’d all been warned against from the start. He’d been so sure he was making the right call, but now he’s no longer able to justify it to himself. The harsh reality is unforgiving and he finds himself wishing for just one more. One more stupid movie in a blanket fort, one more adrenaline crazed mission, one more stupid dad joke from Ghost, one more day of chasing bubbles in the sun and drawing chalk flowers and practicing penmanship on the concrete parking lot, one more godawful meal that’s somehow undercooked and burnt but still tastes better than the most expensive restaurant because it was made with care…

I will wish you luck and watch you sail upon the sea

For the first time in forever

I will just be me

What will it be like? To not be part of a unit? Every day, dozens of iterations of his own face swarm around him. Tiny differences, but nearly identical. He’s always had his own opinions and preferences, but he’s never been a singular person. Even here, he’s nearly a carbon copy of Zed. How nobody ever noticed is beyond him….. He’s never considered the afterlife, never really felt drawn to; now is probably the best time to do it, he muses as his mind starts to separate from his body and the growing distance between his mind and the soul shredding agony allows his thoughts to begin to clear and grow more cohesive. But what’s the point in speculation? He’ll be finding out soon enough, anyway.

Thank you, lads, for all you are

And all you've been to me

Thank you for the laughter and for all the memories

Thank you, for being there

Through the good times and the bad

And thank you for being the best mates I've ever had

A conversation, words exchanged between himself and Zed, each breath growing more shallow and ragged. Tears from both men, twin expressions of guilt for different reasons, and a twin hatred for the man they butted heads over for so long. Animosity for each other morphing and joining, aimed at the doctor who’s hands are now stained with Smith’s blood even though it’s Zed’s that spilled it.

Thank you, lads, for all you are

And all you've been to me

Thank you for the laughter and

For all the memories

Thank you, for being there

Through the good times and the bad

And thank you for being the best mates I've ever had

Forgiveness and acceptance, even as the fire within him grows unbearable, even as words start to lose meaning and become abstract shapes in his ears, the world going dark around him. Hearing is the last sense to go, and through the heavy darkness overtaking him, Smith hears a variation of the same vow he himself has made, five times over. A vow of revenge.

Thank you for being the best

Mates I've ever had

I hope you laughed and cried, and I am immensely proud of this so be nice or I might cry. Alas, Glitch has set these characters loose in the world and they have been plaguing me, so I decided to take the muse and skedaddle. (Also this is my formal written apology for the Graves slander in your comments, Glitch. I hope it suffices.)

I hope I did them justice, and I hope you suffer as much reading this as I did writing it 😁💜

[blondiedae]

dry house, wet clothes (six)

𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃 dry house, wet clothes, six

pairing. johnny suh x afab!reader x jeong jaehyun

genre. angst, fluff, eventual smut, slow burn (for jaehyun), friends to lovers (for johnny)

warnings. swearing, mentions of drinking, kissing, explicit smut (oral (receiving/giving), fingering, not so dry humping (frottage). big miscommunication trope, it is what it is. it’s so much angst i’m so sorry

word count. 8,437

plot. the four of you have spent years building the world around you, your friendship, your weekends together hidden in jaehyun's loft. you, mark, johnny and jaehyun. shaking the foundation of that by being in love with your best friend, jaehyun, is a risk you've never been confident enough to take. but, johnny suh is confident and johnny suh has been known to shake the world around you.

other's mentioned. lee jeno, huang renjun, na jaemin, lee haechan (donghyuck), lee taeyong, nakamoto yuta, qian kun, ten lee, jung sungchan, kim jungwoo, kim doyoung

author's note. chapter six is here! it’s shorter because chapter seven is twice as long, but this felt like a good place to cut it! so, enjoy enjoy! (crying editing this chapter because Sungchang mentioned). also, i don’t know what happened? i had this scheduled to post at 10:30 last night and then it didn’t post it?? i woke up thinking i flopped because i didn’t have any notifs 😭 i’m so sorry

taglist (open). @xiaojunsdino @yoursyuno @girlisaloser

playlist. here!

“You’re so beautiful.”

Johnny’s voice was soft, his fingertips running along the skin of your stomach. You watched him, every move he made, every breath, every blink, and wondered if you’d ever get used to those words from his lips. The way his lips curved around each syllable with an easy, definitive smile. How his eyes didn’t waver, held a sincerity Johnny was never short on. Humming, a pleasant pause to thank him, you looked down at his fingers and said, “I remember when we met.”

“Yeah?” His grin grew, “What do you remember?”

Johnny when he’d yet to grow into his limbs, when his arms were a bit too long for the sleeves of his uniform and his legs carried him in acre-long strides. Johnny when his charm was settling, solidifying into sincerity; Johnny’s sparkling eyes when they were filled with unpredictable fireworks, instead of ever-shining sun. There were few discernable differences between that Johnny and the man in your bed, waiting for you to breathe.

You looked back to him, “I told you that your tie was crooked and you ignored me.”

Johnny laughed, chest pressed against you and rumbling with the sound. His hand extended to settle on your waist, pulling you closer to him, still, “I don’t remember that.”

“Of course you don’t.” Curling into him, you added, “You got in trouble for it thirty minutes after, though. I think it was your third or fourth day.”

“Hm. I didn’t know how to tie a tie.”

You nodded, head on his chest, and confirmed with, “Your mom only bought you clip-on ties. You told me.”

“What else?”

“You seemed so much older than me.” It was a strange thought, the memory of Johnny so young but feeling larger than life, larger than this world. For as long as you’d known him, in all the ways he’d changed, that much was still true, “Everything about you, just…the way you existed. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Sure it does.” He’d come in the middle of the school year, just before his birthday. He did everything he could to blend, everything he could to integrate. He found you and he found Jaehyun and Johnny found a place to fit, “You had that bright yellow backpack.”

“I still have it.”

“And your astrology book.”

You traced the tattoo on his arm, “And you asked me what the stars had to say about when you’d be losing your virginity.”

He kissed the top of your head, muffling another laugh in your hair. Johnny closed his eyes, “Do you still have your book?”

“Mm. Probably. I think it’s downstairs.”

Johnny pulled back, kissing your forehead, the tip of your nose, your cheek. Then, fingers on your chin, he tilted your head up and kissed your lips. Johnny who had grown into his arms and his acre-long legs. Johnny who grew his hair longer, who knew how to tie a tie. Johnny who had sunlight in his eyes, who kissed you like it killed him not to. You let your heart swell, holding onto the memory of him with one hand and holding this moment in the other. His lips that curved around sweet words moved slowly with yours; Johnny would always move slowly with you.

“Do me a favor.” He kissed you again, only briefly, “Go find your book?”

“What?”

“Go see if you can find it.”

Sunbeams flickered in his eyes so brightly you could confuse them for fireworks, traces of your memories still lingering in him. Johnny smiled at you, nudged you, pulled himself from the bed and you after, “Why are we doing this?”

The warmth of your blankets faded too quickly, Johnny’s warmth following just as fast. He urged you towards the door, hands on your waist and pushing you backwards, “Go on. I’ll meet you down there.”

You grumbled, “It’s cold.”

But you went. Johnny asked and Johnny smiled, so you went. Your house was dark, two o’clock casting shadows and a particular sense of calm. Your living room was only lit by a sliver of moonlight, just in the center. Your bookshelves lined the furthest wall, behind your television and on either side; a collection that never stopped growing, a collection that needed to be shifted and straightened regularly. Books you’d read and cherished, annotated and scribbled love notes to the authors, the characters and their enemies in. They were stacked in wobbling towers on the floor, leaning against each other for support when they started to fall.

You knew where the astrology book should be; torn to pieces, pulling apart along the spine and frayed at the edges. It hadn’t moved in years, tucked away on the second shelf from the top. Your bare feet padded across the living room, stepping carefully around precarious stacks until you found it. It felt lighter in your hands, smaller.

You cracked it open, let the dust on the cover rub off on your fingers while you skimmed over your notes, “Huh.”

You’d dog-eared five dates; two in February, one in August, one in September and one in late October. It was a relic of its time, frozen and preserved. February 9th had his name scribbled at the top, Aquarius highlighted in neon green, unpredictable underlined in black. Your memory of Johnny came back to life in front of you; crooked tie, shorter hair, fireworks bursting in his eyes.

“You found it.” His voice was close behind you, “Can I ask you an astrology question?”

You turned and looked at him, Johnny still so much bigger than this world, larger than life, “Sure.”

Johnny came closer, “What do the stars have to say about you being my girlfriend?”

Your heart jumped, flipped, exploded in your chest. Any oxygen you had in your lungs fled, leaving you to gasp for air, for an answer. Johnny watched you, the easiest smile he could manage on his face. He was stepping closer still, hands wrapped around his sweater until he was toe-to-toe with you, lifting it over your head and pulling it down.

He took a moment to look at you. His sweater fell against your thighs and he worked at the sleeves until they were rolled up to your wrists. Johnny didn’t hide that he was shaking, didn’t hide that he was nervous and excited and bursting with adrenaline. You’d told him that you wanted to be his. Make me yours, you’d said. But, he had yet to ask and Johnny didn’t ever want to assume - not when it came to this, not when it came to you.

So, he explained, “I didn’t ask yet, officially. I wanted to ask.”

The spine protested the way your hands gripped the book, “Me or the stars?”

Johnny looked at the open pages, the word unpredictable underlined, then smiled at you. It was all he could do, he was riddled with hope, “Both. You, mostly. But, both if it helps.”

You caught your breath then - he was looking at you like that. For months, unnoticed. For months, undetected. For six months, Johnny waited and settled on certainty, on sincerity. If you asked for it, he’d give you that time. He’d tease you, he’d kiss you and Johnny would make a game of it; one you could both win, one you’d love to play. But, Johnny would give you that time, if it’s what you needed, if it meant you’d be his.

If the stars said to, he’d double it.

Make me yours, Johnny. You’d made your decision over dinner, over stolen kisses at a Halloween party, over a dance at a festival and that look. So, you swallowed and said, “I say yes.”

Johnny’s breath caught in his throat when he asked, “And the stars?”

“They say yes, too.”

Johnny swept you up in his arms, lips on yours in an instant. He was still shaking, adrenaline leaving his body in short breaths between kisses. He could feel the world rotating, felt it move underneath him and knew it was a miracle he was steady on his own two feet. He whispered your name, followed it with, “My Juliet.”

Then, Johnny thanked the stars. He sang their praises into your lips and begged them not to go cross at the sound of your nickname. To have a sense of humor, to give his Juliet and your Romeo a better ending. Johnny held you in a sliver of moonlight and asked the stars for no ending, at all. Just you.

Only you.

📻

11:37am Hey man

11:37am I think it’s just gonna be you and Jaehyun tonight

11:38am I’m gonna spend the day with my girlfriend

“Yo.” Mark’s phone buzzed once on the table, twice in the palm of his hand. He blinked just as many times, watching as the messages from Johnny came in, processing them, letting his jaw drop as a reaction, “Yo!”

His fist balled, slamming against Jeno’s arm to his left, “What happened?”

“They’re together.” Mark was hushed, his answer almost lost in the bustle of the cafeteria. His eyes felt like they’d fall out of his head, bugged as they were, “They’re fucking together.”

Renjun leaned over Mark’s other shoulder, “Johnny?”

Jeno shook his head, “Holy shit. He did it?”

Renjun settled back into his seat, “See Jaemin, it’s possible.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“This is incredible.” If he could bottle this feeling he would. His expression shifted to reflect every emotion he cycled through until it settled into an ecstatic grin. He pushed himself away from the table, “I’ll be right back.”

Then, Mark crossed the cafeteria phone pressed to his ear. Johnny answered, “Why would you call?”

“Because I’m excited, dude.” He was weaving through people, no clear destination, “You asked her?”

“I said I wanted to spend time with my girlfriend and you called?” He could hear you laughing, Mark’s cheeks ached. Johnny told him, “I asked.”

“Dude, when?”

“Dude, last night.”

He leaned himself against a wall, “I can’t believe this.”

“Sure you can, Mark.” He listened to the background noise, unidentifiable sounds, the two of you moving together. Together. Together. You and Johnny were together. Mark’s laugh came out like a hoot, rushed out and echoed in the hallway. Johnny joined him, briefly, “Look, we’re just waking up. So, I’ll call you later, okay?”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m so happy for you, Johnny.” He was. More than what felt reasonable, but it was out of Mark’s control. He was ecstatic, “Both of you. Seriously.”

Then, Johnny told him, “Thanks man. Me too.”

The line went silent after that, leaving Mark to buzz on his own. He paces three laps the width of the hallway, smiling to himself, celebrating by himself. Mark basked in his uncontainable feelings for as long as he could, before he raised his phone again and made one more call.

“Hey, Mark.”

“He did it.” He was bursting at the seams, “Jaehyun, Johnny fucking did it.”

📻

Johnny’s head was in your lap. Your fingers played with the strands of his hair, twirled them around and let them fall. His fingers traced up and down your calves, occasionally chased by his lips. The movie you’d turned on was nearly forgotten, falling into the background every time he kissed your skin. Johnny hummed against your leg, “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” When he looked up at you, you did your best to smile back, lips pulled tight. Your hands fell to your sides, palms flat on the couch while Johnny rotated, turning to face you, “What are you doing?”

“You’d tell me if I was pushing too far, right?” You nodded, Johnny’s hands caught yours and pulled them back to his hair, “Good. Keep going.”

His lips kissed your thigh, soft and brief, but enough to make your heart pound. One kiss by your knee, another higher, another higher still until he’d pushed the fabric of your shorts to the side to kiss along the line of your panties. Johnny breathed you in, eyes closed, “Too much?”

You sighed, “No.”

“Keep going?”

“Please.”

His fingers tugged at the fabric again, nose nuzzled against your clothed pussy for a moment before he placed a kiss at your core. Higher and higher until another one circled around your clit. You tasted like heaven, still, like perfection falling apart at the simplest touch underneath him.

“Babe?” He didn’t lift his head, voice muffled against you, “Can I taste you, again?”

You nodded your head.

Johnny chided, “Words, baby.”

“Yes, please Johnny.”

He sat up in a second, hands wrapped around your ankles and pulling at your legs. He moved himself to the opposite end of the couch, letting you lay back and find comfort before he lifted your leg again. His kisses were sloppier, rushing back up your leg, and his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs. Johnny felt starved and it hadn’t even been twelve hours. Pulling at the waistband, he slid your shorts and panties down your legs, dizzy at the sight of you, again; overwhelmed by your glistening pussy in the daylight.

“I’m so fucking lucky.”

You hid from him, face behind your hands, “Johnny, be quiet.”

“Not a chance.” He hovered over you, hardening cock brushing against your clit when he whispered against your lips, “You’re perfect, baby. All mine.”

“All yours.”

Then, Johnny was back between your thighs, lapping at your pussy; drinking you in. His tongue pushed inside, circling to taste every drop before he steadily thrust in and out. He held your thighs down, fingers bruising your skin as you writhed and wriggled, arched against him, “Feel good?”

“Feels so good. Feels so fucking good.” Your voice was broken, barely above a whisper, “‘More.”

“Anything for you, baby.” Johnny focused his attention on your clit, sucking it between his lips and moaning against you, “You want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

“Mhm.”

He slipped two in, lifting his head only to watch how your jaw hung open. Johnny smothered himself with your pussy, barely coming up for air, sucking and moaning against you. He added a third finger, “So wet for me. Dripping.”

“Johnny.”

“Tell me.”

Your mind was lost, fogged over completely at his touch, the way he sounded, the way he made you feel. Your hips bucked every time he hooked his fingers inside you, with every kiss or kitten lick on your clit. You were gone, mindless, “More.”

“My Juliet is greedy.” He hooked his hands under your knees, tossing one over his shoulder and then the other, “Good to know.”

He dove back in, messy and wet. Johnny’s drool mixed in with your juices, dripping down onto the couch. He pulled back, leaving you breathless, a rush of cool air on your cunt. His fingers were in his mouth, sucking the taste of you from the tips before he put them back in, using his other hand to lift your ass up off the couch. The angle had you seeing stars, head thrown back.

“Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.” Your legs were shaking, stars blurring into pure white as you came on his tongue, on his fingers, down Johnny’s chin. You were everywhere on him, “Fuck. Oh my God.”

He pulled his fingers out slowly, sucking your wetness off of them again before he settled back on his heels. His cock was pushing against his pants, only for a second, before Johnny pulled it out and spit on his hand. He kept his eyes on you, wrecked in front of him and bucked into his hand, “You’re fucking incredible, baby.”

Your eyes opened slowly, the sight of him jerking himself off sent a shiver to your core, “No. No wait.”

“Wait for what?” His hand never stopped. You pulled yourself up as well as you could until you were in front of him kneeling. Johnny couldn’t breathe, “Open.”

Your jaw fell, waiting for his cock. Johnny slapped the tip against your tongue once, twice, three times before he eased it in, rocking just slightly. You wanted him to use you, wanted him to feel just as good as he’d made you feel. Wanted Johnny to look at you like this, always; those sunbeams shining in his heavy-lidded eyes.

“Use me.”

His hips stuttered, “Huh?”

“However you want, Johnny.” You sucked at his tip, tongue tasting the precum leaking from his slit, “Just use me.”

“Come here, beautiful.” He pulled you up. Johnny settled into the couch, sitting upright and guiding you onto his lap. You waited for him to lower your hips down, sink you onto his length, but he didn’t. Instead, Johnny held your hips, sliding his cock through your wetness before letting it slap against his abdomen. He sat you down, positioning his cock between the two of you, then breathed out, “Move.”

His fingers pushed into your hips, your waist, your ass. Anything he could hold onto to get your hips grinding on him. Your pussy slid against his cock, wrapped around him and wet. The tip pushed against your clit with every thrust, both of your moans echoing in the room.

Johnny licked his lips, one hand reaching up to grab the back of your neck and guide you to him. You kissed him, uncoordinated and sloppy, lost in the rhythm of your hips and his. He was breathing heavily, chest rising rapidly as he chased your lips, chased his high.

“It feels so good.”

He nodded his head, resting it against yours, holding you there. Johnny begged you, again, like he needed to know he had you here, “Look at me.”

You did, eyes locked on him. Your hips couldn't follow the rhythm you’d set, both of you humping and grinding against each other, erratically before Johnny moaned, “Cumming.”

It was drawn out, the way he said it. Johnny was shaking underneath you and never letting go, the intensity of his own orgasm pushed you over the edge, again. Head tossed back, calling out his name like it was the only thing you could remember.

He pulled you against his chest, let you collapse there and catch your breath. He felt like he’d pushed too far, clarity coming back to him like a wave. So, Johnny held you until you came back down and hoped he hadn’t crossed a line.

He asked, “How do you feel?”

“So good.”

“Not too far?”

You leaned back, holding eye contact with him again and promised, quietly enough for only Johnny to hear, “Not too far. I promise, I’ll tell you.”

He nodded, “Okay.”

“Come take a shower with me.”

Again, he nodded, “Okay.”

📻

Saturday came quickly, after a whole day hidden away with Johnny. Your boyfriend Johnny. Johnny who knew exactly how to touch you, how to kiss you, how to keep your world spinning and Johnny who promised he’d figure out the rest. He held your hand as you walked down the street to Jaehyun’s, keeping you wrapped in his sweater for one more day.

He stopped you in the middle of the road, centered in front of Jaehyun’s house and staring up at the loft, “You ready?”

“It’s just Mark and Jaehyun.” You hoped his sweater would summon a pinch of Johnny’s certainty, trying to convince yourself that a night in the loft would be normal. Knowing that it wouldn’t be, feeling Jaehyun on your lips, Johnny everywhere else. You looked at him, “It’ll be okay.”

Johnny knew you were worried, if it wasn’t written clearly on your face, you’d told him as much. In the steam of your shower, with Johnny’s hands on your skin, you told him. You’d whispered it like a secret against his bicep, “Tonight will be different.”

He lathered you in milk and honey soap, massaged it into your skin, “Why do you think that?”

“Because we’re different.”

He was kneeling at your feet, one leg propped up so he could rest yours on top. Johnny switched your legs, letting you use him for balance, before he looked up at you - beautiful you, vulnerable with him, willingly vulnerable. He’d spent six months wondering how he could get here and now, all he wanted to do was stay, “Different how?”

You snorted, “You know how.”

The cheeky grin on his face made you laugh more, “Yeah, but I want to hear you say it.”

You played the game, “Because you have a girlfriend.”

Johnny stood up, imitation shock perfectly on his face, “I do? Who? Should I be here with you?”

“Of course you should be.”

“And why is that?”

Giving in, caving for Johnny’s charm, you switched spots and pushed him under the water. You brought your lips to his chest, kissing where the last leaf of his tattoo ended and telling him, “Because I’m your girlfriend.”

You could feel him shiver when Johnny pulled you flush against him, “You’re my girlfriend.” Then he whispered, “How insane is that?”

Jaehyun’s house was daunting, now, a new reality. You’d never hesitated on his sidewalk like this, never thought twice about climbing the iron steps. Johnny pulled at your hand and repeated your words back to you, “It’ll be okay. It’s just Mark and Jaehyun.”

Mark had gotten there first, taking the steps two at a time when he arrived. Jaehyun could hear him before he could see him, the clunk of his feet, then the door hitting the wall, then his backpack hitting the floor. The youngest asked, “Are they here yet?”

Jaehyun was at his piano, tapping keys one by one in a scale, “Not yet.”

“Can you believe it, man?” Mark was at the window, pulling off his coat, his hat, watching the empty street like it would pull you from your house, “Johnny thought he’d change his mind.”

“Did he?” Jaehyun met Mark where he was, hands tucked in his pockets. He saw you, then, hand-in-hand with Johnny. Jaehyun let the words rush out in a sigh, “Looks like he didn’t.”

“I knew he wouldn’t. I think he just wanted to be sure, you know? He’s so careful about this kind of stuff.”

Jaehyun noted, “Yeah. He is.”

At that, Mark looked at him, pulling his attention away from you and Johnny - boyfriend and girlfriend, together, you and Johnny - to ask, “You okay, man?”

Jaehyun took only a second to react, adjusting himself to stand upright, fixing his expression so it was believable. He was falling apart, but he told Mark, simply, “Yeah. Weird work week.”

And they left it at that.

When you’d climbed the stairs, when you pushed the door to the loft open, Mark rushed the two of you. Shouting out his excitement, arms secured around the two of you, “Oh my God!”

Johnny laughed, hand still holding yours, squeezing a reassurance before he patted Mark on the back, “I’m starting to think you thought she’d reject me.”

“I’m just excited, man. This is so exciting.” He was so eloquent when he could nit pick his words, but in moments like this Mark was repetitive, vibrating with too much energy and excitement to articulate, “Congrats you guys.”

You heard bottles clink across the room, followed the sound to where Jaehyun stood. He looked at you for a second, felt his lips tingle - the last place you touched - and then agreed, “Congratulations you guys.”

His hand extended to Johnny first, then Mark, then you. The way Jaehyun’s fingertips lingered on the neck of the bottle, at the tips of yours, was something kept between the two of you. Johnny told him, told the both of them, “Thanks.”

And you echoed it, eyes on Jaehyun.

Your astrology book was open on your coffee table, turned to the page with February 14th at the top. Jaehyun’s name was scribbled, just like Johnny’s. Two pages filled with notes, with highlighted marks and underlined words. You’d studied it, when you were younger, grew frustrated at the surface level explanation of someone you knew had so much more depth. Looking at Jaehyun now, trying to read him like your book, it was impossible.

Jaehyun felt lost to you.

You had felt it coming, but the reality of it made the beer you swallowed down even more bitter.

Johnny pulled at your hand, “Alright what’s the plan for the night.”

There wasn’t one - there never was. Hours went by in a blink. You’d let Johnny mix you nonsensical cocktails, sipped them down in the middle of the mattress and eased yourself into the night. Johnny carried the conversation, kept your attention with every word. Mark’s laughter echoed off the walls, mixed with yours and Jaehyun’s, sometimes overpowered them. Jaehyun sat at the piano, watching and listening, looking away whenever you peeked at him.

It was tearing you apart.

Mark was too far gone, six celebratory drinks in and wobbling on his feet when he asked, “You guys kiss and stuff, right?”

You choked on your own drink, eyes wide, while Johnny laughed and rolled backwards. He’d sat himself by the windows a while ago, finishing a story and crossing his legs. Mark was near Jaehyun, eyes slow blinking and a lazy smile on his face.

He laughed out a drawn out, drunken, “What? It’s a fair question.”

Jaehyun shifted in his seat, “You’re drunk, Mark.”

“Yeah, obviously.” The youngest was still smiling, shining brightly with mischief while he looked between you and Johnny, “I think you should kiss now.”

“Mark, what the hell?” Your own laughed must’ve sounded forced, or maybe just as drunk as his. Still, you slowly shook your head, “We’re not kissing in front of you.”

“Come on. Why not? When was the last time you kissed?”

Johnny answered for you, glancing at the time, “Six hours ago.”

“See!” Mark gestured vaguely, excited, using his last wind to make his point, “That’s way too long. Don’t you guys want to?”

Again, Johnny answered, truthfully and certain and with a quick wink, “Always.”

“Then do it.”

You looked at Jaehyun. He tapped at the piano, eyes down. You were happy - Johnny made you happy and that’s what Jaehyun wanted. But, you couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t stand the way he avoided you. Your heart was a lump in your throat, impossible to swallow down. Then, Johnny was in front of your standing at the end of the mattress and reaching out his hand. He smiled, you melted at the sight, the beams of light in his eyes turning you into a puddle, “Come on, baby.”

You thought you might have been the only one to hear it, until Mark squealed. You let the world outside of you and Johnny fade, knowing Jaehyun was in the corner doing the same - fading you out, turning away, closing himself off. You needed Johnny, needed him to hold onto you. So, you took Johnny’s hand. You let Johnny pull you to him and fall into orbit.

“Hi.” You whispered.

He said it back, “Hi. Too much?”

“Maybe a little.”

“We don’t have to.”

But you shook your head. Mark was right, six hours felt like too long, after a little more than twenty-four and, “I miss you.”

Johnny laced his fingers in yours, “I’m right here.”

He leaned in, Mark said something like, “They’re doing it” an octave higher than usual, clapping his hands like a seal. Johnny leaned in and you titled your head up to meet him in the middle, letting his lips mold to yours, move with them, just like you had all last night, all day.

Then it was over. Johnny turned to Mark and asked, “Happy?”

And from the way Mark kicked his feet, from the way he jumped up and onto Johnny, you knew he was. You couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t stop the laugh. Jaehyun was on his feet, stepping around the two of them with a pat on Johnny’s back, “I’ll be back.”

Then he was gone.

Johnny and Mark found a new topic to pick at, collapsing into each other in laughter, in drunken camaraderie. You watched for a moment before finding an excuse with reason, “I’m gonna get some water.”

Then you followed after Jaehyun.

He could hear your footsteps behind him, soft and careful, lingering just over his shoulder. Jaehyun held his breath, fingers fumbling with twisting the lid off the bottle. He couldn’t focus on it, his chest tight again, alone in his kitchen with you. Eventually, the metal scraped enough on the glass so the cap fell, clinking against the countertop. Jaehyun ignored it, his breath easing its way out of captivity in his lungs, and poured.

“I submitted my edits.” He didn’t turn, the silence between you filled with the sound of whiskey in a tumbler, “Lee Haechan has notes.”

His shoulders were stiff, “Oh?”

You nodded, silent and knowing he wasn’t looking. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your throat, your ears, “He wants to meet with me.”

Jaehyun only hummed.

“Please.” You didn’t mean to say it. You didn’t mean to plead, for Jaehyun to hear it. It seemed fruitless to beg him, to let this silence swallow you up and put more space between the two of you, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He took a sip of his drink, licking his lips, “We just keep apologizing to each other. For what?”

“I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You’ve said that. Nothing is happening.” His world is crumbling, Jaehyun was lying to you while he was lying in ruins. The haze of alcohol made everything seem slow, heavy, impossible. He turned, leaning against the counter but still looking away, “We’re all just adjusting.”

“You said you wanted me to be happy.”

“I do.”

“Then please. Please just be honest with me.”

Jaehyun’s jaw clenched, “I am.”

The circles you’d spun in were wearing you down. Every conversation you’d had with Jaehyun for the last month spiraled the same way, until the ground caved in underneath you - another layer added each time, worse and worse the further down you went. Your heart was aching; if the daylight found you euphoric, the night and the drinks and the way Jaehyun avoided you found you in a state of misery.

The same conversation, the same circles, the same sickening feeling in your gut watching your best friend close himself off. February 14th in your book; distant underlined in black, detached highlighted in neon green. Jaehyun was two feet away and had never been further from you.

Anger replaced hurt long enough for you to say, “You’re so full of shit, Jae.”

“I’m full of shit?” That was the tipping point. His eyes were on you, zeroed in and pinched in a glare. Jaehyun tilted his head back and let the whiskey slide down his throat, the glass hitting the counter harder than he’d anticipated when he was done, “Has it always been him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Johnny. Has it always been Johnny?”

“No.”

“It’s just him now, then?” Jaehyun stepped closer, “You just woke up and decided that?”

You froze, hand at your sides and head tilted, “How do you think this works?”

“I don’t know and you won’t fucking talk to me about it.”

“I can’t talk to you about it!” You could hear the music from upstairs and hoped that it was loud enough to drown you out, to mask your explosion, “This is what happens. I don’t know what it is, I don’t know what it’s going to be. That’s the whole point, Jaehyun. Do you know where all your relationships will go from the start?”

He shook his head, not as an answer. Jaehyun shook his head and rolled it back, letting the debris settle around him, “Obviously not.”

“Why do I need to have so many answers for you?”

“It’s the same fucking thing you did with Sicheng.” It wasn’t. He didn’t mean it. Jaehyun sought out an escape and latched onto a lie, again. He watched the way your face twisted and immediately wanted to take it back. But, he doubled down, “Look how that ended.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” You didn’t wait for him to tell you, stepping back, “You’re out of your fucking mind. We were kids, Jaehyun.”

He called your name, stepping after you, taking up the space you’d been in before. Jaehyun was overwhelmed by cinnamon, pink pepper, mandarin, “We’re not kids anymore.”

“Exactly.”

Jaehyun’s voice was quiet, “Did you fuck him?”

You stopped, “What did you just say?”

“Did you fuck him?” You didn’t budge, you didn’t answer, you didn’t blink. Jaehyun ran his hands through his hair, “This whole thing is a game.”

Clarity came and went, weaving through your words, the music, the things Jaehyun said. Another layer of the Earth crumbled from another loop, “It’s not and for some reason that bothers you. You just won’t fucking admit it.”

“It doesn’t.”

“We’re having the same conversation, again, because it does.”

He was in front of you again, wavering again, “I don’t want to lose another friend because you want to fuck around.”

Johnny and Mark moved two floors above you, footsteps and laughter loud enough for you to hear in the silence that fell between you and Jaehyun. Fury and confusion mixed like another cocktail for you to swallow, another drink you’d choke down tonight. It was too much, every second, every word, every thought. It was all too much.

You blinked.

Jaehyun watched the tear roll down your cheek, watched it curve at your jaw and felt like he was going to be sick at the sight. He could see his bedroom door, considered how the night would’ve gone if he’d just gone to bed, cut himself off. Instead, he’d gone too far. Jaehyun reached for you, the most natural thing for him to do, his hand out in front of him. You pulled back. You kept pulling back.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“You said it.”

He said your name again, a broken whisper in the back of his throat, “I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why I - fuck, that���s not…”

“You didn’t lose Sicheng. You won’t lose Johnny.” Jaehyun wanted to correct you - that’s not at all what he was worried about. You kept pulling back and he kept pushing, doing everything he could to ensure he’d lose you. Every step was a misstep. Jaehyun was terrified, stuck in this moment, this loop. Your hand wiped the tear from your face, the ones that followed its path, “But, until you figure out what you do mean, I…I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

Your arms wrapped around yourself, comforted by Johnny wrapped around you, soothing you in the way Jaehyun would if he could reach. The ground held your attention, eyes cautious in case it gave way, again. You weren’t sure how much Earth there was to spare, how much of your foundation you and Jaehyun had left. He watched you shake your head, erase all the thoughts that had you so far away. Then, you told him, “Whatever this is. I don't know who we are anymore.”

Jaehyun couldn’t tell you. A little more than twenty-four hours ago, he thought he knew. In a world before he watched you kiss Johnny and feel something, before he saw your face when you really liked it, Jaehyun thought he could figure it out even though, “You said you felt nothing.”

He didn’t know you had heard him, he didn’t know he’d said it out loud, until you asked, “What?”

So, for the last time, he lied, “I said we’re nothing. We’re the same as we were.”

“Don’t. We keep saying that and then this keeps happening.” You looked at him, for the last time, “Figure it out.”

Then you left. Jaehyun waited until he heard your footsteps join Mark and Johnny. He stood perfectly still in his kitchen, breathing faster and faster with every second until he felt like he couldn’t stand anymore. Then, Jaehyun went to bed, freezing.

📻

A week had gone by quickly and the world adjusted around you, around Johnny, around an ache that still lingered and you tried to push down. A week had passed and you worked hard to find your footing on frosted over pavement, sidewalks that shone under a layer of ice - water from a late night storm. A week had passed and you were suddenly halfway through November, choking down the silence between you and your best friend.

The café helped in filling the quiet, bustling midday while you waited for your faceless author. Your latte cooled in front of you, the steam from it evaporating as the minutes passed by.

Then, he was there - Lee Haechan was exactly how you pictured him and somehow shockingly different. His oversized blazer hung open around him, tan against a plain white shirt and jeans. The black beanie on his head left a dent in his hair when he pulled it off and introduced himself, confirming your name and saying, “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, same.”

His head tilted to the side, eyebrow lifted, “Really?”

“Of course. I really enjoyed your book.”

Haechan laughed, straightening upright, “You did? You sure had a lot to say about it.”

You balked, “I mean…that’s my job.”

“Right.” He tapped at the table, “I didn’t disagree with most of it. Honestly, you’re the first editor that gave me honest feedback. So, I guess I should thank you.”

“I thought this was your first book.”

Haechan nodded, “It is. You’re the sixth editor that’s gone through it, though. Seventh if you count my friend, Sungchan.”

You leaned forward, wrapping your hands around your mug before bringing it to your lips, “Why so many?”

Haechan easily matched your position, leaning closer and smirking, “Everyone was full of shit.”

“And I’m not.”

He shrugged, “You might be. But, I liked it.”

He was something else - charming in a way that was almost off putting, confident and calm, “Okay. So, why did you want to meet?”

“Tell me about your first love.”

“Excuse me?”

Haechan leaned back again, watching as the waitress set his drink in front of him and crossing his arms, “I write about love. You’ve been in love right?” You nodded, slowly, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. You had no way of knowing where this was going, Lee Haechan was unpredictable, resolute when he asked again, “Tell me about it. The first time.”

“Okay, sure.” You’d spent years avoiding the topic and the last month circling back to it. Your head throbbed at the thought, but you told him, “He was an exchange student. He…I don’t know, the moment I saw him I felt like I just needed to be near him. He was so quiet and reserved, at the time, and it felt like he was a mystery. Does that make sense? I’d spent my whole life until that point surrounded by the same people and he was so new.”

“A shiny new toy to play with.”

Words that were unintentional knives, poking and prodding at the memory of Jaehyun in his kitchen. The implication that Sicheng was a game, that Johnny was too - Jaehyun had thrown the same knives. And, when they tore at your skin, when his words drew blood, Jaehyun was shocked. Haechan had no way of knowing how his words pierced fresh wounds, how you’d felt them reopen and used your latte to choke down what pain followed. He just watched you, curious as he’d been when he came through the door, and waited for you to speak.

“No. No, he was more than that. He was, I don’t know, bubbly? Vibrant and when he smiled it was like magic.”

“Wow.” Haechan sat with that, mulled it over while he sipped on his own drink. He looked at you, after a hard swallow and asked, “Is that Jaehyun?”

Your pulse stopped, veins cold and lifeless, hands squeezing tightly around your mug. Blinking, you begged Haechan for clarification, “What?”

“Jaehyun.” He took another sip, watching silently as you spiraled, “Is that your first love?”

“No. Jaehyun is…” The word was lost on you; Jaehyun was ice, he was cold and he was something he’d never been. Jaehyun was supposed to be your best friend, but he was shifting into something else, into a ghost and the thought made you nauseous, “He’s my friend.”

He hummed, “You mentioned his name in your notes a few times. I figured it was a reference.”

“He helped me. He…he let me read your book to him so I could work out my thoughts. I didn’t realize I’d left his thoughts in, as well.” You looked down into your mug, followed the swirl of the foam, “I’m sorry. That was really unprofessional.”

“I don’t mind.” Then, Haechan pushed, asked more from you than you were prepared for, “Are you sure he’s just a friend?”

There was nothing you were less sure of, not in that moment. But you knew what he was implying, you know how his words grabbed at your heart and tried to jumpstart the feeling you’d been chasing for years. That familiar ache you tried to push down. You shook your head, “I have a boyfriend.”

Haechan nodded, “Ah.”

Your phone buzzed, nudging a spoon closer to the edge. 12:49pm Come over tonight?

“Boyfriend?” You nodded, “Do you love him?”

“We’ve only been together for a week.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about him.” Haechan pointed to your phone, Johnny’s message still visible, “Love is strange. Every time I think I understand it, I find a new version somewhere else, in something else or someone else.”

“Maybe it’s not love, then. Maybe it’s infatuation.”

“Infatuation is messy.” Haechan shook his head, “There’s a purity in love, something untainted and clean about it. Love is a white light, infatuation is something else.”

“What do you mean?”

Haechan pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it and placing it on the table between you. It was a page from his book, torn from the manuscript and scribbled on. He watched as you read over it; a passage about the love interest, a comment about the main character credited to Jaehyun. Haechan cleared his throat, “Jaehyun said the way Sanghoon felt was fleeting. The way it’s described was fleeting, ungrounded.”

“Right.”

“And you said…” Haechan leaned over the paper, himself, fingers tracing along your written notes, “What is more akin to love than desire to float away.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s more pure than a desire to fly? Love should feel like that.” Then he smiled, teasing and wide, “Light in color, light in weight.”

You looked at him, “You seem like the type to have an opinion on everything.”

Haechan barked out a laugh, “You’re right. I like talking to you.”

“I’m undecided.”

“Fair enough.” He checked his watch, humming at the time before he told you, “I have to go. We should meet again, though. And, really, think about it.”

“About what?”

Haechan was standing, securing his hat on his head again and taking another long sip of his drink before he looked directly asked you and repeated, for the second time, “Do you love him?”

📻

Taeyong’s apartment was warm; pleasantly covered in dim lights dangling from the ceiling, music lilting out of a speaker hidden by bodies in a small crowd. He ushered you in, “Hey you.”

His hug was welcome, just as warm as his home, “Hey Yong.”

You could hear Mark’s laugh, tucked away somewhere around the corner, mixed in with every other sound you had yet to match to a sight. The air was heavy with the smell of food, lingering on Taeyong’s clothes, on the apron tied around his waist. Taeyong slid your coat onto a hanger, put it in the closet and came to stand behind you, “He’s in the kitchen.”

You looked back at him, “He told you.”

Taeyong snorted, stepping around you into the apartment, “He’s telling everyone that will listen. Come on.”

As soon as you rounded the corner, as soon as you were in his line of sight, Johnny saw you. You watched the end of his sentence taper off, the way he stilled his stirring and the conversation he’d been having with Ten. Johnny locked onto you and opened his arms as wide as he could, heart full in his chest, “There’s my girl.”

You fell into him, breathed him in for the first time in two days - since your meeting with Haechan left you spiraling and Johnny turned spirals into comfortable, comforting spins. He held you close as you mumbled, “Hi babe.”

“Oh, I get it now.” Johnny held your hands around his waist, locked them there, “I like how that sounds.”

Johnny kissed your lips, Mark broke from his conversation with Yuta to hoot, to holler, to watch you tuck yourself back into Johnny, “Jesus.” You pushed your way under Johnny’s arm, “What are you making?”

He shrugged, closing the distance again and wrapping around you from behind, “Ask Taeyong.”

Johnny kissed your neck, palm flat on your stomach, the other guiding you to look back at him again. He wanted to kiss you, it was all he could think about all day. So, he blocked you from Mark’s view and moved his lips to yours, “Missed you.”

“Saw you this morning.” Johnny’s hand slipped down from your chin, down your arm, down to hold your hand in his. Insatiable was the closest to what he felt, “Missed you, too.”

“Stay with me tonight.” Johnny’s breath was hot against your ear, “Please.”

You hummed an agreement, sighed and leaned further into him, “Okay.”

Ten chopped vegetables behind you, “There are other rooms for that.”

“You can join.” He tossed the comment over his shoulder, Ten tossed a slice of carrot over his; laughing when it bounced off Johnny’s cheek and fell to the floor. Johnny turned back to you, “Did you see everyone else, yet?”

“Not yet.” You’d placed the spoon back into the pot, stirring the broth that bubbled and popped, “Who is here?”

“Yuta, Kun, obviously Mark and Ten.” Johnny looked around the room, “Jungwoo is on his way, Yangyang is running late and picking up Renjun.”

His name missing from the list didn’t go unnoticed. Do you love him had plagued you for two days. Words from a stranger that had embedded themselves in your brain, clawed at it until you didn’t have a choice but to listen. Johnny was warm against you and it was a comfortable distraction. Johnny was careful with you, easing you into view and keeping some things secret for the two of you. I wasn’t talking about him.

Part of you knew he wouldn't be here. Jaehyun would put as much distance between the two of you as he could; Taeyong was across the city, Taeyong lived in another world. You thought about asking Johnny to stay at yours tonight, to bring you back to your world and let you hang onto the last bit of closeness you had with Jaehyun. You were spiraling again.

“You okay?”

You nodded, “Kitchen is hot.”

“Come on.” Johnny pulled you from the heat of the stovetop, “Ten, can you stir.”

“Tell Kun he has to come cut.”

The living room was cooler, by far, louder and filled with interweaving conversations. You followed the end of one conversation and listened as it carried on into another, filling the empty space Kun had left on the couch.

Yuta had dyed his hair fire-engine red since the last time you’d seen him, a vibrant contrast to the layers of black he wore. He was engulfed in his conversation with Mark, elbows on his knees and leaned in. Mark, opposite him, seemed more at ease after his assessment date had passed. His hands moved wildly in front and around him, illustrating whatever he was relating to Yuta.

Taeyong was perched on the armrest of his chair, the one positioned in front of a shelf of his own work. His fingers were stained with paint, fading but always present, as they tapped at the screen of his phone. He looked up, lending his voice to the conversation when it was useful, turning his attention down when it wasn’t. Taeyong was similar to Johnny in that way, always moving with intention.

Kun and Ten were chatting in the kitchen, working around each other in remarkable sync. You were sure Ten had a new tattoo, just above his elbow, but he was too far away to tell now. Kun had pushed his glasses down from the top of his head, focused on the dish in front of him.

It made you feel sick, sitting in a space so full of life and still lingering on such an empty feeling. If you sat quietly long enough, you’d get lost in those thoughts. But, Johnny had his hand in yours and, when he could feel your grip loosening, he squeezed his fingers around yours and whispered something beautiful, something sweet. Something so wonderfully Johnny that you went from drifting to floating, only a slight difference between the two.

But it was enough for you to notice.

Kun told you all the food was ready, wiping at his hands with a towel before you all filed into the kitchen. Taeyong’s doorbell rang a second later, he rushed to answer it, “It’s probably Jungwoo.”

Just like Mark, you could hear him before you saw him. Jungwoo came into the kitchen with an announcement spilling from his lips, “I brought a surprise.”

Hope swelled in your chest, head turning and seeking him out. Searching for dimples, for a tugged at tie, for his laugh and his smell and the way he’d look for you, first. Ten spoke up, “Doyoung?”

And your hope shattered.

It was only when everyone filed out of the kitchen, only when you and Jungwoo remained, that you thought to ask, “Is Jaehyun not coming?”

Jungwoo licked at his fingertips, tasting a sauce Kun said was his specialty, “No. He couldn’t make it.” Jungwoo poured a ladle full of soup into his bowl, eyes flicking to you when he asked, “Didn’t he tell you?”

You lied, knowing the words fumbled coming out of your mouth. You lied, blinking and focusing on your already full plate. You looked up at Jungwoo and lied, “Yeah. Right. I must have forgotten.”

Jungwoo watched you leave the kitchen then, his phone heavy in his pocket with a message from Jaehyun.

8:12pm Tell me how she is.

previous. masterlist. next.

[rycbarmerlin]

I remember how happy I was when Lando scored his first points in 2019. I remember seeing Carlos not letting Lando talk himself down when he was met with disappointment. We all watched as Lando brought Carlos out of himself, let him be himself in a way no one had really seen before, and together they drove the team forward.

I remember waiting in suspense after the Brazilian grand prix to see if Lewis would get the penalty that would give Carlos the podium after steaming through the pack from P20. Lando being so down and disappointed by his own performance, his own pace, but putting a smile on for the team, and Carlos acknowledging how much that meant to him.

And then we're back in Australia for the start of the 2020 season, only for the team to have to pull out due to a positive Covid test. The pandemic. The months away. MTC shutting up shop, making ventilators instead of F1 cars. Carlos announcing he would be leaving for Ferrari at the end of the 2020 season. The feeling of wanting to make every race count that bit more.

Then BAM, P3, Austria, first race back. First podium. Zac hugging him so hard Lando hurt his ribs. Monza - chasing down Carlos in for a podium but missing out. Wondering what it would be like for Carlos and Lando to feel what Pierre was feeling. Securing P3 in the constructors on the final day of the season against Racing Point, giving Carlos the best possible send off to Ferrari.

All the podiums in 2021: Imola, Monaco, Hungary, Austria, Monza. The one/two with Daniel at Monza - such happiness for the team he'd spent two years fighting on track for, but the bittersweet taste of first being just out of reach.

Anyone who watched Sochi knows how much that hurt. It was the perfect weekend; maiden pole, Carlos in second, George starting third in the Williams, but then it just gets ripped out from under you as the cars just fly past.

That one stings for a while.

Races continue and people say when are you going to get your first win? Can you do it with McLaren? Can McLaren get you fighting for the lead?

2022, there's Imola, but the podiums don't come like they did in 2021. The team isn't going forwards, and the happiness we felt when the team picked up a P8, P7, P10, isn't the same as it was in 2019. Faith in the team remains unwavering, but maybe a little tested.

2023. Pre-season testing. A sinking feeling. First race, double dnf. Oh, this is going to be a long season.

Miami 2023 felt like it lasted the whole day. The media pressure was unrelenting. Why can't anyone believe that McLaren is the place and people that Lando wants to win things with, win things for. Sure, the season has been bleak, but that desire doesn't fade.

Austria is the most unexpected, but most euphoric feeling. McLaren can do this in half a season... bring these upgrades and utterly transform a car that was by far the slowest? Seriously compete?

Silverstone. Front row. The ROAR of the crowd as Lando sends it past Max Verstappen to take the lead. And sure, it doesn't last for too many laps, but it was a pure, shining, tantalising moment where you realise once more what it could be like for Lando to win. You're transported back to all the moments that got you here, and he's not even winning. But now, now it really feels like this time, maybe this time, McLaren have really got something they can fight with.

A podium at Silverstone. A podium at Hungary. Oscar proving his class, and suddenly all the chatter on McLaren has become hype and excitement.

Feeling SICK as Lando defends against George at Singapore, working with Carlos in an instinctive, symbiotic way. Clipping the wall, and then seeing George go off. Fireworks. The dream one/two realised.

Ending the season in a place that felt completely unobtainable in Bahrain.

And now this year. Seeing where we were come the first few races, disappointed not to be as close to Red Bull, but in a decent fight with Ferrari.

A truly special podium in Australia. Shanghai too.

And now Miami.

This has been the journey. Small highs and lows, crushing lows, and euphoric highs, setbacks and disappointments, massive gains and top class drives. Rumours, gossip, media pressure, team pressure. Moving up in the championship, then sliding back. Coping with the messy fallout from the 2018 car. Learning how to be kinder to yourself, wheel to wheel racing with childhood heroes. Missing out by a tenth here, team orders, teammate victories.

Now finally, a win with the team Lando's stuck by, and that have stuck by him. An unwavering loyalty to papaya, a second family. A win from pace. A win from strategy. P6 to P1. The respect of the whole grid.

This has been coming for such a long time, and the journey to it has been long and winding. There is SO much more to come still. And we're with you, like we have been this whole time 🧡

[munsoninthedark86]

Kinktober 2022 Day 21: Intoxication(Spellbound)

warnings: smoking weed, cunnilingus, some dirty talk, some swearing, reader is 18 pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader word count: 1.2k

“Inhale, sweetheart. Just like I taught you,” Eddie coaxes as you smoke the joint. You do as he taught you.

You were hanging out with him after school, just chilling on his bed in his trailer. You told Eddie you’ve never been high, and he said he would help fix that. You had no clue he has a major crush on you and he plans on confessing to you while you’re both high.

“That’s it.” He praises you, which makes you grin.

“I’ve got a good teacher,” you say while giggling. The weed seems to be affecting you already or maybe it’s just a placebo effect. 

Eddie smirks, “Maybe I can teach you some other things.”

This makes your heart skip a beat. What does that mean anyway? Is he supposed to say things like that? You’ve been friends with him for a long time, but you wondered if maybe he meant he was going to teach you some sexual things. When Eddie notices the panic on your face, he quickly scrambles for a little white lie to smooth things over.

“Heh, I meant with D&D.”

This makes you laugh softly, and it’s the sweetest thing in the world to Eddie. He’s spent countless nights right on this bed, just thinking about you hanging out with him just like this. He’s so fucking happy you finally came to join him. And now you were getting high with him, and who knows what else could happen.

“Is that so?” You tease, and you lean a little closer to him as he puts out the joint.

“Yeah, I know you want to get better at it. I could maybe even teach you how to be a dungeon master,”

You swoon, “Really? I don’t know if I could be as good as you.”

Eddie smiles at you, just so in awe of how cute you are. He’s seconds from just kissing you and making your head whirl. He knows the worst thing that could happen is that you reject him, but he’s waited way too long to chicken out now. So he cups your cheek, and you blush profusely. It’s such an intimate gesture, and you aren’t really sure how to react. Especially with the weed making you feel a little more bubbly.

“Eddie,” you breathe. “What are you doing?”

He sighs, “Just trust me.”

He presses his lips to yours, and you feel like fireworks are going off inside of you. It’s amazing in every way, and even better than what you imagined. You often thought about how it might feel to kiss Eddie, but you were much too chicken to do it. Eddie was on cloud nine, relishing in the feel of your cushiony lips. When he pulls away, it’s only for a few moments to admire your sweet face. Then he begins kissing you more, this time with much more intimacy.

His large hands soothe down to your ass, and he pulls you onto his lips. The two of you begin making out, and Eddie is rock hard once you start grinding up against him. He guides your hip to thrust back and forth as the two of you kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth, and you let out a sweet moan when it rubs against yours. Your mind is so foggy with lust, you can barely make sense of anything else going on.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Eddie croons.

You’re blushing now, “Really?”

“Yeah, baby. I’ve thought you were beautiful since the day I laid eyes on you.”

He’s quick to push you back against his old mattress, and you hear one of your favorite songs playing from the stereo. Your heart swells with affection, because you know Eddie doesn’t necessarily love this band, but he bought the tape just for you. It makes you feel like such a princess. Eddie spoils you a lot, but you never really knew why until now.

“How about this, sweetheart? I’m going to lick your little pussy,”

“Eddie! W-wait! What?”

Eddie snickers, “You’re so cute. I wanna make you feel good,”

You won’t deny that the weed has made your panties even more soaked than they would be when you’re around Eddie. So you shyly agree to him going down on you. Eddie’s hands are shaking as he begins undressing you. Your cute little cotton panties make his cock so hard, and it throbs when he feels just how wet you are for him and you’ve only been making out. Your panties are clinging to your pussy lips.

Then, he pulls them down and you’re left with nothing on. You’re fully exposed to him, and he has such a raging hardon for you right now. He grunts as he adjusts his cock in his pants and settles on his stomach between your legs.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he praises, and he lets his fingers spread your folds.

“S-shut up,” you whine. This is all too much for you, but you don’t want it to stop.

Eddie leans in and chuckles softly as you begin squirming under his hot breath. Your little pussy just smells so good, and he knows it’s going to taste just as good. One lick of his tongue, and he’s hooked. He begins lapping at your wet slick like it’s the last thing he’ll ever taste. Without even thinking about it, Eddie begins rutting against the bed for some relief. Those sweet moans you let out for him drive him insane. He’s never going to be able to get the taste of your pussy off of his tongue now.

“So sweet.” he says between licks. “So fucking good,”

You buck up against his face, “Please, Eddie.”

He loves how you beg for him. He wonders if it’s because of the weed that you’re so wet or because of just being with him. Eddie hopes you have feelings for him just like he does for you. Even if you don’t, he figures he could settle for just being able to have this moment with you.

Your fingers tangle in his messy hair, and you tug slightly to pull him even closer. You’re dying to have more of him, and you know he won’t disappoint. You feel the tip of his index finger circling your hole, and it clenches around nothing in anticipation. You beg him to do more, and he chuckles darkly.

“Oh, such a sweet girl.”

You whine, “Don’t tease me, baby,”

He sucks on your clit just as his finger slips into you. It doesn’t take long for him to find that spongy spot deep inside of you. You shudder when you feel the coil in your stomach begin to tighten even more than previously thought. It’s so overwhelming, but you are enjoying every single second of it. You’re desperately trying to warn Eddie that you’re about to cum, but all that comes out are pitiful moans.

Your juices gush all over his mouth and his hand as you cum hard. His name falls from your lips so desperately and wantonly. Eddie grunts as he feels his balls tighten, and he’s falling off the edge right with you. Warmth pools in his boxers as shots of hot cum spurt from his cock. The two of you are riding your highs, desperately grinding. You have to gently push him away when the pleasure just becomes too much.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” You ask once you’ve caught your breath.

Eddie laughs, “Ah, ah, ah. A dungeon master doesn’t reveal all his tricks all at once.”

[hazyange1s]

the process of detonation (g.w. x f!mc)

summary: Garreth has a bit of a crisis when the reality of growing up starts to hit hard. While trying to overcome self-doubt and bottle up the explosion waiting to happen, she’s there to show him that there’s nothing wrong with a little chaos.

tags: allusions to adhd, alcohol use, seventh year, awkwardness and fluff, literal fireworks, too many food metaphors?, friends to lovers, gryffindor!reader, garreth is an ace at pining, beater!Garreth because yes obviously, the “wearing his sweater” trope, seniors and their existential crises, mc only referred to by she/her pronouns

word count: 5.6 k

rating: T

a/n: my entry for @garrethweasleyfest ! the prompt I used was “explosion” (kind of got inspired by explode - mother mother)

read on ao3

Garreth wasn’t all that good at really explaining the inner workings of his mind, but perhaps he could give it a go.

He might be biased, but in a way; he thought people could be compared to potions. They’re messy, complex, and each have their own set of ingredients that make them what they are — and change how they react. Some people have a little extra rose petals to them, some a sprinkle of stardust, and others are just…pure poison.

In Garreth’s case, his brewing tended to say a lot about his own concoction of self.

Of course, for most of his life, he never really considered that there might be something fundamentally wrong with whatever recipe God or whoever had used to create him. It wasn’t until seventh year when he was finally considered a grown wizard that Garreth began to suspect… and to wonder if there was any leaf or powder out there that could be thrown in to stabilize him.

̶̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶  ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶

In Garreth’s defense, he had a lot on his mind that day.

Between his growing stack of homework assignments, early morning Quidditch practices three days a week, and the NEWT study group he’d been strong-armed into joining by Natsai and his Aunt, it was a wonder he had any working brain cells left at all. And that didn’t even count the time he spent on his own, er… creative projects.

So it wasn’t all that surprising that he’d accidentally broken a golden rule of potion-making in his sleepy endeavor at a cure for ague. Not once as his knife rocked against the cutting board did he consider that everybody else was flattening the blades and pressing down instead, and the rest of his friends were too oblivious to, either.

“— But then, he tried to kiss me! No request, no warning, nothing! One second I’m mid-conversation about centaurs’ rights, and the next his tongue is two inches from my face! All of that time wasted when I could have been doing any of the million other; more important things I have going on!”

Oddly enough, hearing about his friend’s failed attempts at courting (which were rather numerous) was the best part of his day so far.

Garreth nodded along politely, offering a vague “mhmm” and “you can’t be serious” at appropriate intervals, gaze flickering between his workstation and the witch in the midst of a passionate rant while turning her ladle idly in her own cauldron. He’d never been good at strictly keeping his eyes on his own work, and it was that much harder with her directly beside him; her vest unbuttoned and cheeks fairy floss pink from the vapors surrounding them.

She gave a resounding huff, dropping the ladle to rest her elbows on the textbook open in front of her. “All that is to say; I’ve come to the conclusion that men are incorrigible.”

“Sounds fairly accurate,” Garreth snorted. He gently nudged her off of the book (they often shared his, as it was filled with helpful notes) to double check a measurement.

Even if some little voice whispered that reasonable was boring and she should keep her — ahem — mind open to other possibilities, he dutifully ignored it.

“Although, we’re not all pigs, you know. Some of us have a spot of…well. Class, I suppose.” He grumbled.

“I hope you’re not referring to yourself,” her laughter rang out like the peal of a bell. “You’re a lot of things, Garreth, but you’re not exactly the epitome of a gentleman.”

His face pinched, and again she chuckled, which was a small consolation.

It stung because it was true. Garreth wasn’t exactly a rake by most standards, but he flirted with too many witches and wizards and had snogged half that number besides to be much else. He was a terrible dancer, didn’t have a fortune to inherit (even if he had been the eldest Weasley), and flaunted most rules and regulations.

So, no, he wasn’t winning any awards in Witch Weekly for Bachelor of the Year.

To spite her, he did the gentlemanly thing and conceded, albeit not so gracefully. “I’m only trying to say…you shouldn’t lump us all in with a few bad apples. I certainly wouldn’t have disappointed you like that.”

“How comforting to know. I’m still sticking with my hypothesis, but thanks for trying.”

Well, now he was thinking about how he would kiss her, if given the chance.

(This was purely for scientific reasons, of course.)

Garreth, eager to salvage what remained of his pride, readied another reply as he sprinkled the flakes of dittany into his lightly smoking cauldron. It would have been a good one, too, if not for —

“Garreth!”

There was only a hair of a second between her shouting his name in warning and what was possibly one of his most impressive explosions to date. Even though she lunged for him, she was too late to stop the blast from sending him reeling backwards with a hand over his burning-hot face and a very unbecoming cry of surprise.

Having expected him to be closer, she stumbled in her attempt at pushing him out of the way, and thus they collided like two atoms — tumbling to the stone floor in a jumble of limbs and hissed curses.

“Come on, seriously, Garreth?” Sebastian groaned from an adjacent potions station. He, along with a few others who’d been close to the blast, were coughing and waving away billowing clouds of smoke.

Natty sighed. “That’ll be another ten points from Gryffindor.”

But their protestations fell to the wayside once he was peering up at the sheepish face of his savior; no more than a few inches away. Within kissing distance, even.

Wait. What?

“Fuck. Ow. Sorry,” she groaned, trying to untangle their aching limbs as she lay half-splayed across Garreth’s chest.

It was then that his traitorous mind started paying attention to how warm she was, how bright that ring of pure gold in her eyes was, how infuriatingly good the blend of mallowsweet and smoke clinging to her like a second skin smelled…

Shiiiiittt. Shit, shit, shit.

“No, it’s, uh, it’s my fault. Totally my fault, I wasn’t, er…paying attention,” he panted. The wind had been thoroughly knocked out of him — and it wasn’t just because her elbow had struck him right in the stomach when they’d fallen.

When she managed to sort herself out and hastily climb to her feet, that stinging feeling from before returned, and Garreth didn’t notice the developing bruise on his tailbone one bit.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Oh, er, I think so,” he stood up, legs wobbling like a newborn thestral, and dusted off his robes. “My pride took the biggest blow. Though I suppose I should count myself lucky I had the Hero of Hogwarts to save me.”

He waggled his brows, and her jaw went slack before she was doubled over in a fit of raucous laughter.

“What?! It wasn’t that funny.“

“No, you —“ she can hardly get the words out between breathless giggles. “Garreth, your eyebrows.”

Reaching up, his fingers found the ridge just above his eyes — where, indeed, great chunks of what was once thick ginger hair are missing. “Bollocks. That’s the third time in six months.”

The unfortunate loss of his eyebrows (and dignity) became yesterday’s news when she traversed the newly formed space between them to rub what he assumed was soot off of his nose, still chuckling to herself. He resisted the urge to brush away the wayward hairs sticking to her forehead in kind.

“I’ll give you this — you’re definitely not most men,” she grinned.

It was probably an insult, but all Garreth heard was a ringing endorsement. Against the odds, he cracked a lopsided smile of his own.

Maybe he’d even call it a victory.

Professor Sharp waved his wand, and the thick fumes disappeared, allowing them all a good glimpse of his signature long-suffering scowl.

“Ten points from Gryffindor. Shocking, I know,” the ex-Auror sighed, resigned. “And I expect that cauldron to be replaced within the fortnight.”

Well. A bittersweet victory, to be sure.

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Everything tumbled downhill from there.

In the spirit of further self-reflection, Garreth knew that their unceremonious meeting on the dirty floor of the Potions classroom wasn’t some hit-him-over-the-head moment of recognition — even if most of his revelations came in that form. This one had been creeping up on him since fifth year, like a wily sort of poison; disguised with a sweet scent to throw him off.

But just how massively fucked was he, you may ask?

That became clear one rainy afternoon. Not just any rainy afternoon, mind you, because those were a galleon a dozen during autumn in the Scottish Highlands; but the afternoon of their first Quidditch game of the year against Slytherin.

Which didn’t help the fact that his head was already so not in the game.

It started out well enough, with Gryffindor managing to make several goals in a row that had their swaths of supporters in the stands crowing with pride. Garreth did his best to keep up as he weaved and dodged and looped around the field, trying to focus solely on the hunt for Bludgers. Of course, this required him to pay equally close attention to his teammates lest they fall victim to one of the bloodthirsty balls.

One teammate in particular more than the others, perhaps.

Flying was made all the more difficult by the sheets of icy rain pelting his face. Not even the goggles – with the assistance of an Impervious Charm – were helping him distinguish much more than vague blobs of color streaking through the cloudy sky. This, he justified, was why he started to miss more swings than he made and almost dropped his bat (twice). It wasn’t Garreth’s fault the elements were working against them.

Despite that, they were still forty points up when the conniving snakes switched tactics and started going after Gryffindors’ three female Chasers. Natty was an expert at evasion, and Nellie tended to fly high to avoid them… but not her.

She always had to be in the bloody thick of it, didn’t she?

It might have been annoying, if it wasn’t so damn impressive. Garreth couldn’t help but admire the way she moved; how she’d feint and crack a little smile each time someone fell for the trick. The way her red sweater clung, dripping, from her frame and strands of hair curled around her wet forehead were particularly distracting, too.

For the first time in his career, Garreth found himself wishing he was in the crowd – just so he could watch her.

Sebastian tossed the Quaffle to Imelda over Natty’s head – only for his face to contort with rage when it was snatched from the air between them. Garreth whooped proudly when she took off towards the goal posts. The first Bludger was hot on her tail, but so was he, maneuvering between her and the ball. He spent the next few minutes as her guardian until having to turn tail at the last minute to rescue Lucan.

The next events happened so quickly he couldn’t quite recall much but this: a familiar, feminine cry of alarm from behind him, the brown blur of a Bludger streaking towards him, and the reverberation in his arm when his bat connected with it. There was a thunderous crack, and then another scream.

What he’d meant to do was send it towards any of the three Slytherins trying to overtake her, but instead…

Garreth’s entire world narrowed down to the moment when she just barely managed to duck out of the Bludger’s path. He’d come to a screeching halt on his broom, hovering mere feet away from her with his eyes wide as saucers behind his foggy goggles, something sinking inside him as the Slytherins flew off with the Quaffle. The stadium erupted into cheers for them seconds later.

“What the hell was that?” She panted, her indignant scowl apparent even through the downpour. “You almost took my bloody head off, Garreth!”

“It — it was an accident. And you’re fine, right, so no harm, no foul?” He had to shout to be heard over the spectators and the wind.

“An inch to the left and I wouldn’t have been fine at all! I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you need to get it together!”

“I just –”

She sped off so fast the resulting wind made him shiver. Either Garreth was simply losing his touch, or there was something seriously wrong with him lately. Cursing to himself, he shook off the chill her anger had left him with and the shame that followed, and threw himself back into the game comforted by the knowledge that he’d be able to get roaring drunk at the after party.

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Drunk might be an understatement, actually.

By the time the party was in full swing, Garreth had already downed more than his share of the sneakily procured liquor (courtesy of yours truly, Sirona’s unrelenting generosity, and several bribes to the house elves in the kitchens). Someone had enchanted a few of the lamps to change color occasionally, throwing red and green and blue lights around Gryffindor’s common room, which teemed with House members in Quidditch jumpers and all other manner of memorabilia. Even little Doge and Dumbledore had emerged briefly to shyly congratulate the team.

Not even the jubilant music pouring from the gramophone or the well-earned laughter of the partygoers could drown out what was going on inside Garreth’s head.

He’d never embarrassed himself so profoundly at a match before. Quidditch, like potion-making, was one of the few areas Garreth excelled in, and he couldn’t even do that right. Ever since school had started up again, he’d been a mess. Exploding cauldrons, racking up more detentions than ever, always saying the wrong thing…

It was seventh year, for Merlin’s sake, and he was a grown wizard now. But while everyone else was coming into themselves, it seemed like he was just coming apart.

So instead of enjoying the victory, Garreth had taken to drowning his sorrows in drink while watching from the sidelines; neck-deep in an early quarter life crisis while slumped in one of the armchairs. Leander found him there eventually, his freckled face a mask of concern as he leaned against the wall beside him.

“What’s with the sour face?” Leander raised a brow. “We just beat Slytherin! I thought you’d be dancing on the tables or something.”

“I’m not really in the dancing mood. Go on, I’ll live vicariously through you.” Garreth grumbled.

“As much as everyone would probably love to see that, I’d rather find out what’s got your wand all knotted up.”

Garreth sighed, raking the hand not currently clutching a glass of Firewhiskey through his still-damp curls. “You saw what happened, Lee. The team’s probably pissed at me for being a massive disappointment, especially…”

He gestured vaguely to the hero of the hour (the hero of every hour of every day as far as he was concerned, and she’d earned the title several times over) across the room. She was talking with Natty, Nellie, and Cressida by the fireplace, her smile brighter than the flames’ glow that lit her from behind. A clawed hand squeezed at his heart.

“Oh, that? That was…I mean, you made a minor miscalculation. Most of them have forgotten already, I reckon.” Leander’s eyes darted to the side — as they always did when he was lying horribly.

“A minor miscalculation that could have led to the untimely death of one of my best friends.”

“You’re being even more dramatic than usual…are you tossed already?”

”I dunno, mum; am I?”

There was a quiet rumble around him, like thunder. At first he thought it was just his stomach informing him of how much he’d indeed had to drink, but then a fat drop of rain landed on his nose.

Leander’s big, dark eyes rolled to the ceiling, and he dragged Garreth onto his slightly unsteady feet with an arm in his. “Alright, you’re being bloody insufferable, and you’ve quite literally got a dark cloud hanging over you. Come on, up you get — go talk to her and apologize.”

“No, Lee, please!” Garreth whined. “I’ve suffered enough humiliation today.”

”Don’t be a coward, you’ll be fine.”

The taller boy weaved through the crowd easily, pulling a stumbling Garreth along beside him until they came face-to-face with the very group of girls he had been avoiding all night. They all went quiet immediately — which was not a good sign.

Garreth scratched the back of his head, glancing between Leander and the witch with the suspicious scowl in front of him, feeling for all the world like he’d never been less of a Gryffindor than in that moment. Surely the alcohol was supposed to help with these things, right?

”Er…would you like to dance?” He blurted.

Well, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all. But having to talk to her at all in his clumsy state seemed even more daunting with all eyes on him, and getting her alone was a simple solution.

“You sure you’ll be able to without tripping over your feet?” Nellie snorted.

“‘M perfectly cohabitated — uh, coordinated, I mean,” Garreth argued.

Natty shook her head, hiding her laughter behind a hand. “Oh, dear.”

His favorite witch turned a familiar shade of pink, and for a moment Garreth feared that she’d laugh in his face, but eventually she sighed and handed her bottle of Butterbeer to Natty.

“If you step on my toes, I’ll jinx you,” she warned, leading him to the center of the room where groups of friends and cozy couples were scattered to dance to the magically amplified music (it was a miracle none of the professors had come to complain about it, really).

“No promises.”

Garreth wrestled with what to do when they got there. Was he supposed to take her hand? Her waist? Or, rather, should he keep it friendly and avoid touching her at all? The latter option seemed much less risky, and yet he found himself longing to feel her hand in his and the heat of her body. He’d been hooked ever since that day in Potions.

Deciding it would be better to keep his distance for now, Garreth went with swaying awkwardly on the spot instead, but she had other ideas — her hand sought out his, and she threw him into a dizzying little turn that evoked both laughter and a slight wave of nausea.

“Oh, are you leading?” He chuckled, suddenly thankful for the ballroom lessons they’d all received the year prior as he mimicked her move, twirling her playfully with ease that surprised even him.

“That might be safer,” she said. “Although you’re not doing half bad so far.”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Garreth grinned proudly.

He spent the better part of five minutes praying he wouldn’t step on her toes while simultaneously working up the courage to acknowledge the erupment in the room. And, because the universe didn’t like to make anything easy for him, Garreth had to compete with the little flutters in his stomach that beat their furious wings each time she laughed or squeezed his hand.

Merlin, just pull your wand out of your ass.

“Hey, so, about earlier. You know, during the game… you’re right, I wasn’t…I don’t know where my head’s been lately. I didn’t mean to muck things up.”

His breath held until she shrugged, her easy smile fading into something edged with concern. “Don’t worry about it. We won, and my head’s still attached to my body, so no hard feelings.”

She drew back, the impish grin back as she spun him again — which wasn’t very easy considering he had to duck under her arm. The room seemed to be moving with him, and Garreth had to right himself as subtly as possible when he came to a stop as colors that didn’t belong to the lights danced in his vision.

“You alright?” She chuckled, her hands braced on his biceps to steady him. “I think Nellie might have had a point about you tripping.”

“No, no, I’m good, just waiting for the room to stop spinning so I can look at you again.”

That hadn’t quite come out right. In place of the eye roll he was expecting, she giggled, adding fuel to his liquid confidence.

“Gods, you’re cute when you laugh,” Garreth found himself saying. He realized she was leading him away from the crowd, and soon he sank into a squashy cushion beside her. “I mean, you’re a bit blurry right now, but…still cute.”

“Okay, what’s gotten into you lately? Not that I mind the flirting… but you’ve been a right mess for weeks. I don’t think I’ve seen you this drunk before; not even when you saw your OWL results.”

A low groan rumbled in the back of his throat. “I’m peachy, pinkie promise.” Did she just say she didn’t mind his flirting?

Giggling at how absurd the words sounded together, he stuck his pinkie out to her and waited. “Come on, these are sacred!”

She did actually roll her eyes this time, but then her smallest finger hooked around his, and it didn’t pull away even when they were certainly exceeding the normal amount of time for a handshake. Garreth could smell the sweetness of Butterbeer on her breath.

It wasn’t enough to convince her, though. “Are you stressed about NEWTs? Who am I kidding, everyone and their grandmothers are. But if it’s really getting to you, then —“

Apparently, she wasn’t giving up, so Garreth sighed and rested his head against the back of the couch.

“Yes, I’m a bit strung out over the exams that will decide our entire career, what d’you think? I’m not going to have a fit over it.”

“Sorry,” her hands raised in surrender. “Just trying to figure out why you haven’t quite been yourself since the term started because I bloody care.”

“I would argue that blowing things up and making stupid decisions is very much on brand for me.”

Releasing a heavy sigh (more like an impatient huff, really), she wrested her pinkie from his, leaving Garreth more than a bit disappointed. But then again, what had he expected? That she’d sit there and hold his hand?

He hadn’t earned that. Somehow, he had earned her friendship from the very first day of their fifth year, but in no way did he reserve the right to even hope of something more. She was, well… extraordinary, and Garreth was an extraordinary disaster.

Maybe it was time he rectified that.

“Wait,” he tugged pathetically on her sleeve when she rose from the couch. “Sit with me for a little bit longer? I might need someone to Accio a rubbish bin over here soon.”

To his great relief, she sat down again, shaking her head to disguise a little chuckle. “You’re something else, y’know?”

”I’ve been told once or twice.”

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Bonfire Nights had been sparse the past couple of years around Hogwarts, as many of the residents had feared drawing attention to themselves with the looming threat of Ashwinders and goblins and the like. This year, Garreth had had the pleasure of seeing pyres built weeks beforehand, and by the end of October Zonko’s had sold out of Filibuster’s Fireworks.

As night settled over the Highlands, bonfires began to flare to life all along the rolling hills, appearing like flaming stars from the view at the castle. Garreth, alongside a group of fellow seventh years carrying sparklers and mini-fireworks, spent the brisk walk to the hill above Hogsmeade village lost in uncharacteristic melancholy. He’d never been the sort to reminisce; preferring to live in the here and now whenever possible, but for some reason the knowledge that this would be his last Bonfire Night at Hogwarts made it all a bit bittersweet (the flavor of the month, it seemed).

They drank hot chocolate in ceramic mugs provided by Sirona, surrounded by the body heat of the villages’ residents as they talked and laughed and chased their children away from the forest at the edge of the plateau. Hogsmeade’s lights had been dimmed for the occasion, glowing softly below them to allow the six foot pyre they gathered around to shine.

“I can’t believe next month is Christmas already,” Leander was saying between greedy sips of the drink cupped in his blue-tinged hands. “Then it’ll be the New Year, then Spring Break, and before we know it we’ll be taking our NEWTs and graduating…”

“Breathe, Lee,” Garreth chuckled. At least he wasn’t the only one getting hit with the terrifying reality of time all at once.

”I know, is it not amazing? The last few years have gone by so quickly. I will miss this place come summer, though,” Natty sighed wistfully.

Nellie snorted. “Speak for yourself. If I never have to open a textbook again after school is over, it’ll be too soon.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Leander?” His favorite Gryffindor (don’t tell Nats or Leander) joined their little circle, her frame wrapped in a thick red scarf and one of his old Christmas sweaters she’d stolen from him in fifth year and never given back — not that he minded, as it didn’t fit him anymore and looked far better on her, anyway.

The lanky redhead grumbled a reply, “Easy for you to say. Half of my job will be desk work.”

“No shame in that,” she shrugged. “Garreth’s going to be behind a cauldron, after all.”

“Hey, Potioneers do other things besides just… brew. I’ll still forage for my own ingredients, travel to sell them… hell, one day, I might just have my own shop.” Garreth said with pride.

“So long as you don’t blow it up,” her cheeks dimpled when she smiled.

As if on cue, a loud boom shook the ground beneath them. Everyone’s eyes shot to the sky, cheers swelling amongst the crowd as the first firework exploded in a shower of golden sparks, dissolving back towards the earth like falling stars. Despite all their talk of the future, Garreth felt like a first-year again as a smile broke out on his slightly chapped lips, apparently not immune to the childlike wonder the fireworks always seemed to bring.

The next one was even louder and brighter. Garreth nearly jumped out of his skin when an iron grip closed around his arm and a body pressed into his left side. She had buried her face in his shoulder, too, and a warm feeling unrelated to the cocoa spread from his stomach.

“Aww, is the big, bad Gryffindor afraid of fireworks?” he teased, trying not to enjoy the smell of her shampoo or the color in her cheeks too much as she looked up at him sheepishly.

“Shut up!” The shivering witch hissed. “Am not. I’m just…cold, and you’re a damn furnace, as usual.”

“Oh, you’re cold,” Garreth pouted just for the drama of it. Then, before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer still. “I suppose I’ll have to keep you warm, then.”

”And they say chivalry is dead.”

She flinched after the third blast, leading him to rub her shoulder in a subtle attempt at comfort, his heart thumping almost as loud as the fireworks now going off in quick succession when she curled into him. It was then that his Neanderthal brain concluded why she might have been so terrified; after fighting in a bloody war just two years ago.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be. I don’t mind.” At all. Garreth laughed to himself and set down his mug in the grass so he could cover the ear she didn’t have pressed to his chest with his hand.

“You know, you’re really sweet when you want to be,” he thought he heard her say over the explosions echoing throughout the valleys.

He lowered his head to speak into the ear closest to him, lips brushing the flyaways from her hair, rubbing her arm again when he noticed her shiver. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold; can’t have everyone think I’ve gone soft.”

Truth be told, his limbs always felt like melted taffy around her — he was practically a puddle at her feet.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Eventually, her head lifted partially from his shoulder, and with a sidelong glance he caught her peering up at the sky with a look best described as wonder. Each burst of sparks was reflected in her wide eyes, and Garreth felt tiny pricks of electricity along every nerve in his body at the sight.

“So, um…” he scrambled for something to say so he wouldn’t think about how close her lips would be if she turned to the side a bit. “Are you still going to write to me after school’s over? Or will you forget all about us little people when you’re off traveling the world in search of ancient relics and having daring adventures?”

“Of course I’m going to write, you moonmind,” she looked up at him, then, and his hand fell from the side of her head. “And I’ll come visit, too, so I can see that shop of yours.”

Perhaps she was just humoring him, but Garreth found nothing but sincerity in her soft smile, and his own crooked grin widened at the thought that she might be one of the first to genuinely believe in him.

“What’s got you so pensive all of a sudden?”

He shrugged, absentmindedly playing with the frayed edges of her cashmere scarf. “Maybe it’s just the old age catching up to me. It pairs well with my bum hip, I think.”

”Come on, I’m serious. I won’t tell anyone and ruin your sterling reputation, I swear.”

“I don’t know,” Garreth let out a sigh, his breath clouding in the air between them. “Just realized how much I’m gonna miss you.”

“And here I thought you’d be sick of my face after seeing it every day for three years,” her eyes darted away from him to watch a spray of green and red fill the starry sky. She wasn’t shaking anymore.

Never, he almost said. Garreth knew, as he gazed hopelessly at her perfect profile, that he would never be tired of her face — well, of all of her, really. In fact, he wouldn’t mind seeing her every day for the rest of his life.

“If you’re going to miss me so desperately… Perhaps you could join me on one of my so-called ‘daring adventures’ sometime; on the off chance Pippin gives you a holiday.”

His brows shot up as she met his stare. “Really? You’d want me to tag along?”

Their classmates and the villagers burst into raucous whistles and hollering as the finale began, fireworks filling the air with the smell of gunpowder and a rainbow of light that flashed on everyone’s uplifted faces. Garreth held her tightly lest she start to panic again, but the witch in his arms just laughed jubilantly at the crowd’s infectious excitement, nodding in response to his question.

“Sure. Never know when you might need a talented Potioneer to back you up. Fair warning that we’re bound to run into some trouble now and again, naturally.”

The thump of his heart became something wild and frantic, beating away beneath the hand she’d placed on his chest until he feared it, too, would simply explode. Gods, if they weren’t careful, he would wind up doing something massively stupid… or massively genius, depending on the results.

“As long as you’re there, I say bring it on,” Garreth beamed.

He could hardly believe his luck. She’d asked him to accompany her on her travels! That had to mean something, right?

Only one way to find out for sure…

“And would it be…er, just the two of us, or would Sebastian and Ominis and the rest of the crew be joining as well?”

Her eyes sparkled with recognition. “That depends on how you would feel about us traveling alone.”

”Would it be rather selfish of me to say that I’d love to have you to myself for a bit?”

“Probably…” her breath warmed his cheeks, though they were already burning hotter than a cauldron flame as Garreth became hypnotized by the way her teeth worried at her reddened lower lip. “But then I’d have to admit that I’m selfish, too.”

Now, that was a sign.

The last round of fireworks were utterly deafening, so Garreth had to lean in once again until the cold tips of their noses brushed to say, “Could I be even more of a self-serving bastard and ask you for one more thing?”

”Yes, you can — and yes to anything you want,” her lashes fluttered as her gaze dropped down to his slightly parted mouth.

“Anything?”

Garreth wasn’t one to ignore an opportunity when it arose. He took it and ran, gently placing his hand beneath her chin at the same moment his eyes slid shut and their lips brushed together with such a delicate touch that he shuddered. Then she took the lead, deepening the kiss with a wispy little sigh that had him weak at the knees and left him unable to form any solid thought but for how fucking incredible she tasted with the remnants of rich chocolate on her tongue.

When the two of them disconnected, the last sparks were fading from the sky, but they lived on in Garreth’s veins, popping and crackling like Fizzing Whizbees.

“See?” He murmured while still trying to catch his breath. “Didn’t disappoint you, did I?”

Her laughter bubbled up between them, brighter than any display. “You never disappoint, Garreth Weasley.”

Garreth had wondered before if he’d been made wrong; like one of his failed experiments with just a splash too much of the wrong thing. But perhaps — especially with someone like her to help keep him stable — some of the best things could come from the unpredictable and the unexpected.

He didn’t exactly find the missing ingredient…it had been there all along.

[lalacliffthorne]

a party and kisses at midnight - a new years modern!batboys drabble. 🎀🪩

(last one for this year, my lovelies, as a little thank you. I can't even describe how happy you all make my lil heart by adoring these silly little drabbles and this AU as much as I do!! love you all to bits!!! *mwah*)

"Why is it so fucking cooold..." Feyre's teeth were chattering as she hopped up and down on the spot, her breath a white cloud in the air.

"Cause it's winter,", Mor supplied, very helpfully, her voice slightly muffled from where her top half had disappeared into the trunk of her car. I snorted softly, shivering against the harsh cold wind brushing against my legs as I shifted from one foot to the other, clutching the three bottles with glittery booze Mor had handed me against my chest.

"And he really does this every year?" Feyre crunched her nose as she looked up towards the lit windows on the third flow, the star in my window shining in the dark.

"Yeah." Mor resurfaced, hair slightly tousled but triumphantly holding the bottle that had decided to roll into the depths of her trunk after she had taken a rather sharp curve. "Last year, he actually threw the party at his dad's mansion, because he was out of town and Rhys had the sudden urge to be rebellious. It was a huge thing." She frowned. "How did you two miss that; the whole campus didn't talk about anything else for weeks."

I shrugged as she plucked a bottle out of my arms, tightening my freezing fingers. "We both spent Christmas at home, and then at New Years, we holed up in Feyre's apartment. We were in a severe food coma by midnight and didn't get out of bed before the next evening."

Feyre sighed happily, staring dramatically up into the sky. "The good old times."

I snorted and sent her a wide grin. "C'mon, you love the idea of an actual New Years party for a change." I raised my brows. "Rhys definitely put more effort into food than we usually do; he ordered some super fancy food and did some stuff himself, he basically spent the whole of yesterday in the kitchen and wouldn't let anyone peak."

"Also the view from the balcony is amazing at midnight!" Mor stretched to close the trunk of her car. "You can see all the fireworks from the neighborhood, and the ones down at the river."

"Why don't we go and see them there?" Feyre pouted.

"Because a) it's gonna be packed with severely drunk people, and b) like you just mentioned,", I climbed onto the sidewalk, bumping into her side and widening my eyes dramatically, "it's coooold!"

Feyre snickered. "Fuck off."

"In case it gets too busy; I locked my room so there are no hook ups on my clean sheets, we can hole up in there." I pushed open the front door with my shoulder. The stairwell was warm, and I could hear music vibrating from the third floor.

"Yeah, because your sheets are so innocent." Mor grinned when I tried to kick at her, easily dodging my heel and raising her brows. "From what I've heard, your sheets have seen their fair share of not so clean action -"

"Oh, fuck you,", I growled over Feyre's cackling, pressing my elbow into her back to keep her from tipping over backwards while trying to fight the heat in my cheeks and the grin pushing onto my face. Mor snickered and blew me a kiss, and I flipped her off as best as I could with my arms full before beginning to push Feyre towards the stairs.

"Seriously, I always wondered; how is Azriel in the bedroom -"

"Mor, shut up!", Feyre and I called in unison, Feyre laughing so hard, I had to shove her up the stairs. Shrugging, Mor followed, flashing me a grin.

"Just curious, you know; I've heard he's quite skilled, and I mean, it makes sense, the quiet ones are usually the ones who go hardest -"

"Oh my God." I dropped my forehead against Feyre's back as she stopped to hold onto the banister, giggling so violently, she started hiccuping.

"Okay, fine, I'll stop." Mor grinned. "But only because I don't want Feyre to fall down the stairs before she can get her midnight kiss from Rhys."

My best friend stopped laughing abruptly, and it was my turn to snort and cackle.

Feyre's cheeks glowed pink as she glared at Mor. "I don't -"

"Sure." Mor smirked and slipped past us, sending her a wink before sauntering up the stairs. Feyre glowered at her back, beginning to stomp after her, and giggling, I followed after both of them.

Up on the third floor, the music and noise made the floor vibrate.

"How do the neighbours don't complain every year?" Feyre widened her eyes slightly, readjusting the packages of snacks she was balancing in her arms with her chin.

"Probably used to the boys being loud." I smirked.

"I think Rhys always invites the people right below you, and the ones down on the first floor usually spend New Years somewhere else, so they don't really got anything to complain about." Mor knocked her elbow against the door. "And the old folks next door wouldn't even hear a whole football team tap dancing up the stairs, so -"

Feyre and I started giggling, and Mor grinned before widening her eyes when someone pulled the door open. "Thank God, I'm starving."

Following Feyre into the hall, I sighed happily at the warmth enveloping me as I kicked the door shut. Feyre peeled off her jacket before taking one of the bottles out of my arms, and I slipped out of my coat, squeezing it onto the overflowing coat hanger next to the door.

There were people filling the hall, the kitchen and crowding the living room; coworkers of Cassian's and friends of the boys from the gym, some of the guys Rhys played basketball with, people from uni and classes and a whole lot I didn't know. It was loud and full and smelled of stale air, perfume and food.

Mor, Feyre and I slipped past kitchen, where the Christmas decorations were still up and the counter had been transformed into a bar, with flashing lights, fancy glasses and streamers. Putting the glittering booze down, I followed after the other two into the living room. The tree was glittering, lametta draped over the branches after Cassian and I had taken down all the baubles this afternoon. Golden streamers were hanging over the shelves, ceilings and windows, along with big floating balloons. Cassian almost ran into one when he spotted us, starting to grin widely.

"Hey!" He ducked under some streamers and pressed kisses to Mor's and Feyre's cheeks, the latter clearly not used to his teddy bear behavior yet, before slinging an arm around my waist and lifting me off the ground slightly in a tight hug. When he let me slip to the ground again, he sent me a shit-eating smirk. "Look at you; you know, if Az isn't around at midnight, I'd totally -"

I kicked his shin the same moment someone behind me snorted, and as Cassian winced, an arm was dropped over my shoulders.

"If you think Az is not gonna make sure he gets his midnight kiss, you've inhaled too much glitter." Rhys' lazy smirk was audible in his voice when he leaned down his head a little. I pressed a kiss onto his offered cheek and called over the noise: "Where is he?"

Rhys opened his mouth before closing it again and smirking, nodding over my head, and turning around, I followed his gaze.

My heart dipped and swerved, and my breath hitched in my throat when over the heads of the crowd, I found golden amber eyes piercing mine.

Azriel was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace. His shoulders strained against his simple black t-shirt, tattoos scattered over his arms, his dark hair tousled. He looked glowering as usual, not paying any attention to the people bustling around him, but some of his bored scowl slipped away as his eyes dragged over mine. Then he pushed off the wall and started moving through the crowd, towards us, people getting out of his way quickly. But he didn't even spare them a glance, just kept watching me, something warm and deep and twinkling growing in his eyes that caused my heart to begin fluttering quickly.

Rhys slid his arm from my shoulder and moved past me to greet Mor and Feyre, sending the latter a grin that caused her cheeks to grow pink even as she huffed, and Azriel pushed past him. Something rose into my throat as I tipped my head back to look up at him, parting my lips to drop a teasing remark about his outfit that didn't deviate from his usual fits in the slightest - but before I could even make a sound, Azriel dipped his head and kissed me.

A small sound broke from my chest at the firm press of his lips, my breath catching in my throat when I felt his hand slide up to my neck, and my heart swelled and pulsed under my ribs as my fingers curled into the soft cotton of Azriel's t-shirt and my knees turned to jello.

Azriel's lips curved upwards slightly against mine. I felt his tall, solid body press against mine, his calloused thumb gently tracing the line of my throat. Then Azriel slowly broke the kiss, his nose gently nudging mine as he pulled back his head just a little to stare down at me, his eyes golden in the warm pulsing lights. There was the slightest trace of a crease in his cheek, curtesy of a small smirk as he leaned down again to press a light kiss onto the corner of my lips.

"Hi." His deep voice vibrated through me, low and smooth, and I managed a breathless "Hello." that caused the crease in his cheek to deepen as he broke into a grin that was shit-eating enough to rival the one Cassian usually was sporting. I quickly pinched his side, no give to his muscles when he winced a little and glared at me.

"Hey, Az."

Cassian probably had a sixth sense for someone just remotely thinking of him, because he was smirking when Azriel straightened and turned enough so that I could peak past him, just in time to see the twinkle in Cassian's eyes when he sent me a light wink.

"I was just saying - Y/N looks too pretty to not be kissed at midnight; I'd volunteer if -"

Azriel scowled darkly, and I snorted a laugh and flipped Cassian the bird. He pretended to catch it, sending back a kiss and grinning widely, and Azriel rolled his eyes and turned back towards me with a shake of his head, but there was a light twinkle in his iris when he gently pushed me past him towards one of the armchairs.

"Okay, only fifteen minutes til midnight!" Rhys' loud voice echoed through the apartment, answered by whoops and cheers, and I grinned into my drink when I felt Azriel's chest vibrate with a huff.

I was tucked into his side in one of the armchairs, my legs draped over his lap and dangling over one of the armrests, his arm loosely wrapped around my back. His right hand was slowly running up and down my shin, his scarred skin warm through the thin pair of thights I was wearing, his thumb brushing over my knee once in a while. Mor and Feyre were lounging on the couch a little to my left, facing us, Cassian reclined lazily next to them as he grinned when Rhys moved past the coffee table.

They had kept coming and going, but Azriel and I had spent almost all of the past three hours in the same spot. Mor had dragged me up to dance twice, and I'd only let her because it meant I could stock up on snacks on my way back to where Azriel stayed lounging lazily in the big armchair, dark eyes calm and watchful on the people laughing and mingling and talking loudly around him. Everytime I returned, his legs parted slightly, and he shifted until I had plopped back down next to him before dragging my legs over his lap and stealing some of the food or a drink I was carrying. He looked perfectly comfortable, and no one dared bothering him, the glowering looks he sent Cassian and Rhys' way whenever they got too close warning enough to anyone else.

I had huddled up with Feyre in the kitchen for a while, curled up on one corner of the couch and giggling, and got pulled into conversations with her and Mor and the boys more than once. But I was always pulled back towards Azriel and the place squeezed into his side, talking quietly over the noise, Azriel's nose brushing my hair whenever he mumbled something into my ear, his lips curving into a light smirk whenever his words sent me into a fit of giggles. When I twisted to whisper into his ear, the scent of his cologne flooded my nose, and I could feel warmth wash over me.

It felt like we were in our own little bubble, comfortably curled up in the middle of the chaos, barely even noticing the people around us whenever the others disappeared into the crowd again.

"Let's go outside so we get a good place on the balcony!" A coat was thrown at me, nearly landing on my head, and I jumped, my eyes darting up to glower at Rhys, but he just winked before tossing Azriel his jacket.

Sighing and grumbling, I laborously dug myself out of the armchair. I could feel Azriel's chest brush my back when he rose to his feet, towering over me, his calloused fingers gently pulling my hair out of the way when I slipped into my coat, then he slid into his jacket.

Wrapping the thick scarf Feyre had gifted me last Christmas around my neck, I shivered happily as I buried myself in my coat, feeling Azriel's warm fingers sliding over my palm. My heart rose when they slipped into the spaces between mine, linking them together firmly, his thumb brushing lightly over my skin. Then his biceps gently bumped into my shoulder, pushing me over to the window doors leading out onto the balcony.

The air was freezing, our breath rising in white clouds when we stepped onto the balcony. The fairy lights wrapped around the balcony were glowing in a warm golden light, just like the bushes in the huge stone pots when we huddled against the stone balustrade. Mor's teeth were chattering dramatically as she slightly swayed on the spot, and Feyre's nose was pink when she huffed at something Rhys mumbled, but I could see the way she hid a wide beaming smile in her scarf. Rhys was staring at the side of her face.

There was a gentle huff against my hair, and when I looked up over my shoulder, Azriel's chest pressed into my back, his hands sliding into my pockets to link our fingers. His eyes were on Rhys and Feyre as well, and there was a knowing twinkle in his eyes as he watched his best friend stare at mine.

Feeling my heart rise and a giddy giggle pulse under my ribs, I turned back ahead, flashing Cassian a grin over Mor's head. He winked back, his wide smile causing his cheeks to crease.

Slowly, the others joined us on the balcony and at the windows. When I heard the door down on the street, I leaned forward to look over the balustrade and saw that some people had decided to watch the fireworks of the neighbourhood from down in the garden.

Rhys kept looking on his watch, counting down the time. Azriel wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my head as I played with his fingers, leaning back into his solid chest and feeling something thrum against my ribs. Mor disappeared back into the flat for a minute and returned with some glasses filled with sparkling, bubbling drinks she placed on the broad balustrade in front of us. I shivered in excitement, shifting giddily in the spot as Rhys started counting down the seconds to midnight.

The people around us started joining in until everyone was counting. I felt my heart rise and flutter as a stupidly wide grin spread over my face, Mor bumping her shoulder into mine and Feyre hopping around giddily on the spot.

"Four!"

Mor giggled and leaned forward to press a smacking kiss onto my cheek before looping her arm through Cassian´s, hitting his stomach so forcefully in excitement, he actually coughed a little.

"Three!"

Feyre squeezed my arm and beamed at me, and I caught a glimpse at Rhys on her other side, staring down at her like he was trying to make a decision.

"Two!"

I breathed out and closed my eyes, feeling heat in my cheeks despite the cold and the pulsing thrum of my heart against my ribs and the warmth blooming in my chest growing bigger and bigger.

"One!"

Azriel's hands slipped out of mine, his chest pressing into my back as his arm slid around my waist and turned me around, and as everyone yelled "Happy New Year!", Azriel's hands slipped up to cradle my face, and he leaned down and kissed me.

My heart rose in a wild flutter, and I slid my hands under his coat, his chest curving into mine as Azriel kissed me, deep and heated and all-consuming, his tongue twisting with mine as a soft sound broke from his chest, and I clung to him, feeling the thrum in my chest explode like the fireworks over us in the sky, showering my body in golden glittering sparkles until it felt like I was floating, my heart rising until I couldn't breathe.

I could hear whoops and jeers all around, a little far away and like slow motion, felt Azriel's calloused fingers cradling my face and the slight shudder in his breath when his nose dragged over mine. Then he kissed me again, his hands sliding down as my arms wrapped around his neck and my body curved into his as his hands pressed against my back, and I felt something begin to pulse against my ribs.

"Happy New Year,", Azriel mumbled against my lips, his deep, hoarse voice causing a shudder to run down my spine, and I clung to him, feeling a ridiculously wide smile slowly spreading over my face.

"Happy New Year."

Azriel's nose nudged mine, and his eyes, dark and molten, pierced mine. Then he dipped his head and mumbled into my ear: "C'mon."

My breath hitched, and my heart rose into my throat when his hand slipped under my coat and pushed me past him, through the crowd towards the doors leading inside.

I could feel him in my back, towering over me as we slipped through the people cheering and toasting in the living room. Something was thrumming against my ribs, twisting in my stomach when Azriel unlocked the door to his door and I moved past him, turning and feeling my heart beginning to flutter against my ribs when Az closed the door. The lock clicked, and Azriel slid out of his jacket, stepping towards me. His warm, calloused hands slipped under my scarf, his fingers tracing up my neck as he unwrapped it slowly. Dropping it to the floor, he dipped his head, his nose brushing against mine as the noise outside grew, mixing with the muffled crashing of fireworks.

The pulsing feeling in my chest turned into a hurricane, and Azriel slipped his hands to the back of my neck and kissed me, deep and hard and unhurried. Then he pushed my coat off my shoulders and leaned down, sliding his arm under my backside and lifting me off the ground.

When an hour later, we slipped back into the living room, the bass was making the floor vibrate, people were cheering and dancing, and Cassian, lounging on the couch, hollered while Rhys whistled, but Azriel just rolled his eyes. They couldn't see the scratch marks on his shoulders beneath the crumpled material of his t-shirt, or the love bites littering my skin underneath my dress, but swollen lips and messy hair and the way Azriel's hand slipped under the seam of my dress when he pulled me into his lap were enough.

Enough for Cassian to smirk and Rhys to chuckle and for Mor to wiggle her brows when she dragged me to my feet only seconds later, pulling me with her towards Feyre, the both of them cackling. Flipping them off, I let them pull me towards the people dancing and looked over my shoulder, and my heart rose when for a second, my eyes found Azriel's through the crowd, watching me, his eyes molten and deep, swirling with something that made my breath hitch.

I blinked, then I slowly started to smile, bright and cheeky, before sending him a wink, and I saw the huffed laugh leaving him, something dipping in my stomach when I turned around with a beaming smile.

The flat stayed filled with people until well into the morning. I was pulled into the crowd again and again, and yet - no matter how long I danced with Mor and Feyre, played beer pong with Cassian or mixed drinks with Rhys that were so bad, he declared us unfit to ever to do it again - I always ended back in the corner of the couch, with the scent of cedar and darkness filling my lungs, an arm wrapped around me and a deep, low voice mumbling into my ear, light kisses pressed against my neck and a scarred hand wrapped around my knee.

And by the time Mor and Feyre crashed in my bed and Cassian had dozed off on the couch and Rhys let the door fall shut behind the last people, groaning happily, I was already fast asleep, wearing only a t-shirt that smelled like home, curled up against a warm, solid chest, leg thrown over a bare hip and nose pressed into warm skin as Azriel slid his arms tighter around me, dragging me up and further into his body as his tall form curled around me and he buried his face in the crook of my neck.

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secret-ly-here @knmendiola @luvmoo @azriels-mate2 @bookishbroadwaybish @maybe-a-winchester @stayinglow-exploringworlds @harrystylesfan2686 @icey--stars @ssmay123

[sideprince]

Do you have any thoughts on how Snape would have acted if Harry had been sorted into Slytherin? While I can’t help but feel that there would be a part of him who would want to joyously gloat about James Potter’s son ending up in Slytherin, I can’t help but wonder if he wouldn’t still hold a mountain of resentment that would be incorrectly targeted towards Harry? Do you have any thoughts on this? Thanks!

I think one of the key aspects of Snape and Harry's relationship is that they don't really know each other and don't get a chance to. If you look at how the rest of the staff treat Snape, there seems to be respect for him and while I'm not sure how many of his colleagues actively like him, they certainly don't dislike him. We see this in how the rest of the staff treat teachers they don't like, such as Lockhart and Umbridge:

...Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news.

-Chamber of Secrets, Ch. 18

The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and the students were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Harry saw, with immense satisfaction, a disheveled and soot- blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick’s classroom.  “Thank you so much, Professor!” said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. “I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn’t sure whether I had the authority...”  Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face.

Order of the Phoenix, Ch. 28

This leads me to think that since the staff have had some opportunity to get to know Snape, even if it's superficially (given how guarded he is), their treatment of him indicates that he's not as terrible and repugnant as characters like Harry make him out to be. And while it's possible that they were deferential to him because he can be intimidating, I don't really see a bunch of talented, established Hogwarts professors cowering. After all, Umbridge had more authority than Dumbledore and even fired a staff member, but the rest of the teachers didn't seem to be affected by whether or not they were intimidated by her. They also literally took on Voldemort and his army to protect the school.

The reason Snape is able to project so much of James onto Harry is because they don't know each other outside of the classroom. This is the same reason why Harry is able to resent Snape so much. We see a chink in both their armors during Occlumency lessons in OoTP, as Harry shows curiosity and Snape encourages it, but before they can start to get a fuller picture of one another as people, Harry wrecks it by invading Snape's privacy when he goes into the pensieve. It's integral to the plot - and the big reveal at the end of DH - that these two characters maintain a resentful distance.

If Harry had been sorted into Slytherin, they would have had more of a chance to get to know each other. The same way Harry was told by other Gryffindors as soon as he started school that Snape was strict, mean, and played favorites, if he'd been sorted in Slytherin he would have been influenced by their bias in the other direction, ie. in favor of Snape (and potentially against McGonagall given the rivalry with Gryffindor). Whatever resentment Snape had against James would have had an opportunity to soften over time as he inevitably got to know Harry better.

By his fifth year Harry would have been sitting down with Snape, not McGonagall, to discuss his career ambitions, and as his head of house Snape would have known Harry enough to advise him. We see throughout the books that heads of house like McGonagall pay attention to students even if they don't interact with them all that much directly. Had Snape had the opportunity to do so with Harry, and had he been motivated by his role as his head of house to defend him where necessary, he would have gotten to know Harry as an individual enough that whatever of James that rested in Harry's facial features would have fallen by the wayside.

That's only one part of how Snape relates to Harry, though. He's vocal about James, his friends, and his hatred of them, but he never mentions Lily once. We know Snape is a guarded man who frowns on wearing your heart on your sleeve:

‘I told you to empty yourself of emotion!’ ‘Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,’ Harry snarled. ‘Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!’ said Snape savagely. ‘Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked so easily - weak people, in other words - they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!’ ‘I am not weak,’ said Harry in a low voice, fury now pumping through him so that he thought he might attack Snape in a moment. ‘Then prove it! Master yourself!’ spat Snape.

-Order of the Phoenix, Ch. 24

So it's no surprise that he doesn't mention Lily. He protected Harry at risk to his own life for the sake of honoring Lily's sacrifice. Clearly their friendship meant the world to him and left an impact, and because it's so tied up in emotion for him, Snape never talks about it. He isn't the kind of man to show emotion willingly, as we know. He smirks, he speaks softly when angry, he hisses, and he only loses the tight grip he has on expressing his feelings when he's triggered. There's a fair bit of information on the page about his relationship with James and how he feels about it, and how much of it he projects onto Harry (though I think that diminishes significantly from OotP on, especially after Sirius' death), but nothing at all about Lily except in his very private moments with Dumbledore.

What's even less straightforward is how much of Lily he sees in Harry. I wonder whether this was intentional on the author's part, but I'm curious whether Snape might get angry when Harry sasses him and talks back because his personality is so much like his mother's. So while there isn't much to go on, I think it's interesting to consider whether if Harry had been sorted into Slytherin, Snape might not have seen more of Lily in him given the opportunity to get to know each other a bit, and whether he might not have appreciated that about him.

[hisui-dreamer]

to the happiest place on earth

Characters: Octavinelle (Azul, Jade, Floyd)

Synopsis: going on a date with them to Tokyo Disneyland!

Tags: fluff, Disneyland date hehe, reader's tolerance for attractions is based on my own, self indulgent, bot proofread

Word count: 1.4k+

Notes: because obviously i kept thinking about the fish mafia when i was in tokyo disney resort

did i write too much for jade? no

Masterlist

Azul plans everything

weeks before even going he's doing so much research on every little aspect of the park

he's become an expert, because how else would he impress his angelfish?

asks you what rides you like and sets out the perfect plan for you to experience everything

basically you just need to tell him what you feel like doing next and he'll instantly suggest the best plan

fast pass? fast pass.

he's rich, he's definitely going to buy all the available passes only to improve your experience

time is far more valuable than money! the less time spent lining up for rides and azul having to come up with engaging conversations, the better

his headband of choice:

doesn't really understand why the mouse ears are so prominent in the park, but he wants to match with you and take nice couple pics hehehe

also apparently that's a sorcerer's hat?? perfect! he's a diligent student of magic and follower of the sea witch!

is reluctant to get on fast rides like space mountain and you can see how pale he looks afterwards

he doesn't complain at all tho, and he's very willing to try rides with you

he has great night vision (deep sea octopus), so he is less affected by rides like haunted mansion and pirates of the caribbean

speaking of the latter, he's incredibly grateful for the darkness of the room, because the way he blushed when you held on to him when the boat fell from a waterfall shook all three of his hearts

fascinated by stitch encounter and considers making a mascot for mostro lounge using the same tech

also definitely gets the best seats for the fireworks/parades so his angelfish won't have their vision blocked

overall great experience, the capitalist thrives in capitalism, and he gets to experience all the joy and wonder of the theme park

The sound of the waterfall only seemed to grow louder and louder, yet there was not a single one in sight. Unless...

"Angelfish," Azul whispered, trying not to disturb the other guests. "Hold on tight, I think the ride will drop off from a waterfall."

You barely had time to react to his words as you felt the pull of gravity on you. By instinct, you reached out to hold onto him for dear life, letting out a shriek of surprise as you crashed onto the water below.

Thankfully, the fall was over in seconds. Azul coughed and shakily whispered, "A-ahem, are you alright Angelfish?" he murmured, though with your ear right next to his chest, it seemed he wasn't really alright himself.

Jade doesn't really plan as much as azul, but he does come pretty prepared

briefly learns about what rides and restaurants there are and considers your taste all the while

you brought a cute but small bag that couldn't hold a lot of stuff? no worries! your boyfriend is used to hiking with minimal packing

he can help you carry all your essentials and not have it affect him at all!

his headband of choice:

ok so apparently moray eels eat flounder fish? so I believe this silly eel would find great pleasure in wearing this headband (even better if you're wearing the ariel headband to match)

he's definitely more into the thrilling rides, but he's very happy to sit along for whatever ride you'd like

he's really really good at the buzz lightyear astro blaster, but his favourite is definitely haunted mansion for the chilling atmosphere and the way you clung onto him while convincing yourself everything was fine

whispered things in your ear to calm you, but he definitely tried to spook you a few times bc of how cute you were

your man is a foodie ok, the way his eyes sparkle when he stares at some street food other guests are holding is telling

he's absolutely interested in all of the disneyland food though, so apple caramel churros from le fou's shop, popsicle sticks from food stands, baymax curry, etc.

wdym food's expensive? he's also rich from working with azul and his family background

also super attentive to you, oh you'll need to take off your headband for this ride? gently plucks it from your head and places it in his bag before you can even do it yourself

and oh dear, your hair is a bit messed up after space mountain, let me just brush your hair and smooth it out for you

gets ugly plushie keychains for azul and floyd as a joke saying "i think it quite resembles you, no?"

tall boi sees the parades really clearly and he lifts you up to eye level so you can enjoy the same view as him

and dw about the disappointment of other guests behind you because one eerie smile from your eel is enough for them to know your boyfriend is not to be messed with

overall a very food oriented visit, and plenty of moments where this teasing eel tries to make you flustered

"Oh, it seems we must take our headbands off for this ride as well," Jade mused as he observed the guests in front. In a quick, but gentle motion, he took off your headband and smoothed out your hair.

At your flustered expression, he merely chuckled as he reached up to take off his own, carefully placing both into his sturdy backpack.

"Come, my pearl," he said as he reached out a hand to you. "Should you be afraid any moment, feel free to hold onto me," he teased, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes glinted in amusement.

Floyd is very much going with the flow and sees where you/ his energy wants to take him

did no research at all because his Shrimpy can be his tour guide hehe~

also brought minimal stuff, but he definitely takes a moment to show off his new shoes that he bought recently to go on the date

given his mood swings, it's not a great idea to line up for 30 mins plus, particularly if there's minimal air-conditioning

so definitely fast pass where available, water bottles and mini electric fans

also consider downloading some 2-player mini games on your phone to kill time

his headband of choice:

he finds the "rubber duckies so cute and squishy! just like Shrimpy!" and chip and dale in sunglasses just gives off a memeish chill vibe

you can't convince me this man doesn't consume stupid memes

once he's tried one thrilling ride, he basically demands to ride all of the thrilling ones

runs off to the next one and pulling your hand to catch up because he memorized the map smh

absolute menace when it comes to teacup rides

like you are not walking straight after that intense spinning all the better because he gets to hold you and support you

he will be a menace again and push you in front during the baymax cool down parade so you'll get wet

but you can't stay mad at him for too long when he's laughing so innocently

okay maybe slap him on the shoulder a bit

absolutely gets the electric fans with the water sprays, and attacks you with sprays of water

laughs at you whenever you get scared in haunted mansion, but also "don't worry" because he likes protecting his Shrimpy

funny selfies from weird angles or everything's just a blur

also it's very convenient to have a big scary eel glare at the other guests to convince them to line up another time :)

in conclusion this menace of an eel will without a doubt have a blast stringing you along to his shenanigans, and you find yourself laughing with him all the way

"Ahahaha! That was sooo fun~" Floyd exclaimed as he got out of the teacup. The world continued to spin though the ride had long come to an end. You felt Floyd reach out and help you out of the ride, and you leaned into his touch for help as if you were drunk.

"Hahaha, Shrimpy's all dizzy!" he giggled. "You wanna go again?" As soon as the words registered in your mind, you turned to look in his general direction to glare at him, but maybe your direction was off or you just didn't look intimidating enough, because he just laughed even harder.

"Okayy, okayy, let's do another ride," he said as he began leading you to the exit. "Your choice this time then, where d'ya wanna go Shrimpy?"

Masterlist

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[emmic0n]

(posting the fanfic here since I don't have an AO3 account yet) For He's a Jolly good Chess piece

Caine sat in contemplative silence, brainstorming what the next big act should be. When a time-keeping subroutine caught his attention... One of his oldest friends, Kinger, was about to spend his 30th year in the Digital Circus! Humans celebrated anniversaries like this, and Caine was no different. He quickly prepared the stage for a party. The act could wait, his friend needed to be celebrated!

Pomni, Zooble, Gangle, Jax, and Ragatha all found themselves suddenly on-stage. They all braced to endure whatever new act Caine came up with, but instead, Kinger appeared center-stage wearing a birthday hat and a glittering version of his robe. His sudden arrival was signaled with loud, dazzling fireworks, of which he reflexively screamed and cowered from.

Caine himself finally appeared, shouting “Friends! What a wonderful, wonderful day this is! Our friend Kinger,” Caine directed his attention to the regal chess piece, causing them to shrink into their robe out of fear, “is about to have his 30th anniversary here at the digital circus! This is a cause for celebration!”

Caine gave raucous applause as party poppers sounded, streamers flew in from out of nowhere, and a massive banner unfurled reading “Happy 30!! !”. Some of the humans clapped once or twice out of awkwardness, looking at Kinger with pity.

Kinger, meanwhile, stared off into infinity (which was not that much different from his usual expression). Time was but a meaningless slurry to him, but being given an exact reference point was far worse. He had spent almost a majority of his life trapped in a horrible nightmare simulation, a few more years and he'd have been here longer than he had been in the physical world. Realizing this, his already shattered psyche cracked into even smaller pieces. Tears welled in his eyes.

Caine watched his friend cry tears of what could only be joy! What a heartwarming moment it was!

“oh buddy, don't you start getting sentimental on me! If you start crying then I'll start crying!” Caine laughed, “Ha! That was a joke, I don't know how to!”

Ragatha attempted to butt in on Kinger's behalf, “Caine, I don't think Kin-” “Now Then!” Caine interrupted, “Let's party!”

The party consisted of games (that were about as dangerous/painful as Caine's normal acts), Cake (that wasn't edible, let alone tasty), and entertainment (which consisted of Bubble screaming on-stage for 30 straight minutes). As things wound down, Caine announced that gifts would be next!

“So!” Caine said, “what did you all bring for the man of honor?”

A moment of silent confusion passed.

“Caine, we didn't know there was gonna be a party, we didn't have a chance to get gifts.” Pomni said.

“no gifts?!” Caine exclaimed, he clicked his non-existent tongue disapprovingly “how inconsiderate, you should all know better!” His disapproving tone then immediately shifted back into his usual state of manic bombastic-ness, “But don't worry! My gift is so good that It can be from all of us! Kinger!”

The floating ringmaster once again snapped his attention to the chess piece, and once again, Kinger cowered in sheer terror.

“Kinger, my dear, dear friend. Ever since you arrived here, 30 years ago, there has been only one thing you wanted.”

Kinger stopped recoiling, did he dare hope?

“something I have never given you, until today.”

Was he going to get his freedom?

“That's right, I'm granting you your deepest desire-”

This was it! Kinger would be free! He could go home!

“your freeeeee-”

YES! YES! YES!

“-eeeee novelty mug!”

Kinger didn't process what Caine said until the mug materialized in his lap, it read “#100% Kigner” in comic sans.

Kinger never wanted a novelty mug

Kinger never voiced any interest in owning a novelty mug

Kinger had no idea where Caine got the idea that he wanted a novelty mug

after a palpable moment of silence. Kinger just said

“...Thanks, Caine.”