#Still wheezing about having the same idea

[gatorbites-imagines]

Bl00d k1nk remmick or just remmick headcanoans

Remmick x male reader 

Ficlet 

I dont really know much about the history, but I can still horn it up. What is reader? No idea. 

I tried to leave it vague where and when this takes place, but readers mother at least had knowledge about some Irish folklore, like the Fear Gorta.  

Imagine Remmick kinda looks like that fetus voldemort thing in the beginning of this. 

not proofread, cuz i couldnt be bothered.

TW for blood, gore, etc.

Maybe living alone hadn't been your best idea, but you had never had much of a choice. No family, and nobody was gonna take someone like you in. Born out of wedlock, to a mother who prayed to gods the “right folk” shunned, and a father who had not even been baptized. In the eyes of everyone you were as bad as any demon. 

Maybe they were right about the devil, of being hunted and lost, losing it all to a being who would only play with you before it took your soul. Your father died because of his greed, and your mother because the townspeople feared her, even after using her to cure their sicknesses for years. 

Whatever it was, devil or not, you could somehow run your little farm all on your own. Not that anybody would work for you in the first place, but it was enough. Your mother had always warned you about spirits, about the undead. Like the fae, or the Fear Gorta. 

Perhaps that was why you helped him when you first saw him. You had always been told that the Fear Gorta appeared in the shape of a starved man, stumbling along, whimpering for any help it could get. And that not helping it would cause bad luck for a long time to come. 

You had never believed much in your mother's beliefs and magic, mainly learning her herbology to use it yourself. But this felt real, the same way it had felt real when you saw them kill her. 

He looked burnt, like the piece of meat you had left on the fire for too long, because one of your goats had gotten stuck in the fence that one time. Gaunt too, like somebody who hadn't eaten for a very long time. 

“Please, stranger” rasped the figure, one you were still half convinced was a spirit of some kind. But if he wasn't a spirit, and just an unfortunate soul, then it was still your duty to help him. 

“Come on, I live not long from here” you had said, going as far as to pull your coat off your shoulders to drape of his blistered skin as you helped him up into your buggy. It was night, he must have been freezing, which made you hurry up as you pulled the wagon up the old dirt road. 

The air felt heavy, like something was pressing on your very soul as your small home grew closer. Your beloved farm dogs barking up a storm. Normally they would quiet down when they noticed it was you, but tonight they kept up their howling, sounding more and more distressed. 

“Don't mind em, they just don't like strangers. Last time other folk came here it was to try and burn it down” you half joke, glancing back at the maybe man, maybe spirit. Finally, you could see his eyes, and they made something heavy run down your spine, like thick cold molasses. 

Your skin felt cold and clammy as you parked the wagon near your front door, but for some reason you kept going. Kept moving as you unlocked it, almost carried the man inside and placed him in your rocking chair near the few kindles left from earlier, kept moving as you lifted supplies inside. 

The entire time you spoke, talking about this and that, about the farm, nature, the creek you had discovered nearby when you were a child that somehow always had fish, even during winter.  

When everything was put into place, you had wanted to find something to eat or even drink for your silent visitor. It was then that you realized how quiet it was, had he already died? On the way here, he had at least wheezed every now and then, but now it was quiet. 

“Mister?” you softly ask as you step closer, feeling your heart clench. At least you got to give him a warm place to finally let go, that must have been enough, right? You should have wrapped him in the wool skin you kept, so he could have been warm before finally letting himself rest. 

Had your mother been alive, then she would have beat you bloody for even allowing something like this inside your home. But she was long gone, there had barely been anything left to bury back then. 

Your hand was just about to rest on this scrawny man? Beings? Shoulder, when he moved. The yell couldn't even leave your lungs before something clamped down on your neck, a terrible burn spreading through your entire being as your back slammed against the floor. 

It felt like being stabbed, because of course you knew what that felt like. Your hands felt useless even as you clawed, punch and yelled, your voice gurgling as you tasted blood. 

Maybe it was delusion or blood-loss as you felt your vision swim and darken, but you swore you saw the scrawny man's body start growing, thick muscles cording across his being and hair bursting from his almost bald scalp.  

Was... was he moaning? Were those claws he was licking? Coiling his too long tongue around his own fingers to suck up your life essence as he audibly panted like a hound. 

“aint you the most delicious thing I've ever tasted” he moaned, voice rough and otherworldly, eyes like those of an animal when caught in the light. What was this? Why weren't you dead? 

There was a chunk missing from your throat, one this thing had swallowed as he slurped and lapped at your pulsing jugular vein. One he had punched a hole through with his sharp teeth like cloth caught on barbed wire. 

But you weren't dead, even as you felt your back soaking through with your own blood. Even as whatever this was rutted his naked body against you like an animal in heat. 

“Like ambrosia itself. Where did you come from, my dear?” he moaned in your ear, voice rolling like a bubbling lake, or perhaps rather a rolling pot of oil, one you were about to be thrown into. 

“Seems you were made just for me” he almost giggled, his rutting speeding up as he ground his cock against your blood-soaked slacks. You could barely see, but your heart kept racing, gushing blood from your neck with uneven spurts, each audible splatter making your attacker whiner and moan as he slobbered it all up. 

At some point he growled, something so inhuman that you shivered, gurgling through your own blood as it poured from your mouth. You barely noticed the splatter of his own essence that he spilled all over your front, as the being sank his teeth into the other side of your neck, tearing into it like a starved man. 

“I claim you. You have given yourself to no other idol, so now you are mine” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear.  

It was hard to focus as his lips pushed against your own, his blood-soaked tongue slithering into your mouth to lap up the pool of blood gathering there. There was some sick part of your brain that found this arousing, enough to make your eyes flutter for just a moment. 

“Yes... just for me” he huffed, even though you had a feeling he had no need to breathe. 

The world spun as he finally pulled back, strings of blood and drool hanging from his mouth and your wounds, his grin like a fox that had just devoured the most delicious of chickens. As he stood above you, his naked body soaked in blood, your blood, some part of you twitched with a heated feeling you couldn't identify. 

“Rest now. I will return, don't you worry” was purred, the words melting together into one muffled tone, as your eyes finally rolled all the way back, a part of you certain you would die, punished for helping a stranger. 

Only for your eyes to snap back open, blinded by the sun shining in through the windows, the whining and barking of your farm dogs at the door.  

Your neck didn't hurt, had it all been a dream? A nightmare? Some erotic fantasy from the depths of your mind? 

Thats what you thought, until you sat up, your entire body sticking to the floor. When you looked beneath you, it was all coated in blood, there was so much it must have been enough for two or three people. 

Scrambling to your feet, you stumbled towards the one tiny mirror you owned, hands flying to your neck. No wounds, as if nothing had happened. If not for the blood, you might have thought it all a fantasy. 

You didnt burn as you opened the front door, letting the bright rays of the sun wash upon you. What were you? No human should bleed that much, or survive for so long? What had been the thing that tore into you like that? Had rutted against you and moaned like it had been paid for it. 

Remmick, something in the back of your mind whispered. Remmick, Remmick, it repeated.  

A cold shiver ran down your spine as your eyes turned towards your cellar doors, an underground cellar your father had once dug. The lock was broken on the ground, splatters of blood leading towards it.  

Your heart lurched, but there was something else inside you. Something hot, hungry, burning in your gut as blood rushed south. “Remmick...” you mumble, voice scratchy and dry.  

Maybe you should dig up your mothers' old books and notes, but you would have to go into the cellar for that. Maybe your new guest could help you look for them. 

[i-loved-silly]

WAIT, IDEA. imagine mud x gn reader...BUT THE READER IS ALMOST JUST LIKE HIM. like, professional assassin, cocky and well-dressed,,, the SHENANIGANS the two would go through heheheehheh,,,,,,,,,,,,,

omgomgg these are my favorite headcanons. I NEED HIM SO BAF! I could have kept going on and on for this request. tysm :3

MUD X READER WITH SIMILAR PERSONALITY

Mud is used to being the slippery one in the room, at all times. He's sneaky, mischievous, and USUALLY no one notices him when he's doing his stuff. So when he first sees you -- almost a reflection of himself -- it's thrilling in a way. You know your way around with weapons and you know it, dressed like you've got a job to complete, and you're a quick thinker. He's already thinking about how good you'd look as a couple.

One-upping eachother and banter is a love language between you two. He especially loves the banter. However, he WILL be grumbling if you steal his kill. He'll act unimpressed that you acted before he did, shoving down your gun with one hand and aiming with his to take your spot, ignoring your scowl.

"Careful now, hun. Ya' keep showin' off like that, and I'll start gettin' jealous. This one's mine."

Like I said, constant one-upping. You're constantly stealing each other's kills before the other, cussing each other out. Threatening each other over small things. (never acting upon them) If it takes you three shots to hit someone? He'll try to do it in two. With his eyes shut. You see him steal a couple of wallets from the rotlings in the shop? You steal them right out of his pocket again and wave them in his face.

"Keep up, Muddy. You're getting too easy."

"Wha--!? You slippery bastard.."

"Love you too!"

To others your relationship looks a bit conflicting and probably toxic. Maybe sometimes...but I swear you two love each other. It's a bit more fun when you both are doing risky things together for the sake of it.

PDA is basically borderline abusive LMAO. You both insist you aren't going soft, but have to let people know how to not make any moves somehow. He'll be talking and pulling an arm around your shoulder, suddenly pulling you close. You slam into his side and he has the NERVE to ruffle your hair with the bone of his fingers. You'll elbow him right in the ribs for it, to which he busts out laughing.

"Ya' really know how to make a fella feel loved," as he's wheezing.

Ooooo and if you're all dressed up? He loves that about you. The Gaslight District may be nasty but he can always appreciate a good outfit. If he particularly likes your outfit or you're wearing something new (polished shoes, clean coat, shiny pistol,etc) his jaw literally drops. His cig nearly slips out onto the floor while he gives you the slowest once-over, whistling low. He tips his little stupid (<3) hat and approaches you as if he's never seen you before.

"Well aren't you lookin' dapper. I'd marry ya' right now if I didn't think you'd shoot me for askin'."

When you two are behind closed doors, things get toned down a bit. In small moments, the relationship is still playful. You're both sitting together, you'll throw your tired legs over his lap and he'll groan about it, even as he settles his palm against your calf. He'll do the same to you another day, you threaten to break his knees. He dares you. You grumble and look away, both of you looking more domestic than you ever have while sharing that cramped old couch.

Finally!! On missions, the two of you are professional. Deadly pair, if your playfulness doesn't get ahead of you. You'll constantly be yelled at by Ken if you two are messing around, foolishly shooting everywhere while yelling at each other. And yet, he does a great job of protecting you. If anyone messes with you, his gun is already raised before you have the chance to pull out yours. Yeah, you can take care of yourself AND him, but he wants to be the one to put a bullet through their skull first. Isn't he so dreamy!!

He also swoons at the sight of you covered in purple blood to be honest. How could he not be a little freak? Kissing you after a good mission, still covered in grime and blood, just hits different.

[mixingandmelting]

Secretly Admiring You Artistically

Summary: How he's expressing that you're in his mind through art

a/n: based on scenes in the comics as civilians

Dick: Doodles

He’s dying. Actively decaying in real-time. Why he brought back the notepad from his day job as an officer home or why Haley pulled it out from his bag and gave it to you, he has no idea. To make matters worse, he’s crouching on the ground with both hands covering his very-much burning face as you stand in front of him silently, flipping through each page that’s filled with doodles of you rather than work notes he should’ve been taking for the cases he’s working on.

 It isn’t an exaggeration to say his world revolves around you. He’s not ashamed or has any problem expressing how much of a simp he is for you whether it’s to you or everyone both verbally and physically, 24/7. Seriously, he can’t go a day without getting a kiss from you or telling you how much he loves you, no matter the situation. He’s constantly stuck to your side, always smiling from how you showered him with affection back, spoiling him silly to the point he’s thinking he’s the luckiest man in the world. But artistically? He drew a stick figure once during a game of Scribble. Tim was for sure that it was a basketball hanging on a fishing pole. Bruce had told him he can help him get enrolled for art classes. 

“So, did the sarge or corporal see any of this yet?”

“No…,” He manages to wheeze out. He needs the ground to swallow him up right now. He still can’t believe this is how his (poorly and very much terribly drawn) doodles of you are discovered and exposed to you of all people. When he hears the notepad being closed shut, he musters all the strength in his mind and body. “...Can I please have my notepad back now?” He knows the answer. And he knows what’s about to happen next. But maybe today he’ll be lucky he’ll get it back- 

“Nope.” The way you pop the “p” at the end of the word - of course you wouldn’t. He doesn’t even need to look at you to know the type of grin you have on your face.

With that, he gets up and yells your name as he gets up to chase after your running form. Sure, he’s dreading what exactly you might do with the doodles but his heart is filled with adoration from how he still managed to give you happiness from them. You are the most lovable person in the world to him - he can’t wait to kiss the ever living lights out of you when he gets you.

Jason: Poetry

Oh. Well. This is embarrassing.  He rubs the back of his neck, face completely dyed red. You snuggling your face into the crook of his neck while embracing his biceps is fine. In fact, he loves waking up to see you sleeping peacefully next to him. His heart always swells with affection from how you feel so warm and right in his arms while being reminded how you genuinely enjoyed and appreciate him and his presence.  The problem was the book lying open on the coffee table next to him. The book filled with romantic poems that he placed on his face after deciding to take a power nap which ended up as a snooze session.

He had been reading each poem, using a sticky note and red pen (because he’s not a heathen to ruin such beautiful and sacred text) to mark which parts or lines reminded him of you the most. Each sticky note had arrows drawn with whatever note he’d make about you, placed on the long-edge of the pages. It was obvious you had found out the contents of the book before joining him on the sofa as you had done the same, only your sticky notes were sticking out from the shorter-edge. 

“Jason… What’s wrong?” He quickly turns his head away, covering the lower half of his face. The fact you aren’t even letting go when you usually would makes things worse, your grip tightening instead of getting loose. He doesn’t turn around to know the expression you’re making, feeling you nuzzle into his side.

“...Are you telling Roy or the others about this?” 

“What? Hell no. This is only for you and me- why would I want to share it?”

With that, he topples over you and wraps himself around you like a giant, warm teddy bear. On top of relief, he’s filled with childish glee from getting to share something that’ll only be meant between you and him. It gets a chuckle from him when you laugh at how ticklish he makes you as he snuggles into you, eventually making you two fall asleep in each other’s embrace with smiles on your faces.

Tim: Photography

He’s pacing in circles in his room. Then he’s flopping onto his bed and screaming into his pillow. Pacing in the room. And again, screaming into his pillow. He’s been repeating this exact pattern for ten minutes straight now after finding the photo album on his desk. How Stephanie found out about them or why she showed them to you when you stopped by while he was out, he doesn’t know nor want to know. But he’s pretty sure  that he's doomed. Best case scenario is break up. Worst case scenario is you choosing to never see him again because you found him creepy. 

But, it’s not his fault, okay? He’s really down bad for you. Even when he’s dating you, he keeps finding himself falling for you deeper and deeper to the point he doesn't want to miss a single moment whenever he’s with you. So, every time the two of you went on dates or plainly hung out, he’d take pictures of you. You standing on a hill during a sunset, looking outside with the window down in his car, laughing in front of a bonfire with a marshmallow on a stick in your hands. He can’t imagine life without you. He needs to be with you even if it’s in a photo. 

Finally, he  gets back up and dejectedly drags his feet to the desk. Might as well put the album away before more people find out about it. Or so he thought when he suddenly freezes at the sight of a note sitting on top of it. There’s only a single sentence in your hand writing, making him do what it says. Having memorized the order of the photos in each album, he immediately finds a photo of him laughing while sitting on top of the hood of his car. It sits adjacent to a photo of you doing the same, making it look like the two of you were laughing while looking at each other. Heart skipping a beat with tears threatening to spill, he doesn’t look away when he grabs his phone and dials your number. 

“So? Are we hanging out tonight?” 

“No, we’re doing more than that. We’re going to go all out, my treat.” 

The way you chuckle does so many wonders to him. With that, he rushes to get ready. Even if he can’t give you the whole world now, he plans on making tonight the best night of your life since there’s no other way for him to express how much he loves you when words can’t cover half of them.

Duke: Notes

He’s an idiot. That’s what he mentally screams to himself when he drops the pile of handwritten notes right in front of you. Not once had he ever mentioned that he had collected all the notes you wrote to him including the ones back before the two of you even got together. All of them were written as your way to cheer him on, secretly giving them to him in every way you possibly can. It’s as if nothing could stop you from passing him a note, whether it’s during class, passing in the hallways, eating lunch, or slipping them in his school bag. There were even times you managed to place them in his textbooks, right where the assigned reading starts.

All those notes you passed to him, he found solace. He feels that he’s being mentally and emotionally supported unconditionally, no matter the circumstances . You don’t know how he cherishes the smiley faces you draw on them or the words you write. Each and every note he treats like they are a piece of you. It led him to keep a few in his pocket, pulling one and reading it to get the extra boost he needs to get through whatever he’s doing even if it’s homework or patrolling the city. 

Now here he was, caught red handed. He’s so nervous and on the verge of a mental breakdown, fearing that you might think he’s strange. Immediately he starts to ramble, spewing every excuse in the book while watching you pick the notes that dropped from his pocket off the ground. 

“They were growing into a pile inside my bag, so I was kind of in the middle of-”

“Do they work?”

He stops and blinks at you. What do you mean they work? There’s a light blush coloring your cheeks, your hands gently straightening each note to stop them from wrinkling and getting damaged further. 

“Are they making you happy?”  Oh. Oh. He pulls you into a strong hug, hoping his actions convey how he feels about you. It’s not the notes that’s making him happy- it’s you and your efforts to make sure he is that makes him the happiest man in the world.

Damian: Sketching

No. Just no. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t muster a single word right now. You were teasing him a minute ago about how he must have sketches of you when he refused to show you his notepad he carries around. Little did you know and much to his horror, you were completely right and that exactly was the reason why he didn’t want to show it to you. In fact, he had been finishing another sketch of you before your so-called attempt to sneak up on him. You being you, you kept probing him into showing his sketches and with him being so flustered, he ended up getting the notepad snatched out of his hand leading to the current situation where both of you are standing with the biggest blush to be seen from mankind. 

It’s not two sketches he’s drawn too. There’s a whole comic strip he drew in there featuring one of his favorite moments he had with you on top of all the other sketches, some being portraits, some being a compilation of various expressions you make on a daily basis. The way he’s constantly stuck about you has gotten to where Jon had gotten smug at guessing what he was thinking of when Jon found him suddenly grinning to himself. That day, the two of them got grounded by their parents once Damian started to threaten Superboy by getting kryptonite out and the other shot lasers out of his eyes as self defense. 

“They’re so beautiful.” Your muttering snaps him back to reality.

Not wasting a second, he grabs his notepad back. Pride damaged and completely panicked by showing a pathetic side to himself to you, he tries to go somewhere, anywhere, away from you. Only to stop when you grab his wrist. 

“Damian, you're absolutely talented.” 

He mentally groans. He hates how you’re sincere and genuine in these moments. You don’t know how much he treasures you because of this - being open, honest, and accepting of his every being. Worse is you not being aware or truly choosing your battles - it’s how you are; it’s part of your nature. Accepting his loss, he sits back down. He refuses to admit how affected he is by the way you smile with excitement when you pick up his sign. Letting his shoulder brush against yours, the two of you go through his drawings with you commenting on each one while he snarks back though it’s softer and filled with fondness.

[tender-rosiey]

“IT’S LAUGHING?! IT’S ALIVE?!”

— gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, and toji hearing the baby’s first laugh (f!reader)

a/n: guess who's back, back again then I will be gone again (probably)

GOJO SATORU:

your husband is, admittedly, a very funny guy.

his humor always manages to get to people one way or another, so even if he doesn’t get a laugh, he certainly gets some sort of reaction.

not with his little angel though, the one person that he would die to see her laugh.

no matter how much tickling or raspberries he blew, it was never a laugh, merely a smile or a very short giggle if he was lucky.

he would come across a ton of videos of babies having hearty laughs and simply wished to be able to get the same reaction out of his daughter.

it is the reason he is currently burying his face in your chest and whining, “I feel like she thinks I am just not that funny.”

“satoru, she is still a baby,” you hum, fingers carding through his hair, “you know that babies have different views about what is actually funny; actually, I saw baby not long ago at a photo of number eleven. it was so cute!”

“but I tried everything! even the unusual!” he huffs, standing up to retell all of his failed attempts, “I tried dropping stuff, quickly stirring a liquid, lightly touching her with a balloon—everything!”

he looks at his daughter with his best puppy eyes, “come on, d/n! isn’t there anything that would you laugh a belly laugh?”

a little idea pops into your head. giggling, you sneak off leaving your daughter trying to comfort her wailing papa the best she can.

d/n is caught up with satoru until you finally come back and she smiles, “mama!”

“hi baby!” you grin before smacking your husband—lightly but not so lightly—with a roll of newspaper.

he yelps, “y/n! why would you do that?!”

but he is cut off by his little girl laughing, and I mean laughing so hard she kind of leans back.

you wait until she is quiet again before smacking him with the roll one more time, and she, once more, starts laughing heartily with small little wheezes and a long breath in the end when she calms down.

your husband, mortified, picks his daughter up, “d/n! you’re not supposed to laugh when papa gets hit! you’re supposed to get sad!”

she starts giggling and kicking her feet, putting her hand lightly on his nose. she tilts her head confused, and satoru thinks he knows what she is waiting for him to say. he shan’t falter!

at least, that’s what he thinks.

d/n takes matter into her own hands and smacks him on the forehead, resulting in him yelping and her going into a laughing fit that lasted a minute or so.

how unfortunate that his most precious takes pleasure in him being hurt.

his head snaps towards you, but he guesses that it makes sense since you also love teasing him so much.

a bunch of devils he says! two cute devils he laments.

GETO SUGURU:

geto is convinced that he was blessed with two angels, her cute little twins from his beautiful wife, you. he is also convinced that they would do no wrong—which is like what wrong can a baby a couple months old do anyway.

he ignores how gojo screams about being bullied by the girls, how that one mean babysitter was yapping about how they most definitely threw their toys at her intentionally, and how miguel syas that the girls always hide his glasses because they love seeing his stressed face.

to geto suguru, his daughters could do no wrong.

aside from that, he also noticed that his daughters love playing with hair, sometimes eating it which makes him scream but oh well.

for the most part, they know to treat their father’s hair gently as they watch you and himself do it.

that’s why he never thought that his darling angels would get their first belly laughs by pulling on his freaking bangs.

each twin holds one of the bangs and with all their baby power, they pull and pull almost like they want to tear it off his head.

and while he adores that his daughter are laughing so much—for the first time too—that they stumble back almost turn red, but he really doesn’t want to bald before heat least reaches his 50 or something.

another problem is that you never interfere unless he straight up screams for your help.

that made him realize how much of a common occurrence it is and he finally decided that he needed to put his foot down.

so he sat his girls down—including you because you’ve tolerated the violation of your husband’s hairline so much—and took a deep breath.

“girls, we need to learn that papa’s hair is fragile and we shouldn’t pull on it so much,” he turns to you with the quirk of an eyebrow. “right, honey?”

you barely hold back your smile before nodding and loyally supporting your husband, “why, of course, my love!”

he rolls his eyes, “so, be good girls and don’t pull on my bangs, please?”

one of the twins, while the other frowns and starts fussing. you lock eyes with your husband, and you both try to telepathically figure how to handle this, until your other twin starts crying.

now, you have two crying babies.

congratulations!

so your husband concedes and kneels in front of them, bravely offering his bangs. almost instantly, they stop crying and start pulling the bangs on their respective sides.

they start laughing and squealing again, and geto starts to think that balding is a small price to pay for his angels’ happiness.

he should probably stop calling them that though.

NANAMI KENTO:

now, in constrant to nanami, his daughter came out all bubbly and smiley, and it had nanami going as soft as a marshmallow.

it also didn’t help that d/n is convinced that her dad is indeed a marshmallow in which that she could only touch him softly.

she would gently pat his cheeks, press clumsy little kisses to his forehead, and squeal in order to cuddle with you or him. she also is extremely empathetic and starts crying whenever she sees someone hurt or genuinely frowning.

that was also the reason why gojo adored her since her crying cut anyone’s session of bullying him short. though, of course, he buys her a ton of toys to make up and comfort her.

he fails to realize that the true way to comfort her is to place in your arms or nanami’s.

like that one time when she bumped her head lightly and started crying profusely, throwing punches at gojo who was supposed to be babysitting her—poor choice but who am I to judge. she screamed and squirmed, demanding she be comforted.

however, none of the toys gojo bought were working.

and the two of you were called into a mission, so he literally is rendered helpless. that is until nanami returns a tad bit early than planned, and satoru couldn’t have been more relieved.

he hurriedly places d/n in kento’s arms, and the little girl takes a few seconds to realize who is holding her now.

she looks up, smiling at her dad. he instantly smiles back, “hey there,” he hums, “did you miss me?”

anyway back to what i was saying: a very sensitive and empathetic baby, right?

so when one day, you have your girl perched on your lap and nanami is going all out with scolding gojo, no one expects your daughter to burst one laughing.

you giggle, looking at her, “d/n, you like seeing papa scold uncle gojo?”

gojo gasps, “what?!”

you usher your husband, “babe, try it again!”

nanami nods with determination and gathers everything gojo ever bothered him with and translates it into a bunch of very child-friendly insults.

with each reproach, gojo deflates and d/n starts laughing more, squealing and wheezing. your husband abandons the crushed gojo and goes to hold d/n in his hands, “you okay there?”

she squeals and reaches for her feet, eyes never leaving her father’s. you coo, “she is so cute!”

“I never imagined my daughter would laugh at the sight of me, out of all people, scolding gojo.”

a very wounded gojo screams, “well I sure did! you family of haters!”

your husband frowns, but before he can talk, d/n cups his face and starts babbling a bunch of nonsense. nonetheless, your husband hangs onto every bit of said nonsense. 

gojo takes that chance to flee to the hills.

meanwhile, you’re holding a camera and recording the lecture(?) your tiny angel is giving your husband.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

your baby is the son of the all-mighty king of curses.

the man who sends terrors throughout the lands, the mere sight of his face is enough to cause someone to pee themselves.

everyone cowers in front of him, except you and more recently his son. on the contrary, in fact, your son can’t help but cackle whenever his dad puts on his “scary” face.

the first time it ever happened was when you were strolling the palace with s/n in your arms.

you know not to enter the throne room whenever sukuna has the villagers over to “hear their complains” as it almost always ended with him slicing one part of their body off.

you figured that it would be okay to at least pass by it since they always had the door closed—that started when you gave birth—but to your surprise, the door was open this time, giving you and your son a front row seat to sukuna degrading his subject.

“you’re wasting my time,” your husband states, and the villagers starts panicking.

“a-apologies my lord, pl-please grant me a-another chance!”

your husband scowls, “and now you’re ordering me around?”

the villager starts crying and kneels to the ground. on the other hand, your son couldn’t have been laughing more. his laugh echoed so loudly in the room that it drew everyone’s attention.

sukuna stares at the baby in your arms and scowls again, “y/n, why is he here?”

your son squeals and starts laughing again, hiding his face in your chest. you light up at his laughter, and sukuna finds himself livid at how the scene makes him feel content—until he notices the villager staring at you as well, what a short-lived happiness.

swiftly, sukuna slashes the villagers into cubes, and your son—who came out of his hiding spot—bursts into a fit of giggles that has you wondering just how much of sukuna’s sadism was passed to your darling son.

while you ponder over that, sukuna quickly makes his way to you, dismissing all the servants and tasking them with taking out the trash.

when your husband is right in front of you, you look up at him with a frown, “my son is laughing at torture, sukuna.”

“he is probably laughing at how pathetic the man looked,” he says as he smirks and pulls you close.

you huff and bounce s/n lightly, “shut up, old man.”

sukuna quirks an eyebrow and leans to be on your eye level. his hand is placed on your head, and he threatens, “you’re insulting your husband?”

s/n gasps lightly before harshly latching on sukuna’s face, fingers digging into his second pair of eyes. sukuna does not give any reaction except standing up to his full height.

your son, however, is relentless and is still hanging onto your husband’s face.

you don’t know how to react. sukuna doesn’t know how to react.

s/n just lets out a series of battle cries.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

if there is anything that toji is doubtful of is whether his son actually loves him or not.

why you ask? well, the only thing that gets the kid laughing—aside from you laughing or smiling—is literally any inconvenience that happens to him.

he remembers that one time when shiu was over to discuss some business, nothing out of the norm. megumi was on just sat on his high chair beside toji since you were at work.

toji was just sipping on his coffee when he burned his tongue, “gosh damn it!”

shiu was about to make fun of him, but megumi beat him to it as he started laughing heartily, even taking breaths in between to calm down but to no avail.

toji’s eyes widen as he stands up to go to his son, “no way you’re laughing at me getting—what the hell?!”

toji groans after he bumps into the table, glaring at his son who starts laughing all over again. meanwhile, shiu chuckles and teases toji, “I think your son just loves you so much, doesn’t he?”

your husband rises to his feet, quickly carrying megumi and lifting him in the air. he grumbles, “I want my wife back.”

another time was when you guys grocery shopping.

you had most of the list crossed out and the only thing left was the frozen vegetables. easy, right?

so you, your husband, and son quickly made your way to the section—since megumi wanted to go to the park later to play with yuuji.

megumi stays in your arms, while toji goes to grab them. considering how unlucky this man is, the bag slips from his hand and falls flat on his face, and it freaking stays there.

to your darling son, comedy had never reached this peak, so he lets out a guttural laugh.

you want to join in on the laughter, but you noticed that toji is standing still, with the bag on his face.

so you walk to him, gently taking off the bag and teasing him, “you okay, champ? that made quite the noise.”

“don’t even start,” he groans and buries his face in your shoulder, ignoring the wheezing megumi. he then starts complaining, “they keep whining about how he is a quiet and shy kid, but he sure ain’t with me.”

“isn’t that a good thing? It’s important for him to feel free around his dad.”

he turns his head towards you, a frown plastered on his face, “no kid laughs whenever his dad gets ridiculed by life.”

“you told me that you laughed when your dad fell down a flight of stairs,” you deadpan.

“that’s because my dad is an ass; I am not,” he pauses, “for the most part.”

apparently, megumi senses his dad’s distress and starts slowly patting his head, albeit shyly. he lowers his gaze and mumbles, “so’y.”

toji’s eyes widen and he is frozen in place for a moment. your son takes note of that and starts staring him in the eye, waiting for his reaction.

your husband doesn’t take long for a small smile to break out as he lets a small sigh, “’s okay kid,” he hums and pets his head.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

waitwait guys LOL. if neglected reader goes with slade what if we dont make him evil pedo. like harsh at times but not horrible. LIKE ITS SO FUNNY TO IMAGINE HIM AS JUST THIS SAD FUCKINF DIVORCED DAD THAT LOST CUSTODY OF HIS KIDS CUS THATS WHAT HAPPENED.

Slade (after shooting some guy): *sigh* i miss my wife tails reader…

Reader living best life now away from shitty family and taken in by merc with bagillion dollars: cowabummer.

I love this idea so much! I hate when Slade is like the dream of DC Comics, because he's so much better as a villain. without being a freak.

Slade, who is crying about his life, while the reader enjoys traveling to different countries, even if it means getting the hit on someone—their relationship reminds me of Big Daddy and Hit-Girl from Kick-Ass (which should have been Slade and Rose's relationship, but I digress). The reader, who is super playful, contrasts with a sad old man who misses his wife and kids, while the reader seeks a father figure. Slade doesn't deserve the reader's kindness, their happiness, or their warm embraces, but they still offer them, even though they know what kind of man he is. Slade's whole thing is "blood is thicker than mud," but for some reason, he has close ties with a kid that's not his. He teases you for not being able to pick up an AK-47, and you tease him for not being able to bend his knees due to back pain. You often make fun of him by asking if he needs to go to a retirement home. Next thing you know, you're getting the worst training regimen of your life. You're wheezing by the time you're done, and he's there with barely a lick of sweat on his body. You’re going to hurt the old geezer, and the Batfam is having the biggest mental breakdown, especially Dick, when he catches you wearing the same suit Slade gave him when he was still in the Teen Titans (the Slade suit Dick had in the OG Teen Titans). Bruce is shocked at how the two of you are so in sync; it’s like he's getting double-teamed in an MK game. You're taunting them with Slade at your side—how dare Bruce call you his child? He doesn’t have that right! How dare Damian call you his sibling? You're closer to Respawn than he is. Steph and Cass are acting like your sisters. Please, you and Rose are closer than the braids in your hair! To add insult to injury, you dyed half of your hair white to match his. Think of Death—the kid with stripes on the left side of your hair. I mean, with his white hair, he could definitely pass for Lord Death.

[wchswift]

🌺 “let’s have a baby!” *b spits out food* “a what now?” with Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Thank you

🩷

─── telling logan you want a baby

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you tell logan that you want a baby with him.

contents! fluff, domestic life, established relationship, talking about having a baby.

notes: It was supposed to be shorter but when I saw it I ended up stretching the plot more than planned lol. thanks for the request anon 💜 this is part of my 125 followers celebration! Join the celebration too!

The cabin was warm, the smell of home-cooked food filling the air as the fire crackled in the corner. It was a simple life, but it was theirs. Logan sat across from her at the worn wooden table, one hand lazily curled around a beer while the other stabbed at his food. He looked relaxed for once—broad shoulders loose, jaw not clenched for once, the habitual storm behind his eyes calmer than usual.

Perfect time to drop a bombshell.

She stabbed her fork into a piece of food, twirling it between her fingers. Casual. Relaxed. Then, with the same tone she’d use to suggest a movie, she said—

“Let’s have a baby.”

Logan didn’t freeze. He didn’t tense or give her one of those intimidating stares. No—he did something better.

He choked.

One second, he was biting into his steak, and the next, he was coughing violently. A rough a what now? escaped between wheezes, his hand pounding against his chest like that would somehow help.

She bit back a grin, completely unfazed, and took a casual sip of her drink. “A baby, Logan. You don’t know what a baby is? Want me to explain it to you?”

Logan shot her the flattest, most unimpressed look in existence. If looks could kill, she’d be six feet under.

She just grinned, meeting his glare with ease. “You heard me. Let’s have a baby. A tiny human. Yours and mine.”

“Darlin’, that’s not exactly somethin’ you just drop over dinner.”

She snorted, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, yeah. I figured I’d skip the dramatic lead-up and just say it.”

Logan muttered something under his breath, then leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He grabbed his beer and took a long, slow sip as if alcohol might somehow help him process what was happening. It didn’t.

Finally, he set the bottle down with a thud and looked at her, expression unreadable. “And you’re serious?”

“Very.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He was silent for a moment, eyes searching hers like he was trying to find some crack in the statement—some sign that she was messing with him. But there was nothing. Only that damn steady, patient look of hers.

Logan let out a slow breath, shifting in his seat. “Jesus, princess,” he muttered.

She grinned. “So… that’s a yes?”

He shot her another look.

“That’s not a yes.”

“Nope.”

“But it’s not a no,” Logan grumbled and went back to eating, clearly hoping she’d let it go. She didn’t.

She rested her chin on her hand, watching him like she could see the wheels turning in his head. “You’re thinking about it.”

He scoffed. “I’m eatin’.”

“You’re eating and thinking about it.”

Logan shook his head, focusing way too hard on his plate. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me,” she teased.

Logan didn’t look up. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it.

And just like that, she knew. He might not have said yes, but he hadn’t said no either. And for Logan, that was as good as an answer.

Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so impossible after all.

The conversation didn’t come up again.

Not while they finished eating. Not while they cleaned up. Not even when they settled into bed, the soft hum of the wind outside filling the comfortable silence between them.

But Logan was still thinking about it.

Lying on his back, one arm folded under his head, he stared at the ceiling. His mind ran over the idea like a blade he wasn’t sure was sharp or dull—wasn’t sure if it’d cut him open or just sit heavy in his hands.

A kid. His kid.

The thought should’ve scared the hell out of him. Maybe it did. But it also… didn’t. Not the way he expected.

He glanced to the side.

She was asleep, curled into the blankets, her breathing soft and even. Peaceful. Unaware that she’d just completely rewired something deep in him with one damn sentence over dinner.

Logan swallowed, gaze lingering on her face.

He’d had a lot taken from him in his life. A lot of people, a lot of memories, a lot of time. But here she was, asking him to have something. Something real. Something that wasn’t just fighting and running and waiting for the next bad thing to hit. He was still afraid, afraid that his kid would be like him. A mutant.

But maybe… maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. Not if it was with her by his side.

His chest rose and fell with a slow breath.

Then, wordlessly, he shifted closer, his arm slipping around her. He pulled her against him, pressing his lips to her forehead, lingering there for a moment.

“Yeah, alright,” he muttered against her skin, voice low, rough, barely a whisper.

She stirred slightly, shifting into him, but didn’t wake.

Logan let his eyes close. Relaxing with the choice he's come to.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

taglist: @namikyento (if you want to be added let me know <3)

[illbegottenfaith]

unadulterated loathing (a what is this feeling inspired fic)

yours and theo's feelings for each other evoke a deeply visceral physical reaction in both of you, for which there can be only one explanation (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - had this idea ever since I watched wicked and so I whipped smth light and fun up prettyyy quickly (I think this is the fastest I've ever writtena fic? then again it is on the shorter side) enjoyyy :)) p.s. im quite behind on my notifs etc cuz of college so if i havent responded to anything pls know its an accident!

tropes/warnings - enemies to lovers, quips/banter, fluff, mentions of injury

word count - 1.3k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson

"I'm afraid the rumours are true," you were saying to Penelope Skeeter, a budding journalist eager to follow in her aunt's footsteps. "Theodore Nott was just so taken by my looks this morning that he promptly passed out in the Hogwarts library, poor thing. The whole school is bereft, naturally, but Madam Pomfrey herself expects him to make a full recovery."

You paused as her reedy-looking assistant snapped a picture, putting on a breezy, winning smile with just a hint of oh-silly-me-for-putting-one-of-Slytherin's-star-Quidditch-players-in-the-Hospital-Wing-but-also-who-could-blame-this-pretty-face.

"You could say I, quite literally, stole his breath."

Your impromptu interview came to a crashing halt as a strained groan sounded from the hospital bed a short distance away. The three of you glanced over to see that Theo had woken up and was now very much alive and kicking.

"Oh," you said, abandoning that affected, simpering tone for one with a noticeable trace of disdain. You thought you'd have more time. "You're up."

"Lies," Theo rasped breathlessly, with all the menace of a kitten swaddled in a blanket, eyes darting mistrustfully between you and Penelope. "Liar."

You tilted your head, your expression as displeased as it always was when it came to Theo. "Aren't you supposed to be dizzy or something?"

"Don't listen to anything she says, especially if it's about me. Strike that all - hang on - "

You watched him flail uselessly in his attempts to sit up, unimpressed.

"I don't think you hit your head hard enough."

"Shut up," Theo wheezed under the stifling weight of the warm compresses laid across his chest, "and get out."

You pouted exaggeratedly. "But you're sickly, sweetheart."

His already pale face blanched at the pet name. "Out. Out!"

For as long as you could remember, you had never gotten along with Theodore Nott. Anything he said, you'd feel compelled to disagree with, and anything you did, he felt compelled to sneer at. The adverse physical symptoms that presented themselves within each other's proximity certainly didn't seem to help matters. One way or another, sparks were bound to fly if the two of you were in the same room.

"It's - it's her - " Theo had spat out at The Three Broomsticks on a Hogsmeade trip in your third year. "She's doing this to me and she's doing it on purpose."

Mattheo had creased his forehead.

"Like a...like a hex?"

"No," Theo had said, distractedly scratching the hive that had appeared on the back of his hand. "It's worse than a hex. My pulse is rushing, my head is reeling, my face is flushing..."

"...oh," Mattheo had said, realisation dawning upon him. "I get it. It's lo-"

"That's it, Mattheo." Theo had interjected. "You're absolutely right."

"I am?"

"Yes, exactly. Loathing is what this is. Loathing." He had swivelled around, hatefully fixing his gaze on where you were laughing over some undoubtedly inane subject matter over butterbeer with your friends. "Unadulterated loathing."

Mattheo had rolled his eyes over Theo's dramatics.

That was years ago. Now, the butterbeer was gone and the inane subject matter was long forgotten, but the two of you were still too abrasive to get along. It was as though you couldn't help but rub each other the wrong way, the way you brought out the worst in each other. The detestation that everyone had hoped you would grow out of seemed to have grown with you, with petty jabs and insults and below-the-belt undermining becoming a regular occurrence between the two of you.

Today was no different. You were spending your morning free period studying at the library with your friends, roaming the bookshelves for anything that could help you with your Defence Against the Dark Arts essay. You'd turned the corner of the aisle, a heavy tome in hand, only to find Theodore blocking your path, his long fingers leisurely tracing the spine of a book like he had all the time in the world.

"Figures," you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. "Of all the dark, damp corners in the castle, you'd turn up in this one. Like a bad penny."

Theo's gaze flicked up to meet yours, his expression impassive save for the slight lift of his brow. "Charming as ever, I see," he drawled in his low voice, carrying that familiar bite. "I didn't realise the library was off-limits to people with half a brain."

You narrowed your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. "Don’t flatter yourself, Nott. If brains were currency, you'd be bankrupt."

His lips twitched, and for a moment, you swore he was fighting back a smirk.

"And yet, here I am, managing just fine without the constant headache of your presence. Speaking of which—" he gestured vaguely at the aisle, "—you’re in my way."

There it was - that repulsive, three-sizes-too-big ego of his. Really, it was a wonder how he managed to fit that swollen head of his through the castle doors.

"I'm in your way?" you repeated incredulously. "You do realise the universe doesn't actually revolve around you, right?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me," he said smoothly, effortlessly plucking your book out of your slack grip. "You always seem to be in my orbit."

You peered up at Theo from beneath your eyelashes. You tilted your head, your lips curling into an insidious, self-satisfied smile that Theo didn't quite understand.

"Please. You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid."

Theo felt a pang in his chest. His pulse stuttered and there was this nauseating feeling in his stomach. His vision swam, and it was all a bit blurry after that. The next thing he knew, there was an awful lot of shrieking coming from the crowd standing over him. Over him? His hand twitched. The hand that was on the very same rock-hard floor he was lying on. When did he get down here?

He groaned softly as the voices around him grew louder. There was this awful pounding rattling his skull. With considerable difficulty, he cracked an eye open, trying to get a sense of his bearings. Some of the silhouettes seemed vaguely familiar. He could recognise some voices - his friends must have found him. Those looked like Mattheo's shoelaces right next to his face.

And in the middle of it all was you, ashen face with a panic-stricken expression, with a vice-like grip on his forearms.

And then everything went black again.

Madam Pomfrey had come along just then, shooing Penelope and her photographer away. You weren't quite as lucky in your attempt to slip out with them. So now here you were, stoically holding Theo's hand in your slightly clammy palm at his bedside while she checked him over.

She hadn't told you to hold his hand. Theo decided he'd pull away in a minute. Maybe two.

He cleared his throat ineffectively, dry from a lack of water. You glanced at him.

"Admit it. You were terrified for a minute there."

You pressed your lips into a thin line like you were holding back a smile, trying to give the impression of watching Madam Pomfrey.

"You wish," you mumbled out of the corner of your mouth.

Still, he didn't miss the way you squeezed his hand as part of you relaxed in what seemed like relief.

"I know."

You dragged your gaze back to him, shaking your head somewhat affectionately as you took in the colour returning to his cheeks.

"I see you're feeling better already."

"Something about you gets my blood pumping."

Madam Pomfrey stepped away for a moment, leaving the two of you alone behind the screen. You leaned in until your noses were almost touching.

"Are you saying I make your heart race, Nott?"

This close, he can see the faint freckles scattered across your nose, the way your lashes brush your cheeks when you blink, and the flicker of mischief in your eyes. And for the first time in all the years he's known you, he admits to himself that perhaps you might be more than a little easy on the eyes. Especially his eyes.

"Sure," he says quietly, his gaze almost lovingly lingering over every blemish along your nose. "Let's go with that."

Part 2

[venomvalley]

Do you accept requests? If so, I thought of a fic where Sevika teaches the reader how to play that card game she plays so much, and then the reader ends up getting addicted and keeps begging Sevika to play with her

TWO OF A KIND

sevika x fem!reader | 2.6k words

TAGS: mentions of drinking and smoking. this is actually cute

NOTES: im so obsessed with this request u have no idea thank u !!!! btw i have no idea how the card game works so uh

“No, not that one. This one.”

You're ready to flip the damn table, cards and coins and all. With her lack of patience and her proficiency at the game, Sevika proves time and time again to be a horrible teacher. Especially when there's real money on the line.

You fight against the arm slung around your waist to turn and glare at her, the lights of The Last Drop bathing her in soft, orange-toned shadows. “Sev, you just said that these two make a pair.”

“Save those for when you have a better hand. Your cards are shit right now.”

The man across from you, rosy-cheeked and burly, exhales a wheezing laugh. One of many bar regulars that she often plays with, empathetic to your newborn-gambling plight. “Aw, cut the poor woman some slack. She's learning.”

“Well, she needs to learn faster.” At the smack you give to her thigh, she peers down at you, plush lips stretching into a grin. Teasing.

"One of these days, I'll beat you. Mark my words."

Another one of the men leans forward with a toothy grin, canine freshly missing after that fight in the alley last week. "Let's bet on it."

Sevika shakes her head as a cheer echoes around the table. "No. No betting. She's cost me enough money already."

You fidget in her lap as the men grow rowdy, slapping the table with each chant of BET! BET! BET! BET!

"Sevika's just scared I'll win," you yell over the chaos, drink sloshing over the rim of your glass and onto your pants as the man to your left jostles your shoulder in excitement, shoving you a bit too far. If not for the arm around your waist, you would've sprawled out onto the floor.

It doesn't scare you, but it startles you. Makes you gasp in surprise—

The air ices over when a prosthetic hand clamps around his wrist, and he hisses a pained breath through his teeth but doesn't attempt to pull away.

You tap her on the shoulder, cards bent between your fingers, explaining to her that you’re fine to no avail—it’s about the principle. The other men lean away from the building chaos, glancing back and forth between each other.

Well. Game's over.

"What's the number one rule when she," a nod of her head to you, "plays with us?"

He gulps, eyes flickering down to where she holds him. "No touching."

"Exactly." She releases him with a huff, pries the cards from your hand before bending them back to straighten out the crease down the center. "Next time you forget, I'm taking your arm home with me."

Gods, being on the receiving end of her anger must be terrifying. Something you've never had to worry about—usually, the confrontations start because of you. People getting a bit too handsy, making comments she doesn’t appreciate, swearing threats of harm to spite her.

She’s protective of you because she has to be. Still doesn’t talk about the incident on your birthday two years ago, and definitely doesn’t want a repeat.

"Won't happen again," he says, voice small and wavering. Poor man might piss himself right in his chair.

She gives him one last glare before turning back to the table, eyes landing on you, then spreads out your cards directly in front of your face. "Now, where were we?” . . . The weeks continue on much the same. Every weekend, she takes you to the bar to play with your group. Sends you to fetch drinks for the table as she deals out the cards. Tugs you into her lap with a hand around your waist. And you get better with each game, more confident in your decisions as time goes on.

Today is different, though.

You play most of the game on your own, only seeking her knowledge on terms unfamiliar to you. She corrects you in certain rounds, namely the effectiveness of your strategy, but gazes down at you with pretty eyes filled with pride each time you seek out her validation.

And you find yourself genuinely enjoying the experience. A fun way to socialize, good competition, flexing your brain power. The money aspect doesn't personally interest you like it does her, but you understand why she loves playing so much (and you're a lot less sulky about all the times she stayed out late at the bar).

The others go easier on you once you win your very first round with minimal influence from Sevika. The drama from last month is long-forgotten as they cheer in celebration, one of the men leaving to buy your favorite drink as a reward.

Like always, she takes the first sip when he hands it over. You had asked her about it a few weeks back, and she simply shrugged and said, 'I don't trust anyone with you,' the absolute sap of a woman. Every time she's done it since, you like to think of it as her showing her love. A running theme in your relationship: show don't tell. You've always appreciated her approach to things.

But it isn't until late into the night when the game begins to heat up that you get your very own seat, shoved right up against hers. A first for you, a clear sign of your improvement. Finally part of their little group instead of being brushed off as Sevika's decorative lapdog.

Except now, you play against her in earnest. Your first tried and true test. No hints, no help, just the knowledge you've absorbed thus far. You do better than expected. Drop out in third place with her scraping up a win.

This is when your obsession officially begins.

A few months go by, and you find yourself spending more time at your little table in the corner of the bar. More time without her playing alongside you. The guys welcome you with open arms when you stroll through the door by yourself, and you can almost smell her influence. Must've given them a stern talking-to on one of the nights you didn’t feel like playing.

Tonight, though, she accompanies you, only hours back from whatever run Silco sent her on. You had begged her to come with you for the perfect way to end out the week, a good bonding activity, she owes you after being gone four days.

(”Fine. I'll go, but we aren't staying long.”)

And tonight, it happens. You finally win.

Ignore the fact that the whole table is piss drunk, Sevika included, and it's been a solid month of frustration and tears and perhaps a tantrum or two, but you finally did it. By a landslide, to boot.

She pulls you into her lap with a chest-rattling laugh then kisses you hard and messy on the cheek. “That's my girl!”

You soak up her praise and the resounding group's cheers like a sponge, ears flushing with heat, and throw your arms around her neck.

The next morning, she asks about who won the final game, pouting over a piece of toast from the headache thrumming through her skull.

“I did, actually.”

A raise of her eyebrow. “Don't remember you drinking.”

You sputter, brows furrowed in offense. “So? I still won.”

She shrugs, mouth splitting into a teasing grin. “Whatever you say.”

“I did.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“You're an asshole.”

And yet you press a tender kiss to the top of her head as you pass by the table.

.

.

.

Sevika is gone again, and you need a change of scenery. Your new destination? A club a long ways away from her apartment that she's mentioned a few times before, with a rumored underground lounge perfect for one thing: card playing.

Alright. Well. You've been here for a while longer than you intended, but what else is there to do in the Undercity besides sit at a bar, go clubbing, and eat? (A bit oversimplified, but the general point still stands.) And none of those things are fun when she’s off risking her life at some warehouse or dock or sketchy alleyway.

So you need a distraction, and nothing fills your dopamine tank like winning. And you've done a lot of it over the past two days, to the point where you’re starting to believe that some of the men sitting at your table have a losing fetish.

Or maybe you’ve just gotten that good.

However, the fun stops when a pair of boots pound down the steps into the small room you reside in. The air thick with smoke, three sets of tables and occupied chairs squeezed as close as possible to make room for a small bar and a jukebox.

Sevika ducks through the cramped doorway with a determined furrow to her brow, and you've never felt terrified of her—the sharp search of her gaze—until now.

“Oh shit!”

You shove your chair away from the table and crawl beneath it, knocking your shoulder on its edge. Through the throng of seated legs, you spot her walking around the room, pausing every so often to no doubt ask about you.

She wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow.

On the other side of the table, the face of the woman you’ve been playing with comes into view. “What the fuck are you doing? We're on the last round!”

Slowly, Sevika's boots move closer to your table, and the scrape of chair legs spins you around. You lock on to her shadowed form, bent uncomfortably at the waist just to pin you with a disapproving glare.

You immediately start begging. “One more game, please—”

“No. I'm cutting you off.”

You crawl out from beneath the table with a frustrated growl, shoulder tender with each movement. “I'm on a winning streak!”

“You haven't been home in two days. Where the hell have you even been sleeping?”

You don't even ask how she knows that. If a rat so much as shits in the street around the Lanes, somebody runs to tell her. Of course your little adventure would trigger alarm bells (namely because you can’t be bothered to go anywhere too far).

Yeah, this is admittedly very odd behavior from you.

The man to your left raises his hand, belches, then almost topples over onto you. “We got an apartment in the next building over. Our girl's been crashing on the couch.”

She slams a hand on the table, knocking over the remaining glasses still filled with liquid (some of which ends up on your favorite pair of pants). Points a murderous finger at the man with an adorable, pouting frown. “First of all, there is no our. And you—” she rounds on you so suddenly you jolt, then grabs you by the arm, “we’re going home.”

A wave of protests echo around the table, and it takes only a single scowl from her for them to concede.

She leads you out of the room and up the steps, eerily silent the whole way.

Once you step out onto the street, she starts on you, furrowed brows hiding the fury in her gaze. “What the hell were you thinking? I was—” she pauses, chin dipping toward her chest for a moment before she looks at you once again. “You seem to forget who I am. Who you are to me.”

Worry leaks through her pores, radiates from her in waves, and she tries to stay calm, to shove the feeling down, but the glimmer in her eyes gives her away.

Any other time, you would comfort her, but your hackles raise at the implication. “That goes both ways, you know.”

“It's different. You know that.”

As if you don't worry yourself sick every time she walks out the door. You fucking love her. How could it be any different? Capability means nothing in the face of statistics. And statistically, there’s always a chance she doesn’t come home

“Why, ‘cause I'm weak? I've lived here all my life, same as you, Sev. You act like I'm incompetent.”

Anger burns hot in your gut, and you turn on your heel to storm off. Up ahead, there's a split in the road that goes either right or left, and you bank on the latter.

A short ways behind you, she calls, “Wrong way, honey.”

You whip around to give her your meanest glare, a sunstorm surging inside you at the sight of her smug grin. Beautiful asshole.

“Thanks,” you spit, leaving her in the dust as you walk as fast as your legs can carry you.

Except you don't. She gives you space to cool off, but the thump of her boots still echo off the pavement. Close enough to look out for you. It's sweet and it shouldn't be because you're angry at her, which pisses you off even more. She's so hard to be mad at when she’s all concerned and protective and soft with you.

Upon realizing that you're totally, completely lost, you stop long enough for her to catch up, and her form quickly appears in the corner of your eye.

“You done sulking?”

All it takes is a glance at her relaxed face and a heavy sigh from your lungs for the remaining upset to dissolve. Because you love her, and you don't like being angry. “Yeah… Sorry for being an asshole.”

“Apology accepted.”

With a scoff, you slap her hard on the ass, quick enough to pull away that her hand just barely misses your wrist. “You're the bigger one, though.”

The startled glare on her face makes your future punishment worth it. She'll catch you unawares, maybe not today or tomorrow or even a week from now, but she'll eventually give as good as she got.

And then the surprise fades away to something tender, face softening.

“I'm sorry, too,” she mutters. “But you know how I am. Can’t protect what I can’t see.”

With an aching chest, you bring her hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the scarred ridge of her knuckles. “Apology accepted.”

The walk home after that is long and quiet, her hand in yours warm and comforting. By the grace of the gods, your outing ends peacefully for once, and spending time with her in such a simple way is a huge plus after being apart for so long (two days—psh).

Once you near her apartment, she finally speaks, a hint of irritation woven between the words. “So. Did you at least win anything?”

You perk up at the question, a toothy smile sore-ing up your face. “Oh, did I?” With a tug to her hand, she stops. Crosses her arms, expectant (and you absolutely don't pay attention to the delicious bulge of her bicep). “Let me show you.” You reach beneath your cloak, and from the pocket of your pants you pull out a hefty coin purse. One she immediately eyes with a raised brow. “You see this?”

“I see it.”

“Who knew that guys around here paid extra to have their asses handed to them by a pretty girl?”

She tries to suppress her mirth. Really, she does. But there's no mistaking the twinkle in her eye or the wide grin that stretches her lips.

“Yep.” You nod, chest puffing with pride as you wield the bag like a prized trophy. “I'm taking my woman out for a night on the town.”

“Not tonight, you aren't.” She rolls her eyes, dragging you along with a warm hand between your shoulder blades. “That was fucking stupid, by the way. Sleeping on a stranger's couch?”

“To be fair, he forgot to mention that he has a wife and kid.”

“That doesn't matter.”

“She fixed me breakfast, Sev.”

“I fix you breakfast.”

“Yeah, but mom breakfast tastes different.”

She heaves a resigned sigh and runs a hand over her tiny ponytail. “I've created a monster.”

[wonderjanga]

Marvel’s Extreme Patience

Marvel is so patient. Like actually. None of the Justice League have even seen him lose his patience. They’ve seen Superman, Batman Wonder Woman, even Martian Manhunter, get to the point of lashing out. But Marvel? Nope, nada, nothing.

And by nothing, they mean nothing. Green Lantern once watched Flash ask Cap the same, quite frankly stupid, question six times. He’s still wondering how Marvel hadn’t slapped the shit out of Wally by the third. But no, Marvel answered each time with a smile on his face. GL even called Martian Manhunter over and asked him to see if he could sense any anger, or at least annoyance from Marvel.

MM: “I don’t wish to do this-”

GL: “I’ll buy you a bunch of chocolate later!”

MM: *sighs but does it anyways* “He’s not exhibiting any signs of annoyance.” *rubs head because Marvel’s intense ahh emotions are enough to give him a headache*

GL: “Damn…” *looks back Marvel in wonder, watching Flash ask him the same question again*

The thing is though, little do the JL know, Marvel tweaks out a lot. Like once per day. It’s just that they’ve never caught him, and that the one crash out per day is normally reserved for Billy. His tiny crash outs are always for the smallest things too. Like when the people in front of him are walking too slow. Or when a line in the grocery store is too long. Or when someone steps on the back of his shoe and causes that abhorrent thing that makes it get under your heel. He just needs to do it. Thats the worst part. If he doesn’t have his daily small crash out, he’ll actually consider listening to the DTC and end up pushing the Watchtower into the sun all because his cape got snagged in between one of the doors.

But one day… One day, he hadn’t had his little daily crash out. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was just that he hadn’t had anything worthy of it. Maybe it was that he wanted to stop his little daily ritual. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t even remember how he got into this predicament in the first place. All he knows is that he’s now staring at a shattered counter and a bloody knuckle. Don’t worry though, his knuckle isn’t bloody because he hurt it on the counter, no no, it’s because he did that thing where your bite your knuckle to prevent yourself from literally convulsing in rage to the point where you look like you’re having a seizure. So yeah, Billy was at a loss. He’s too broke to pay for this counter, and he doesn’t really want to explain why broke the counter, not he remembers. So honest to the Gods, he just leaves.

Marvel: *clears his throat, looks around, wipes his knuckle on his shirt, and walks away humming the intro tune from his radio show like nothing happened*

Mercury: *sounds like he’s trying to muffle wheezing laughs*

Solomon: *shaking his head in disappointment at Mercury, not Billy*

In Solomon’s point of view, let the little orphan boy have a little tweak out session once a day. It’s better than vaping.

Anyways, not even a couple minutes later, another hero went to the kitchen and was greeted with the shattered countertop, along with a little bit of blood. When they asked around, no one fessed up. They didn’t even consider asking Marvel because he’s not the type to lose his temper. When the footage was reviewed, they were sorely surprised.

Also, the part about Billy’s intro tune from his radio show is a reference to @hermesserpent-stuff’s post about Billy’s radio segue sounds I love their idea. They’re super creative :D

[mx-pastelwriting]

Sickness and in health

VIKTOR X GN! READER

SUMMARY: Taking care of Victor when he’s sick. WARNINGS/TAGS: Fluff, Sick Viktor, Cuddles & Snuggles, Established Relationship

Echoing coughs filled the bedroom, accompanied by a pitched wheeze, hearing how Viktor's lungs fought for air as you washed away his forehead sweat.

Brows frowning in response to hearing and seeing Viktor's state of health, working his body away in the lab, only coming home to rest at your persistent word. Viktor, having come down with a nasty cold that hadn’t been taken care of, turned to his current state, bed-bound with only the help of you to heal him.

“Here, drink,” speaking softly while holding a glass of water close to his dry lips, taking a sip with the help of you and some propped pillows. Drinking half of the glass, his rough throat still unsatisfied, having given every at-home remedy and medication under the doctor’s orders, yet still his body struggled to fight.

Pushing his hair back once again, having been thrown about from the cough fit, hot skin contrasting against your cool skin earning a hum of enjoyment from Viktor. Taking your hand back, dipping it into the cold water bowl before going back to slicking back his curly tuffs.

Not stop there, running your hand down pressing it against his cheek and neck, hoping it would help lower his body temperature as just days before having to put ice bags all over his body.

Thankfully, having gotten better since then, though very slowly, and not without a bit of pushback. Hearing him worry over new research over and over, even begging you to bring notes from the lab.

Though it sounded horrible, you were thankful that he could get up from bed, as he would have walked there, breaking down his body more.

Intent on keeping your Viktor alive, dismissing his unneeded worry for Hextech research, reasoning Jay can work in the lab just fine by himself. After a few days, the worry came to a stop, leaving Viktor to rest in silence, mostly sleeping thanks to the medication or your filling food. Though of course, not without you, having afternoon naps in the curtain-closed bedroom.

“Lay with me,” his voice hoarsely begged. Without any hesitation, you moved away the bedding, cuddling up to Viktor's shaky body. With cold hands, he cuddled you, welcoming the love and relief it brought to his body. Quickly, the fight for rest dissipated, causing a light snore to sound out, looking up to see Viktor asleep at last.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @scrunkalicious @sophieissleepy

[wileys-russo]

filling the void (7) II a.putellas

filling the void masterlist filling the void (7) II a.putellas

"te quiero mucho mi fresa, tanto tanto tanto hermana."

"i love you too, can i breathe now please?" you wheezed out with a little difficulty, exhaling as alexia let go of you and wiped the corners of her eyes with the pad of her thumb.

"tan blandito." you teased with a soft smile, your sister rolling her eyes and pushing you gently. "can i ask you something else?" you braced yourself but nodded, having hoped this little heart to heart might be over so the pair of you could move forward.

"mariona-" alexia started as you sighed, cutting her off. "mami told me that she already told you and alba what happened with her. ale i really do not want to explain it again, no i don't know why it happened, yes it hurt, yes i probably should have seen it coming but that was my first real relationship. well, i thought it was anyway." you mumbled, chest tightening at the memory of the humiliation, cheeks burning red and the laughter of those you'd considered peers and friends ringing in your ears.

you were brought back to earth by a hand on your shoulder, looking up to meet your sisters concerned frown. "no hermana. i was just going to ask, does she still live in the same house?"

~

"is this really a good idea? you are a public figure around barcelona alexia and you are the captain of the spanish national football team if we get caught-" you whispered as your sister waved off your concerns and shushed you.

"we will not get caught fresa relajarse, and that pendejo mariona has it coming." alexia mumbled, hand tightening around the carton of eggs in her grip.

"ale this really feels like a bad plan." you chewed on your bottom lip, the two of you camped out in some bushes awaiting the last light in the house to go off before you launched your attack.

"you said you and mapi egged that other puta's house, sí? well she got what was coming to her and now its marionas turn. nobody messes with a putellas hermana." alexia whispered poking your shoulder and turning her focus toward the house again.

you regretted telling her about that now, having recounted the story of how you'd gone to mapi after the humiliation of the fake relationship and the girl had seen red, packing you into her car and driving the pair of you to the store and then your ex 'girlfriends' house.

luckily she'd been away on vacation with her family for a couple of weeks and the two of you had both egged and tee pee'd her house entirely undetected.

but of course having heard this story alexia was drowned in a sea of guilt that you hadn't felt like you could come to her, though grateful you'd at least had mapi in her place and hadn't had to go through it alone.

so swallowing the bubbling jealousy at the fact and reminding after all it had been her fault that you'd not felt like you could go to her in the first place, this seemed to be how she was determined to make up for it.

"we've done this before alexia and it didn't go well!" you reminded, grabbing her arm before she could leap out of her hiding spot, eyes wide with worry as your sister sighed, the memory fresh in both your minds.

you'd been only ten years old, alexia twenty three and alba twenty. alba had just been cheated on by her latest girlfriend, a fact you hadn't quite fully understood but you knew she was upset and alexia was ropeable.

it had been a common theme throughout the years that you'd never really liked any of alba's partners, which was perhaps alexia's influence given she'd been vocal that she always felt alba settled for girls who didn't deserve her or treat her as such.

but this particular girl alba had fallen head over heels for hard and fast and learning that she'd not been loyal, crushed her more than she cared to admit but it was easy enough for both you and alexia to see just how much she was hurting.

"fresa despertarse. hermana. fresa!" you blinked as you awoke, groggily wiping your eyes and exhaling, vision adjusting to the dark to notice your eldest sister hovering over you.

"qué?" you mumbled tiredly, your sisters hands on your shoulders pulling you into a sitting position. "is it time for school?" you asked sleepily, rubbing your eyes again and frowning as you noticed it was still dark outside.

"no. i need your help with something, but you have to be quiet pequeña and you are not allowed to ask any questions until we are in the car, vale?" alexia whispered as you nodded still half asleep, slumping over as the older girl moved to grab you some clothes.

"no no fresita, hora de despertarse!" alexia chuckled as you started to doze off again, catching you before your head could hit the pillow. "but its dark out." you yawned, shivering lightly as your covers were tugged away.

"i know. i will explain in the car hermanita, just get dressed please." alexia placed down a bundle of clothes beside you, flicking on your lamp before slipping back out of the room and closing her door behind her.

hopelessly confused you'd done as she'd asked, dressing yourself in the all black outfit she'd chosen, alexia joining you in a few minutes time also dressed all in black with a backpack slung over her shoulder.

"what are we doing?" "shh." "but its dark and-" "fres i said no questions till we get to the car!" "but-" "fresa." "fine."

"why do we need eggs?" you whispered with a frown, falling silent at the look your sister flashed you as she very quietly closed the fridge and motioned for you to follow her.

alexia held her breathe as she slid open the back door as quietly as possible, ushering you out and wincing as she slid it back closed with a click.

grabbing the back of your hoodie and holding you alexia watched eli's room with baited breath, sighing when the light didn't turn on. "vamos." she whispered, nodding for you to follow her down the back steps and around the side of the house.

"i'm not allowed to sit in the front." you reminded as your sister opened the passenger door and gestured for you to sit inside. "well tonight you are, get in."

once again as alexia started her car she paused, watching eli's window and only backing out of the driveway once the light remained off. "thank god mami snores." alexia mumbled with a shake of her head and a sigh of relief.

"can i ask questions now?" you asked eagerly, properly awake and almost vibrating in your seat as alexia exhaled and nodded her head, still driving to a place only she knew.

"where are we going? what are we doing? why do you have eggs? why did we use the back door? why isn't alba coming? why did we not tell mami? why are we wearing all black? why am i in the front? am i in trouble? are you in trouble?" you rambled out all nearly just in one breath, finishing and inhaling deeply, chest heaving.

"jesus you ask a lot of questions." alexia grumbled not having expected all of that, but with a shake of her head she gave you your answers.

"alba's ex girlfriends house. defending alba. they're for throwing. the front door squeaks. alba needs some sleep. mami wouldn't understand. so we blend more into the night. because i said so. no and no."

"i am still confused." "you'll see when we get there pequeña."

and that you had, the two of you pulling up to a house you'd not seen before in a street that wasn't familiar to you, not a soul in sight given it was around three in the morning.

"i don't think i can throw that far ale..." you chewed your bottom lip nervously, your sister chuckling and ruffling your hair. "thats fine hermana i will be throwing. your job is to hand me the eggs and keep a lookout, vale?" your sister instructed as you nodded, determined frown on your face.

so unloading a carton of eggs onto this girls house you both managed to sneak out undetected, proud grin on alexia's face as you rambled on and on the entire way home about how cool she was and how cool this was.

but you deflated slightly when you were sworn to secrecy after making a comment about how you couldn't wait to tell your friends at school about your adventure, pinky promising alexia you wouldn't tell a soul bar alba.

but there had been a reason you'd gotten away with it, and that was that despite thinking you were defending your sisters honour and practically falling asleep in your cereal that next morning, you and alexia had egged the wrong house.

"how was i supposed to know she moved house! i dropped alba off there when they were still together." alexia huffed, back in present time as the two of you crouched down in the bushes.

"you could have checked!" you rolled your eyes as your sister gave you a look of disbelief. "oh so true you are so right fres, maybe i should have gone and knocked on the front door and checked she still lived there?" alexia whispered harshly as you pulled a face.

"that wasn't what i meant." you mumbled, alexia handing you a carton of eggs. "vamos! its time hermana." and before you could even say another word alexia was leaping out of hiding and you were stumbing after her.

"least you can throw them now!" alexia teased as you both hauled egg after egg at your ex best friends house, admittedly feeling quite a sense of joy as they cracked and exploded all over it.

"mierda, go go go!" alexia almost shouldered you to the ground as the lights all turned on in the house, the pair of you sprinting away into the night, a belt of laughter leaving your lips as your sister glanced over her shoulder with a grin, the pair of you stopping once you were a safe enough distance away.

"feel good?" alexia asked with a smile once you'd caught your breath. "sí." you admitted, unable to argue her point that this would help you take back closure you were never given. "told you." your sister nudged her shoulder into yours.

"there is one other thing that would make me feel better." you added meeting her gaze as she frowned but nodded on encouragingly for you to continue.

but much to her shock what followed wasn't words, rather it was a cold egg smashed against the top of her head, your sister gasping in surprise as your lips curled into a grin.

"muchas gracias hermana, i feel much much better now. about everything!" you smiled happily, alexia wiping away the yolk which dribbled down her face with a hum. "i guess i deserved that." your sister sighed in acceptance given how she'd treated you the last year.

"but...as la hermana mayor." you recognized the glint in her eyes right away but before you could run her hand grabbed your hood, an egg smashed against your forehead. "alexia!" you gasped, wiping yolk out of your eyes as her laughter rang through the night.

"qué? you used to always want us to match, no?" the blonde grinned wickedly, shoving your head with a wink and rummaging around in her pockets. "fresa!" alexia groaned pushing you off as you wiped your face on her jumper.

"diablillo." your sister grumbled, huffing as she checked her pockets time after time. "did i give you the keys?" alexia asked as your eyes widened. "no. you had them, did you lose them? ale we need to get out of here we can't be found at the scene of the crime with egg all over us!" you hissed at the older girl.

"you can't find them. can you?" "they must have fallen out while we ran. hijo de puta!" "do you have a spare?" "sí...at home." "alexia!" "relajarse, i have to make a call."

you perked up as headlights appeared at the end of the street, hood pulled over your head and hair matted with egg as you counted down the minutes until you'd be back home and in a hot shower, a familiar car coming to a stop in front of where you and alexia sat on the curb.

"honestamente. do you two idiotas ever learn?" alba sighed, rolling down the window and holding up alexia's spare car key, twirling it around on her finger.

"we got the right house this time?" you shrugged as alexia snagged it with a grateful smile and a mumbled thank you, kissing your sisters cheek in appreciation.

"one day i'm going to get a call to bail you two tontos out of prison and it will be for...eggs."

~

you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you as you lay on alexia's couch watching a movie, your sisters settled on the other side of it allowing you the space you needed, though things were on the mend they weren't fixed.

but you'd be lying if you said that it didn't feel good to get a sense of normalcy back, watching movies and staying up late with the two of them just like you used to before everything changed.

especially given everything going on with your mami you did need them more than you realised, the thought of laying in an empty house by yourself while eli was in hospital not something you wanted to experience as much as you thought you could handle it.

you needed them, and you'd been needing them, but you were growing tired of pretending you didn't for the sake of saving your own feelings. your walls were still up but with your mami's words ringing in your ear you knew you didn't have to knock them all down but you needed to start lowering a draw bridge at least.

though between all of your thinking and the emotional exhaustion of everything catching up to you, it wasn't long before your eyes started to grow heavy and you dozed off.

"ale." the blonde looked away from the screen at the knock of alba's knee against her own, the younger girl nodding to where you were dead asleep, sprawled across the end of the L shaped sofa.

"some things don't change." alba chuckled, the pair of them now staring at you soundly sleeping, chest rising and falling. "just like when she was a baby, never makes it through a movie." alexia smiled fondly, getting up to grab a blanket and draping it over you, tucking in the sides like she knew you liked.

"she's still a baby, even if mami says we're not supposed to tell her that anymore." alba smiled, catching alexia's eye who chuckled, hesitating for a moment before leaning down and softly kissing your forehead.

"sí, our pequeña."

~

"so she can come home on tuesday? they're sure?" you asked in disbelief, alexia having just returned from the hospital and picking you up from work.

your eldest sister worried about you returning even just for a half day, but the clinic was rarely open on saturday and they were only testing all day, and your boss had reached out offering if you felt up to it it would be a good learning opportunity.

so trying her best to let you take the lead in letting her know what you needed alexia had taken you to see eli this morning before dropping you off to work and returning to the hospital, picking you up afterwards firm in her word you weren't taking the bus.

"they're keeping her for observation over the weekend but things seem to be stable. she just needs to avoid anything that brings her stress, watch her cholesterol, go for her check ups, take her medication and if anything feels weird she has to go back to the doctor to let him know." alexia recounted the instructions from the doctor as you nodded along.

"did you tell her about the game?" you winced as alexia sighed with a nod. "sí, it did not go over well with mami but the nurses agreed, its too much stress." alexia explained, the two of you and alba having yesterday discussed with one another your mami's game watching tendencies and how it would spike her stress too much for her to even watch on television.

"maybe they can just sedate her during the game." you mumbled rummaging through your bag, alexia chuckling in agreement as a comfortable silence fell between the pair of you.

"i thought i was staying at home tonight?" you frowned confused at the change of the plan as alexia pulled into her own driveway. "tú eres, alba is already there but there is something i need to give you first." alexia motioned for you to follow her inside as your frown deepened.

much to alexia's surprise you'd planned to go to her game tomorrow, already having had breakfast plans with alba and brushing it off as being easier to just go to the game with her after rather than making her take you home, alexia forcing herself not to make a big deal over the obvious steps forward not wanting to scare you off.

none the less you left your bag in the car and followed her out of the car, still in your scrubs from work and curiosity peaked as alexia let the two of you inside and called out for her girlfriend.

"hola ol." you greeted the older girl with a smile and a kiss to the cheek as she appeared, kissing alexia when she thought you weren't looking, the habit making you roll your eyes.

but before you could have a chance to properly speak to olga, alexia was pushing at your shoulders and nodding for you to go to her bedroom, olga shrugging as you gave her a curious look.

"you're being weird." you sighed as she told you to take a seat on the bed, ignoring your comment and disappearing into her wardrobe, returning a moment later with a large bag and dropping it on the bed beside you.

"hermana, i know you asked not to speak about it anymore and i will not make this a big thing but-" she paused to tug open the strings of the bag as you peeked inside and frowned again.

"-i know i have not been around and i ignored you and made you feel pushed aside, i acknowledge that. but, you were not ever not on my mind. which is why i kept all of these for you, and i admit i should have maybe just given them to you and made time for you and maybe some of this might have been avoided." alexia explained softly, eyes flickering to read your face but struggling to find a story.

"some are from champions leagues games, the game i scored my first goal back since my injury, the first game i played the full ninety, the captains armband when i first wore it again for barça, my first national game back for españa-" alexia pulled out the shirts one by one, your face still unreadable as your hand ran over the material.

"you kept these for me?" you asked, finally looking up and meeting her gaze as she nodded.

"por supuesto. fresa i have always given you jerseys which are special to me, you might have stopped coming to my games which i understand. but me wishing you were there and wanting you to have these, that never stopped, and you will always mean more to me than any camisa, any game, anything." your sister spoke firmly, a nod all you could manage at the emotions which cascaded down on you.

but never the best at expressing these your sister cleared her throat, quickly packing the jerseys back into the bag and pulling the drawstrings tight again, grabbing it and making a beeline for her bedroom door.

"vamos fres you must be tired from work, i will drive you home."

[sundrop-writes]

I'm Not Angry (Anymore)

George Weasley x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

I’m not angry… anymore. (Well, sometimes I am.)

I don’t think badly of you. Well - sometimes I do.

It depends on the day, the extent of all my worthless rage… 

I'm Not Angry (Anymore).

Part One: The Lion and The Serpent

Summary:

You and George have never been friends.

You have known him for a long time, and even if your schoolyard hatred toward him turned into hesitant co-operation during the War (still paired with mild annoyance), the two of you never became friends.

You working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is simply out of convenience for the both of you. And even if you can't bring yourself to leave the awful job, it's certainly not because of the weird attachment you have formed with one of your bosses.

You and George Weasley are definitely not friends.

George Weasley x Slytherin!Fem!Reader. Enemies to Lovers. Pre-Smut, Heavy Plot Build-Up, Romance. Set Post War.

Word Count: 29,900

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Full warnings list and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader character goes by she/her pronouns and has a vagina (though as with most of my fics, most of the pronouns used throughout are you/yours); this fic does use Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); there are no descriptions of the reader’s race, weight, hair colour, eye colour, or general looks other than a few statements about George being taller than the reader (and even then, it does not say how much taller he is than her and it does not state that she is ‘tiny’ or petite) - this is based off the idea that Oliver Phelps is 6 foot 2 and most people would be shorter than that by comparison; there is descriptions of the reader wearing very hyper feminine clothing, including skirts, dresses, and high heels (and it is stated that she wears high heels on a regular basis), and it's stated that she regularly wears makeup (I had a very specific clothing aesthetic in mind for this character, I couldn't help it); the reader is a Slytherin, and this fic explores the ‘evil Slytherin’ trope because the reader used to be somewhat of a bully but she joined Dumbledore’s Army during her time at Hogwarts and joined the Order of the Phoenix when she turned 17; the reader is the same age as Fred and George and was in their year (so DA took place during her seventh year and the Battle of Hogwarts took place when she was 19 or 20); the reader is a Pureblood and comes from a family that upholds typical Pureblood values - while she used to believe in those things (or was taught to) she broke away from her family and is not a Pureblood supremacist; the reader has a father and other unnamed family members who are Death Eaters, and clearly expected her to follow in their steps; this takes place three years after the Battle of Hogwarts (so the reader character is 23 or 24 in this fic, but you can imagine her to be whatever age you want her to be) - there is some discussion/explanation of the fallout from the War; even though Fred is not the love interest character, this is a ‘Fred Lives AU’ (I can’t put George through all that); this might be slightly OOC Fred - but I do think this is genuinely how Fred would react if one of his siblings had a crush on a Slytherin (the Weasleys can be petty); mentions of canon deaths (Cedric Diggory); there is some ACAB themes - the reader is wrongfully arrested (but George helps to keep her out of prison); George has some trauma over Fred almost being killed; general themes of trauma and PTSD (because both the reader and George fought in and experienced a war); the reader has trauma because she comes from an emotionally abusive and neglectful household (though there are no mentions of her ever being physically abused at home); alcohol and drinking - in this part, only the reader character gets drunk (in a flashback), and she gets drunk with the purpose of drowning out emotional pain, but this is only a one-time thing and she does not have a drinking problem; mentions of vomiting due to drunkenness (does not happen during the fic) (also general mentions of vomit because they sell Puking Pastilles at the shop - but it doesn’t happen during the fic and there’s no detailed descriptions of it); mentions of the reader being raised with House Elves and having a specific beloved House Elf; mentions of a snake being used to scare the reader (if you have a fear of snakes, this might trigger you, but it does turn out to be a rubber toy snake and not a real one); mention of the reader having to experience Umbridge’s canon torture (writing with the blood quill to the point where it slices her hand badly); there is mentions of the reader being right handed (her right hand is her wand hand and the hand she uses to write), so if you’re left-handed, sorry; something that could be considered forcible confinement - George handcuffs himself to the reader as a joke and loses the key, leaving them stuck together; I believe that is all for this section. The next part will have smut (a lot of it) - so don’t get attached to reading this story if you don’t like smut.

A/N: I know that I said this was going to be late, and I genuinely thought it was. But I was feeling a bit better today (even though I am still mostly feeling crappy) and I wanted to get it done so that I can take a break to rest before I start work on editing the next part. And I am really excited to see what people think of this so far, so please enjoy. I am obsessed with their dynamic, and I hope you love it just as much as I do!!!

...

“Um, excuse me, Miss?” 

You were distracted away from your work when someone called for your attention - you had been opening and unpacking a new box of Screaming Yo-Yos, but you put that aside for now. You looked up and put on your best (rather fake) customer service smile, the shelf in front of you still half empty, only halfway done as you abandoned it to help the customer. 

You rose up from your back-aching kneeling position on the floor and wiped your hands on your apron - an ugly, obnoxiously bright orange one with the Weasley W on the chest, your uniform. You were allowed to wear whatever clothes you wanted with it, but the colour easily ruined whatever outfit you tried to put together. A bit of public embarrassment to go along with the forced nicety that you had to participate in while doing the job. You straightened yourself to better speak to the person - a woman in her forties who most definitely wasn’t the regular clientele for the shop. 

“Yes?” You said, your voice bright in a very forced way, your fake smile continuing to beam toward her as she responded with a grin. 

“My son absolutely loves this kind of stuff, and I was wondering if this would be a good gift for his birthday?” She asked, gesturing toward a large fireworks display behind her. 

Your eyes wandered toward the obligatory ‘must be at least sixteen years old to purchase’ sign that the twins had put on the fireworks display. One that Professor Hermione Granger had been down their throats about adding (‘in a large, legible font’ she had specified). She had been very adamant about it after multiple of her First and Second Year students had nearly taken fingers off from lighting the fireworks and then holding onto them as they exploded, despite the clear instructions on the packaging. 

“How old is your son?” You asked, trying to sound politely curious rather than cautious. 

You knew better than to scare away a potential customer. You didn’t need Fred down your throat again about how your ‘sour attitude’ was driving away business. 

“He’s ten. About to turn eleven. I wanted to get him something for his big day.” She said, clearly beaming with pride. 

“Those are a bit, uh… advanced.” You said, choosing your words very carefully. “I think I know something much better for someone his age.” 

You put a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided her over to a section of products that the twins had recently come out with - animal themed masks with animated, moving features that made genuine, loud animal sounds when the wearer put them on. The eyes also blinked in time with your own eyes, and the mouth moved in time with your own speech behind the mask. 

They were a big hit with younger kids, especially for sneaking up behind people and scaring them with a loud sound. Even if you found the display to be loud and annoying, you did have to admit that it was adorable to see smaller kids put the masks on and get so excited to become their favourite animal. 

“Morph-O-Masks.” You said, motioning toward the display with an outstretched, showy arm that felt far too familiar of your red-haired bosses. They were rubbing off on you in a painfully obvious way. “They make genuine animal sounds, have moving tongues, eyes, and ears, and we just released a Hungarian Horntail-” 

“Oh my little Gareth would love this one,” 

The woman said, clearly excited, as she picked up the classic lion mask. It had a large, furry mane and the toothy mouth that opened wide to let out a loud, realistic roar. 

“He’s been hoping to get into Gryffindor, just like his father. I didn’t go to Hogwarts myself. I’m American, you see, so I went to Salem. But I moved here when my Walter proposed. And we had sweet little Gareth a few months later. Fat little baby, he was-” 

“That is our best seller,” You commented with a nod, trying to gently cut off the woman’s irrelevant rambling. 

“Thank you so much, dear.” The woman thanked you, and much to your internal annoyance - she then pulled you in for a tight hug. 

You rolled your eyes sharply over her shoulder, your fake smile dropping into a harsh scowl where she couldn’t see. As your annoyance toiled on, you were simply thankful when the hug lasted no more than a three count (because you were most definitely counting in your head). When she pulled away, you directed her to the cash register where Fred was waiting to check out the purchase and then you got back to stocking the yo-yos. 

Your thankfulness ended the moment you turned around and found the other twin waiting for you. George was lingering behind you, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. 

“‘That’s our best seller’,” He repeated your words, mocking you in a girlish tone that did not at all sound like you. 

“Shut up,” You griped, rolling your eyes again, shoving your hands sharply into the pockets of your apron in order to resist the urge to hit him. 

You had to force yourself to remember that it wasn’t your school days anymore, and you couldn’t afford to lose your job as much as you could afford to lose a few house points back in the day. You had to control the petty nature of your temper much more now. 

“No, really, that was great.” He continued on, still grinning with an intense aura of satisfaction. 

It made you want to slap him. Not because you didn’t like to see him smiling, but because it felt like he was mocking you. You hated the way his smile curled humiliation into your gut, and you wanted that feeling gone. 

“You’re finally settling into the job now, eh?” He added on gleefully. 

“It’s work,” You shrugged, eager to end the conversation. 

You attempted to move around him to get back to unpacking the yo-yos - but with the isles cramped so tightly together and with his body so stupidly broad, he easily blocked your way, giving you a very punchable smirk as he purposefully stood in your way. Before you could squeeze around the other way, he leaned in closer, forcing you to take a step back as he moved to grab something off the Morph-O-Mask display. 

You hated that you caught a whiff of his cologne along the way, during the moment that you were a bit too close to him as he moved toward the display and you couldn’t move away fast enough. The scent was far too strong - a cedarwood and lavender combination that you hated, and even so, his hard day’s work was causing the slightest bit of sweat to seep through. It was truly awful.

(That’s what you told yourself, anyway.) 

“I see you still haven’t sold any of the serpents yet.” He chimed, holding up a scaly bright green serpent mask from the display. “If this was a house tournament, I would say that Gryffindor is winning,” 

You knew that it was no coincidence that the original line of masks had consisted of a golden yellow lion, a green serpent, a bronze eagle, and a black and white badger. The badger let out a very terrifying snarl and had rather creepy beady red eyes - which had to be the reason you hadn’t sold many of those, not due to any lack of loyalty from Hufflepuffs. 

It wasn’t your fault that kids were more attracted to the ones that came in the secondary release than they were to a simple round-headed serpent with a flicking tongue and a very dull hissing sound. They loved the different types of dragons, a spider with snapping fangs and dozens of eyes, even the black cat that purred and flicked its ears sold out more often than the serpent. 

Typically, you wouldn’t engage in such a stupid, childish conversation with George, but something had been on your mind considering the original four for a while. Especially when you thought about how many times you had to restock the lion mask in the few short weeks that the Morph-O-Mask line had been out. 

“Did you consider the inherent bias?” You posed, tilting your head at him. “This is a shop owned by two Gryffindors, therefore you are bound to have more Gryffindor customers - especially due to the time you two spent performing grassroots marketing back at Hogwarts, which primarily took place within Gryffindor Tower,” 

George’s face knit with intense thought as you explained this, and you were glad that for once, he was pensive and actually taking in your words, rather than cutting you off with some kind of joke. 

“And even if done unconsciously, you put more care and thought into the design of the lion mask, so it did turn out to be the best one.” You hated to admit it, but it was true. 

Between the quality of the fur and the intense daring beauty of the eyes - the way it raised its mouth and let out the deep intimidating roar - it was beautiful. The serpent - which was supposed to be a fellow predator - looked dull in comparison. 

“And it’s the one you’ve used primarily for marketing,” 

You pointed to the front window, where the lion mask was on a stand advertising the new product. The one in the window was charmed to open its mouth and roar every minute or so, putting on a show to bring people in and check it out. 

“It’s like you set up the serpent to fail.” You spoke with finality. “And then you blame it on a poor stock girl for not shilling it hard enough,” 

You ground intense sarcasm into your final words, taking the green mask from his hands and tossing it back onto the shelf with the large pile of its unsold brothers, finally skirting around him as he stood there shocked into silence. He was genuinely impressed by the amount of thought you had put into it. He finally snapped out of his shock by the time you had knelt back down beside the box of yo-yos, continuing to neatly stock the shelf with them. 

Of course, George wouldn’t leave the topic well enough alone. He turned around to bother you once again, coming to hover over you like a shadow while you worked. 

“Well, perhaps next time we should consult a Slytherin for further research and development,” He said, giving you a grin. “Especially one as thoughtful and intelligent as you.” 

“Let me know when you find one who’s willing to donate her time.” You replied, brisk and cool and entirely dismissive, grabbing the finally empty cardboard box from the yo-yos and shuffling back to the storage room. You were thankful to have an excuse to finally flee away from George, escaping the conversation. 

You were behind the thick wood of the storage room door by the time that George wandered over to the front counter, visibly sulking in front of Fred. 

“That was smooth.” Fred told him, entirely sarcastic. 

“Oi, that was the longest we’ve ever gone without her insulting me. I am making progress.” George replied, determination ultimately distinct in his voice. 

“Yeah, at this point, you’ll be going on your first date in your fifties and be married by the time I have grandchildren,” Fred joked, sounding proud of himself, even standing a bit taller to compliment his words. 

“You don’t even know if Angelina wants kids,” George argued easily, eager to navigate around the subject of his pathetic crush. 

“Yeah, but at least I know she wants me.” Fred nagged, putting emphasis on the word in a way that made George roll his eyes. “At least I’m not hung up on some stone cold Slytherin bit-” 

“Hey!” 

George chastised, knowing that he was somewhat hypocritical now because he would have easily hurled that kind of language at you during your school days. He was understanding when Fred heaved a sigh and shook his head in return. 

“Maybe I like cold.” George added on dully, still trying to justify himself to his brother. 

“Then go stick your cock in the freezer.” Fred sighed. “Maybe it’ll help you get over this nonsense so you can start seeing someone who’s actually good for you.” 

George didn’t say anything further, not wanting to waste his energy and words on trying to explain it to a brother who just couldn’t understand. There was no one else for him, no one else who lived in his heart - no one else but you. 

Even if you refused to look his way - he couldn’t look at anybody else but you. 

… 

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. 

Part of you - well, most of you - had to wonder how the hell you ended up here. 

It had been three years since The Battle of Hogwarts. Three seemingly winding and endless but so very short years since the great Harry Potter had delivered the final blow to the dark side, killing Voldemort and for the most part, killing all the festering ideas that he represented. 

And not surprisingly, the entire Wizarding World was still very much in the process of healing, even years later. 

Many of Voldemort’s followers had fled Hogwarts in the wake of his defeat, and they had quickly gone into hiding or fled the country altogether, fleeing like cockroaches from the light rather than taking a stand without him there to lead them. Some of them were still being hunted down and persecuted for their crimes; internal investigations were still ongoing at the Ministry, looking into who was responsible for such a dark wizard even having a foothold to so easily take control of the government and even Hogwarts. 

Hogwarts had been reconstructed and normal classes had resumed, but it was clear that the effects of the War were still lingering on the place that had once been a battleground. Many veteran professors had retired in the wake of what had happened, leaving positions vacant and desperate to be filled. This caused a strange kind of immaturity as freshly graduated wizards and witches stumbled along, teaching new students in subjects that they had barely mastered for themselves. 

And you - your life had turned into one big joke. Literally. You were working at a fucking joke shop, when just a few short years ago, you would have absolutely scoffed at the idea and completely dismissed it as impossible. A past version of yourself would have endlessly mocked the version of your future self who wore that embarrassing orange apron, publicly branded as a slave to two annoying pranksters that you absolutely detested during your school days. 

And one of the worst parts? 

You couldn’t even truthfully say, not even in the private of your own mind, that you hated those two annoying redheads now as much as you had in the past. Because you truly didn’t hate them as much. You weren’t even sure if you did hate them now. 

The War had softened you. You still weren’t sure if it was for the better or if it had weakened you greatly - if it had made you tired and complacent. But the whole experience had definitely softened your opinion of the Weasleys and how much you paid attention to things as petty as house rivalries. 

Yes, you were a Slytherin. Yes, you were a Pureblood. 

Yes, you had been raised in a world much different than the one you currently lived in. But it was the changes along the way that had made you the person you truly were. 

You had been raised in rich nobility, constantly catered to by House Elves, never knowing love or affection from a constantly cold father who only showed you disappointment and disdain. You had been raised to believe that you were inherently better than others because of your surname, because of your blood status, because of your family’s generations old wealth and magic. You had been trained from a very young age to think that nothing was more important than upholding the reputation of that name because of all the wealth and generational magic behind it. 

Your mother had been married to your father via a marriage contract - something not uncommon in Pureblood society, something you believed would be your fate. Though your mother had died when you were young and you had very few memories of her - one of those memories being her telling you that you shouldn’t marry young, you should go out and explore the world and ‘find your own path’, you still had been raised to believe that the ways of your family were the right ones. 

You had been raised to believe that your father’s word was as good as Merlin’s Law. For a long time, you believed that you would go to Hogwarts - not to get an education, but to carry on the tradition of Slytherin nobility, getting good grades to show off your magical prowess, and make others aware of your family’s ongoing perfect Pureblood reputation. And then, when you turned seventeen, you would be sold off in a marriage contract similar to the one that had bonded your mother to your father. And it didn’t matter if you were happy or not. That part never mattered. 

Your life never revolved around something as frivolous as joy, laughter, and pranks. 

Perhaps that was why you developed a natural contention for the Weasleys - particularly Fred and George. Because they spent so much of their lives smiling. They were always so happy, seemingly for no reason. They came from a magical family, they had Pureblood lineage, but their family didn’t represent or value the same things that yours did. They didn’t care about reputation or blood purity or upholding traditional values. They cared about happiness and love and friendship. 

You spent a lot of your days trying to believe that they were stupid and you were truly better off than they were. You spent a lot of time telling yourself that you would be better off in the long run because you studied more than they did, and you had a parent who cared about your future - someone who was setting you up for a good life. You spent a lot of your time pushing down feelings of loneliness - or telling yourself that those truly superior to their peers always end up lonely. 

While the twins spent their days surrounded by friends, smiling and joyful, you spent your days walking the halls of Hogwarts alone, swept up in your own thoughts, constantly worried about your future. To you, it seemed like they didn’t think farther than a few days ahead with the way they acted. And it bothered you. They bothered you. They were a nuisance. 

The twins spent so much time laughing - boisterously, loudly, uncaring of who heard them or who they annoyed in the process. Even when they spoke of paranoia for authority figures, even when they voiced a passing worry about their mother’s iron fist - truly, you knew that they didn’t worry about getting in trouble. Because if they did, they wouldn’t actually carry out half the things that they ended up doing. 

Meanwhile, your days were riddled with worry - cautious of everything from your posture to your hairstyle to the length of your skirt, knowing that if you made even the slightest poor impression, it would become a rumor that got back to your father. And it made you stressed - and that stress made you sour. And it was something that you easily took out on the Weasleys, especially the loud, annoying Fred and George. 

…

Any time you so much as crossed paths with Fred and George while at Hogwarts, your day was instantly ruined. All it took was a simple sighting of the two heads of bright red hair for any calm to immediately leave you. As soon as they were near, your blood pressure skyrocketed and bitter words came flying out of your mouth. 

You hated the fact that the castle was so sprawling and large and yet somehow, you kept seeing them so damn often. Part of you couldn’t think that it was simply a coincidence when you saw them. When they kept appearing in the corridors that they knew you took to class, lingering in the dungeons even when they didn’t belong there, lurking near the Slytherin table at meal times. Part of you had to believe that they kept doing these kinds of things on purpose simply to annoy the hell out of you. 

“Ugh, you two haven’t been expelled yet?” You sneered the words in their direction as you walked by, your shiny black heels clacking on the stone floor as you made your way towards Potions class. “I would say that this place has gone to the dogs, but I’ve actually had pitbulls more well behaved and more easily trained than you two idiots.” 

They were huddling close to each other, standing off to the side of the large corridor, and you were instantly suspicious of them and slightly upset that there was nothing you could immediately accuse them of. You could sense that they were up to no good, as always, and you knew that the evidence of that fact wouldn’t come to you cleanly. 

“Oh, Y/N, it’s you.” Fred gave you a feigned, sarcastic smile, and the part of you that thrived off conflict paused your stride and allowed him to keep speaking rather than passing on by. “I thought I heard all the innocent wildlife fleeing in terror.” He put a dramatic hand up to his ear, as though actually listening for this. “Careful, brother, you’ll want to avoid the large cracks when the ground opens up to swallow her back into the dark pit from which she came.” 

It was the typical kind of words he hurled at you. He believed that you were ‘pure evil’ in human form, and he prided himself on coming up with increasingly creative ways of stating that fact. 

“I’m surprised that you can hear anything with all the gunpowder and confetti in your ears.” You jested back. “How many IQ points did you lose after that last explosion? Do they have to let the two of you tag-team your exams now? I mean, if you think about it, the both of your brains added up might make it to Troll level.” 

“We do just fine. Better than most, actually. Especially if the scores were adjusted for academic favouritism from a certain greasy-haired creep.” Fred sighed harshly in return, crossing his arms firmly. 

It was something he had talked about for years, both to your face and behind your back - the idea that you were only considered to be academically gifted because teachers favoured you, especially Snape. And when asked how you achieved such good grades with professors who weren’t your Head of House, he posed another, even more ridiculous sounding theory. He genuinely believed that your father paid them off - that because you were so ‘stinking rich’, you could afford to buy your good grades. 

Notwithstanding that his older brothers certainly didn’t have the coin to buy their grades and two of them had made Head Boy in their time. And when you pointed that out to him, he only stopped off steaming mad without admitting that this fact blew huge holes in his theory. No - he would much rather go around spewing massive lies about you (that many of the other Gryffindors believed simply due to Fred’s charisma and popularity) rather than accepting the truth that you truly worked hard and studied. Rather than accepting the fact that you were genuinely smart, while he on the other hand was a lazy, dumb oaf. 

You were about to open your mouth to argue passionately against the point when George jumped into the conversation. 

“Is that a new perfume?” He added on, dramatically sniffing the air to further punctuate his point. “Or just the scent of ravaged innocent souls coming off you? It is rather lovely, I must admit.” 

Your stomach twisted in an odd way as you weren’t sure whether to interpret this as a compliment or a joking insult. He was clearly playing off his brother’s words, dancing around with the implication that you were evil - but he said that you smelled nice when Fred often said that you ‘stank of the burnt cinders off hell from miles away’. The odd feeling became even more jarring when Fred let out a bright, jeering laugh at the words and high fived his brother in response. 

As terrible confusion rusted through you, you couldn’t conjure a clever response. Your next instinct was to flee. But of course, you couldn’t let them know that you were running away - you couldn’t show anything resembling panic or fear. You couldn’t bare your neck to a pack of hungry lions. 

“Well, as delightfully immature as this is, I am afraid I don’t have the time to stand around here and compete in this stunning battle of wits,” You announced, truly grinding sarcasm into your words to drive home your point as you began to walk away. “Perhaps next time you can come a bit more prepared and actually challenge me. I have to get to Potions.” 

“Aww, how disappointing for us.” George replied, faking a whine in his voice that made you clench your jaw with annoyance. “Another time, then?” He tacked on, waving at you and giving you an oddly sincere smile as his eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t perceive as hope. 

“Say hello to Snape’s back mole for us!” Fred added on, shouting at your back. 

Even as you walked away, you knew that the twins were lingering in the corridor for a reason. Some terrible reason. They stayed in that same spot for far too long, paying far too much attention to you, their eyes glued to your every move as you crossed over the courtyard. 

By now, you knew them well enough to know that something was up, and it made you highly suspicious of everything around you - so that when something snagged your toes, you instantly paused, rather than continuing on with your usual steps. When you looked down, you let out a small huff. Of course. Your eyes followed a very thin, near-invisible tripwire to a bucket that was strung up in a tree above your head. 

You could only imagine what kind of sickening mixture was in the bucket. So you made a point of dramatically stepping over the tripwire, and you smiled to yourself when you heard the twins swearing and sighing with disappointment from their spot far off behind you. And before you finally left for class, you turned around, spotting them in a poorly concealed hiding place in one of the window-like openings around the edge of the courtyard. 

And then, just to prove a point, you blew them a kiss off the tip of your extended middle finger, wanting to show them that they truly hadn’t bested you. Your stomach made that strange twist again when George made a distinct motion of catching the kiss before he winked at you while Fred chose to flip you off in return, clearly mouthing the words ‘horrid bitch’ at you. 

You couldn’t linger too much on it, though. You had to get to class. 

… 

Back then, you thought of the Weasleys as nothing more than daily annoyances. You certainly didn’t think that they would be your future employers. You didn’t think that they would be people that you would be fighting a war alongside. 

You thought your life was perfectly planned out ahead of you. You thought that treating others poorly and being generally mean was just a reputation that naturally preceded you - something that you lived up to very well. Everything in your life was finite and decided, and you were just playing the role that had already been drawn out for you. 

Until Voldemort made his return. 

For you, it was a clear line in the sand. 

After years of walking around blind, sleeping through life - all it took was seeing Cedric Diggory’s limp, dead body in the grass to awaken you. 

You had lived your life talking about your perceived superiority over others, listening to your father talk about it near constantly. But the longer your life went on, the less you actually believed it to be true. The longer you spent away from home while at Hogwarts, the more it all felt like an act to you; one as fake as the smile you put on at the shop for the customers. 

So when it came time to take the next step - when your father urged you to scorch your arm with a Mark in loyalty to a man risen up from the dead and start killing others who were supposedly ‘lesser’ than you, and therefore undeserving of life - you just couldn’t do it. You didn’t have the true pride to back up beliefs that were never your own. 

So you turned away from your father, and you did the one thing that you could remember your mother telling you to do. You found your own path. 

You had been the only Slytherin to join Dumbledore’s Army, to much hatred and suspicion from the others at first. And even though they had attempted to exile you, it felt like the correct, obvious choice. You knew that you weren’t accustomed to such things, but it felt like the right thing to do. 

While it was the first (quiet) rebellion you made against your father’s choices for your life, it was also the most time you had spent around the twins outside of the classes that you had with them. They kept making jokes about you secretly being Umbridge’s mole within the group - which Hermione had assured them and everyone else couldn’t possibly be true, only for you to find out in the most spectacular and horrific way exactly how she had been so assured. And eventually, the twins soon became more adjusted to the idea that you truly didn’t have any ulterior motives. 

But that didn’t mean you were opposed to kicking their asses in dueling practice. 

(Or any other time.) 

… 

You had grown used to the stares and ugly looks that you received whenever you walked into a DA meeting. As much as Hermione vouched for you and assured everyone that you were not intent on betraying them to Umbridge, people had a very difficult time getting used to your presence there. They simply couldn’t adjust to the idea that a Slytherin, especially one who had a Death Eater for a father, genuinely wanted to oppose Voldemort, and was actively training to do so. 

But you weren’t going to spend your time making noble rallying speeches in order to justify yourself to them. You had your own personal reasons, and that was more than enough for you. You were sick of your father’s ways. You knew that you weren’t any better than someone like Hermione Granger simply because of the name you had been born with. And you wouldn’t stand by and watch people like her be murdered or be forced into performing the killing yourself because your father thought you didn’t have a backbone. 

You were sick of a world where you were nothing more than an ornament to him - something quiet and beautiful to help maintain his reputation until you would be married off to someone else to continue doing the same for them. Being sold into a future where you would be forced to produce babies who would be fated to carry on the terrible cycle. 

Even if you would be killed for it, you needed to stand up and fight back. 

You knew that you were likely the only one in the room, other than Harry Potter himself, who was actively thinking about the worldly consequences of these meetings. You were likely the only other person thinking about the possibility of your own untimely death. Everyone else was just showing up for their own personal satisfaction, and the fact of not falling behind in their DADA efforts while Umbridge was actively restricting their education. 

On this day when you walked into the Room of Requirement as the other DA members trickled in, you attracted only enough attention to receive a few solitary sour looks. You had to guess that people were getting a bit more accustomed to you attending the meetings by now. But you picked up on a particularly harsh conversation from a group of huddled boys. You easily recognized the twins, and you thought you knew the others as Dean and Seamus… something. You didn’t know their last names. 

“And have you seen who’s in The Inquisitorial Squad? It’s all Slytherins, it’s just a matter of time until-” Seamus whined. 

“Until that stuck up bitch, L/N, rats on us. Yeah. It was a complete mistake letting her join.” Fred easily cut him off, entirely unafraid to call you harsh names, whether you were listening or not. 

“When have you ever met a Slytherin with good intentions?” Dean posed to the small group. 

“Guys, listen, I think you might be overreacting-” Surprisingly, George tried to oppose them, but his words were swiftly cut off. 

“Seriously, who’s ever heard of a good Slytherin?” Seamus sneered. 

“Well just because I joined this group doesn’t mean I’m ‘good’.” You said, stepping between the twins and forcing yourself into the conversation. 

This caused the boys to either shamefully stare at the ground or divert their eyes off to the side as they clearly weren’t expecting to be overheard by you. George was the only one who dared to look at you, his expression clearly confused at your choice of words. 

You decided to explain yourself. 

“Just because I oppose my father’s traditional hatred of Muggleborns and I don’t believe in mass murder doesn’t mean I’m not still a heinous bitch. It doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped - what was it that you said, Fred? That I strike fear into the hearts of children and rot plantlife with my every breath?” 

“Yeah.” Fred grumbled quietly. “I may have said that.” 

“My point still stands.” Seamus griped bitterly. “There is no such thing as a good Slytherin.” 

“Then it’s irritably clear that you’ve never picked up a book in your short, useless life.” You spat back at him. 

As more confused looks were thrown your way, you dove into a stash of mental research that you had reserved for exactly this occasion, and began spouting off facts. 

“Kory Anderson, during The Great Fire of 1916 that nearly wiped out the entirety of Hogsmeade, she rescued six children from homes within the village and then cast barrier charms to contain the fire until it naturally blazed out. She was a Slytherin.” You announced confidently. 

“Yeah, but-” Dean began to speak up, and you drove right over whatever he had to say. 

“Isaac Lahesen - he invented the first wide use Pain Relief Tonic in 1756. The original recipe is still widely followed and commonly used today. He was a Slytherin. Gally Poulter - died from Ancromantula venom poisoning due to his experiments with the venom that later lead to the invention of the common Anti-Bruise Tonic. His efforts also helped to conserve the Ancromantula as a species and brought them back from the brink of extinction-” 

“Alright, jeez, we get it.” Fred sighed, finally cutting you off.

“I could go on.” You replied plainly, trying not to sound too smug. “It pays to take your head out of your arse every now and then and insert it into a library book.” 

You turned to stomp away then, and you were entirely surprised when you felt someone catch your elbow. You whipped back around to glare at the person automatically, and had to forcibly crane your neck upward to meet George’s surprisingly soft gaze. You knew it was him in an instant. 

Mostly because Fred always looked at you like you carried hellfire in your shoes wherever you went, and George most definitely did not. 

But you could also easily spot the difference between the twins because George had broken his nose during a Quidditch game against Slytherin during your third year. A game that you had been sitting in the stands for - forever banned from participating in ‘something so brutish’ by your father. It had been a nasty move from one of the Slytherin players who had swung their Bludger’s bat at his face in a fit of anger when they realized that Harry had caught the snitch and they had lost. 

The bone growth around the break gave his nose bridge a distinct bump near the top that Fred did not have. It was something you found quietly endearing, along with his soft eyes. Something you had only recently admitted to yourself in the quietest, darkest recesses of your mind. 

“What?” You snapped at him, wondering why he had stopped you and why he was touching you. 

He recoiled from the touch quickly, as if only then realizing just how long he had been holding onto your arm. 

“Sorry.” He muttered quietly. “And I’m sorry about them, too.” 

He added on, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to point toward the spot where Fred, Dean, and Seamus were still standing - where Fred was now showing the two boys something inside a large box. Likely some of their disgusting, horrible ‘products’ - but it made the boys laugh and smile. You almost envied their care-free nature. But you definitely didn’t envy their ignorance. 

“They’re being knobheads.” George declared confidently. “I know it probably doesn’t mean much, but I never thought that you were here to spy on us. You’re actually really good. With the spells, and whatnot, I mean. You’re really talented.” 

You felt a sickly fullness - almost like an ache in your chest coming from deep within your stomach - as you looked over his expression and knew for certain that he was being sincere. As it truly hit you that this wasn’t some dumb prank where he would laugh in your face after you accepted the compliment. Still, nonetheless, as your insides squirmed, your outer shell became prickly once again in a well practiced defense mechanism. 

“Why would I care what you think?” You spat back harshly. “You can barely cast a protection charm and you waste most of your talents coming up with stupid, useless joke products anyway. I don’t need you to tell me that I’m talented in order to know my worth, Weasley.” 

It was only a moment later when the words had already left your mouth that you realized you had inadvertently complimented him in return. You became overwhelmed with a desire to smack him when he began smirking at you. That desire became almost crippling when he leaned into you, crowding tightly into your personal space before he whispered something in a low baritone that stuck to your ear terribly well as he reached into his pocket. 

“Perhaps sometime I could get you alone and show you how well I waste my other talents,” He said, forcing his hand into yours and giving you something. 

Between the strange psychological mind game of his words and the way he quickly retreated, you thought for sure whatever he had given you would be a trick - that it would blow up or poison you or something. Your eyes flickered, panicked, from the back of his head as he resumed his spot beside Fred to what he had placed in your hand, and you were eerily surprised to find a seemingly perfectly normal sweet. 

One of your favourite sweets, actually. 

It was something you would have purchased from Honeydukes for yourself - a kind of hard candy that came in many different flavours, wrapped individually in plastic. They turned your hair and eventually your skin the same colour as the candy the longer that you sucked on them - but for you, that was never the appeal. You simply enjoyed the taste. Your personal favourite was the sour green apple ones, and you almost always left Hogsmeade with a large bag of them in hand and ended up with green streaks in your hair from sucking on them throughout the days. 

It was almost as if George had known that your personal stash had just run out. 

You stashed it in your pocket, still suspicious of it, wondering if he had tampered with it somehow. He was likely waiting to laugh as your skin broke out in boils or you vomited viciously and had to beg him for the cure. And it was only when you were back in the security of your dorm that night when you found it in your pocket once again that you decided it would be safe to open it. If he had tampered with it, he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of watching you suffer from the results of his prank. 

But there wasn’t one. It had simply been a random thoughtful gift. 

When George saw you the next day with a small lingering streak of green in your hair, he smiled to himself. 

… 

The practice that you got from DA was invaluable when you fought during the Battle of Hogwarts - much to your father’s undisguised hatred, on the side of The Order of the Phoenix, as an official member. As much as he absolutely hated your new affiliations, he definitely found a way to get back at you for ‘dessamating years of carefully crafted heritage’ - as he had put it when he confronted you on that day. 

When the battle ended and everyone on the losing side began to flee, you weren’t at all surprised to find out that your father had escaped, rather than being among the dead or the few who the Order managed to capture on site. You couldn’t have been so lucky. 

Perhaps it was the karma of your younger years coming back on you - the fact that you had so harshly, thoughtlessly bullied others, tossed words around so carelessly, at one time truly believing that you were better than others simply because of the family that you came from. Now it was all coming back to you, life turning around to spit in your face, showing you what a truly rotten person you were. 

Your father went to Gringotts and cleaned out your personal vault (as well as his own), taking every single bit of gold that your mother had left you when she had died. And it soon became obvious to you that he used the money to flee the country - not because he needed it. A small sack’s worth of the gold would have supplied him on his fugitive’s journey. But he took all of it simply because he thought that you were no longer worthy of it. 

You were denying your ancestral ways, and now, you were no longer worthy of your ancestral riches. 

It was a cruel slap in the face, and it left you abandoning any plans you had to apprentice as a future Potioneer in Ireland - or even the plans you had to take a break and vacation in the Maldives for a while and recover from The War. 

Instead, fate had you dawning that stupid orange apron in London to earn a living for once in your life - taking up the first paying job that you were offered, especially after you heard what the hourly wage was. Perhaps the Weasleys were a bit stupid with money after not having much of it for most of their lives, but they were paying far above the average rate that most other jobs in the Alley did, so you had to jump at the opportunity. 

All of it was so damn ironic. 

The products that you had degraded and openly hated since the moment you had heard about them were now something that you had to proudly promote to customers. The pranksters you had called annoying with every opportune breath were now your bosses, and dictated your life every single day. Even if it felt backwards, you started to establish a new, quiet life. The twins let you live in the flat above the shop, and while you hated being constantly surrounded by everything Weasley - eventually, you got used to it. 

But even that gentle peace was disrupted. 

Only a few short months after The War, you were blindsided. Members of the newly formed Department For Internal Investigation for The Ministry of Magic, along with pre-existing Aurors, showed up at the shop with a warrant for your arrest. The grounds of said warrant? Your blood relation to a known Death Eater. You were being accused of helping your father and others flee the country, along with conspiracy against The Ministry. You were being accused of feeding them information from the inside to aid in their evasion of current law enforcement. 

It was DA all over again. Only this time, it was on a scale that could end up with you in prison for the rest of your life. 

… 

George found himself thankful for finally having a slow day at the shop. 

Now that school age kids were returning to Hogwarts, the summer rush was finally over and the hectic chaos of those three months was finally behind them. It did only leave a small breath of relaxation before the turbulence of Halloween and then eventually Christmas, very busy gift buying seasons for the Wizarding community, but at least they had the quiet of September to hold onto while they still could. 

George could have never pictured him and his brother being this successful when they were just tossing around ideas, writing things down and drawing crude diagrams on scraps of parchment while huddled together on their bedroom floor back at the Burrow. And he knew that he should never be rueful of having ‘too many customers’ - but it was nice to have a breather every once and a while, especially when the shop got as intensely busy as it did sometimes. 

Perhaps he was just getting too old, but he found himself getting sick of the chaos every now and then. His sixteen year old self likely would have beat him over the head to know that even so much as thought those words, but it was true. 

They were taking this as an opportunity to rearrange the shop, shifting around some product displays to make things look nicer and flow easier, as well as refilling inventory that had gotten wiped out during the height of busy season in Diagon Alley - those last few days that people had been scrambling to get school supplies before September First. Inevitably, hordes of young people had ended up inside the shop, getting things to bring to Hogwarts that definitely were not on their list. 

George actually felt a swell of pride to know that there had been an official amendment to the Hogwarts Code of Conduct, one that specifically banned the possession and use of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes products by any student (or professor, for that matter). It was something that had stuck around a lot longer than the ‘educational decree’ that Umbridge had made back in the day concerning the twins’ earlier products. 

McGonagall had even sent the twins a letter about it personally, kindly asking them not to sell products to any students. They had sent her back a personalized Jack-In-The-Box that featured a tattered Umbridge as the ‘Jack’, jumping out and screaming once it reached the end of its song, running away from a terrible beast that chased her from within the box, along with a note that bluntly said ‘not a chance, Professor’. And though the amendment stayed written in the Code of Conduct, it was silently agreed that they would disagree on the matter. 

It had practically tripled their sales since then, because students followed in their mischievous footsteps and loved to do something simply on the basis of being told not to do it. Banned items are the most sought after, of course. 

(Fred and George had even started putting together something that they called ‘The Hogwarts Special’ - a box full of their most popular items bundled together at a discount price, all in disguised brown paper packaging rather than the bright colorful packages that they had become known for, better to sneak into a school trunk without being caught.) 

As George heaved another large package of Skiving Snack Boxes into the middle of the floor, his eyes landed on you. 

You were working on a display for the center of the store - a combination of new products and their most popular classics, your face knit in concentration as you arranged the products in a way that you thought was most appealing on the display stand. Somehow, even wearing your slightly stained work apron with your hair in a messy but practical style and your makeup mostly smudged off from the hard day’s work, you were a truly gorgeous vision. You would always be gorgeous in his eyes. But there was something truly goddess-like about you as the midday sun poured in through the front window to brush across your skin. 

George’s eyes lingered on you for a few moments longer, trying to work up the nerve to say something. He always struggled with what to say to you. And the longer he stood there behind his large stack of boxes, the more the voice in his head screamed: she hates you. 

Well he knew that hate was a strong word. As much as he knew that’s how you might have described it, he knew that it was likely not the right word for how you truly felt. If you had been crassly annoyed with him when the two of you first met due to his pranks and the stupid house rivalry, those feelings had never developed into hate. Especially not after your time in DA together - not after fighting on the same side of a war. 

Some foolish part of him liked to think that after working side by side for so long, the two of you could actually be considered friends. But he wasn’t sure that’s how you saw it. 

When your fingers fumbled and you dropped a Screaming Yo-Yo, causing it to fall to the floor and roll away (the charmed mechanism inside of it letting out little yelps as it rolled across the floor), George bent forward and caught it as you rushed to chase it before it rolled underneath one of the shelves. His breath caught in his chest when the two of you brushed hands around the small object. 

“Oh, here.” 

“Thanks.” 

Both of your quiet voices merged in the air as he handed you the toy and you rushed back to a standing position, holding the object awkwardly and staring at it as you fiddled with the string, avoiding eye contact with him. 

“Stupid little-” You muttered out angrily, and then sighed. “I would say that it jumped out of my hands, but it’s not nearly as bad as those display fireworks,” 

You said, pointing toward a display model of one of the fireworks tubes, which was designed to constantly burn and sputter on the back end, causing it to flip around and fly on a string without ever burning out. Wrangling it onto that string in order to tie it to the display - that had been a particularly challenging time. 

“Sorry about that,” George said quietly, giving a nervous chuckle. “The magic behind it was actually quite tricky, you see-” 

His train of thought was cut off by the sound of the bell ringing above the door - he was surprised that they had customers at this time when this early in September was usually such a dry time for them. When he looked up to greet whoever it was, a frown cut into his face when he instantly realized that these weren’t clients. 

There were about five people, all dressed in formal black robes, topped off with varying kinds of very businessy headwear and stiff expressions, instantly recognizable as Ministry officials. It was quite clear that they weren’t coming into the shop looking for Puking Pastilles or fireworks - they were here for something else. 

Whatever that something was instantly worried him - George’s stomach jolted with anxiety as he wondered if all their business permits were in order (that was Fred’s job, and ordering stock was his). But surely, if it was a simple matter of paperwork, they wouldn’t send this many officials out to take care of it. 

No - this had to be something much worse. This was something big and terrible and that worried him much more. 

“Good afternoon.” George greeted them with a smile (hopefully not looking too nervous) as he forced his spine tall and proud, feigning confidence in front of people who would judge him for his appearance and his mannerisms. “How can I help you fine people today?” 

Fred craned his head up over the shelves to get a look at who it was, instantly picking up on the nervous tone in his brother’s voice where few others would. He had been deeper inside the store at the counter near the cash register, going over the inventory numbers that the three of you had counted up the night before, looking to confirm them with his superior math skills. (Of course, now he was very much distracted from that task.) 

The one leading the pack of stiff looking officials - a particularly stiff man with many wrinkles, who was wearing a black bowler hat to cover a seemingly bald head, someone that George had never seen before and did not recognize - answered George by reaching into the pocket of his robes and pulling something out, extending a piece of parchment out to show him. 

“I have a warrant here for the arrest of one Ms. Y/N L/N.” He said plainly, his tone entirely dull and official. “I was informed that she is employed here.” 

“Warrant?!” You cried out, having been staring at the parade of strangeness from beside George - in a moment your face and body went from the dull tired that came with a long day to stiff with anxiety, clearly shocked. “That can’t be right, that’s bullshit-!” 

You moved to charge toward the man, and George put a protective arm in front of you. He wasn’t quite sure if his instinct was to protect you from the group with their eyes now locked on you, hands moving to their wands, or if he was intent on protecting them from a wrath that he knew you could easily rain down upon them. (Either way, he was protecting you from your own temper, protecting you from flipping out mindlessly on law enforcement and racking up additional very real charges to add to the ones that they had on your warrant now that were - like you said - bullshit.) 

You did fall silent and hovered behind George, letting out a grunt of frustration - but still, he didn’t move his arm, clinging onto your hip beside your apron and causing you to grip his wrist in return while you scowled at the officials past him. 

“Look, we don’t know anything about this.” Fred told them - by now, he had woven his way through the shelves to stand at George’s shoulder. “She’s worked for us for a while but we don’t know anything about-” 

It appeared that he was about to claim your innocence - or at the very least, claim that he and George never knew of any criminal activities that you had partaken in. 

“What are the charges?” George gaped. “Obviously you’ve gotten this all wrong.” 

“Yes, obviously.” You added on with a hiss, tense behind George, clearly eager to fight them once again. 

“You may take a look.” The man said, prodding the paper toward George once again. “But I can assure you that I am not wrong.” 

George let out a grunt of dissatisfaction and snatched the warrant from the man, and his eyes began flickering over the words at lightning speed. You crouched in closer as you read along with him - he saw something about ‘conspiracy to commit heinous acts’ and ‘conspiracy against the Ministry of Magic’, but none of it was blatantly clear to him - nothing read as a clear, specific crime. And he knew that you hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“This is bullshit!” You cried out again. “Conspiracy? I’ve been here playing with fireworks and stupid puke sweets for the past few months and you think I’ve had time to commit conspiracy?!” 

“Can you please confirm your identity, Miss?” The man asked, his voice still deadpan and lacking any emotion. “Are you in fact Miss Y/N-?” 

“I don’t have to tell you shit.” You said, slowly backing up. 

George’s stomach sank when two of the Ministry lackeys rushed to you, more of them taking different routes to get to you as your hand went to your apron for your wand. He ached to fight them off for you, but he knew it wouldn’t end well. 

“Look, Y/N, just go with them!” Fred shouted, his tone deeply frustrated. 

You refused to listen. 

Instead, you ran toward the door, clearly looking to get to the Apparition point outside before they could catch you. 

But they were well-trained Aurors, and they were faster. One of them struck you down with a wordless curse, making you limply fall into one of the fresh displays, knocking down a spray of colourful boxes along the way. Fred heaved out a groan and smacked a hand across his face, clearly upset about the mess. George instinctively ran to your aid, only to be yanked back by Fred, a harsh grip digging into his arm that barely held him back, every single cell in his body screaming at him to help you. But he was forced to watch on in horror while they put some kind of binding curse on your wrists and took your wand out of your apron pocket, confiscating it. 

“On what grounds?!” George shouted - his body coursing with intense rage, on the verge of tears. 

He finally shook himself out of Fred’s grip, but only because his brother knew him too well, and knew that he was still in shock now and would do nothing more than witness the horrible things unfolding in front of him. He could do nothing more than watch as they lifted your limp, barely conscious body from the floor, holding you up by your shoulders. 

“What grounds do you have for this arrest?!” He screamed, clutching the warrant so hard that he began to tear holes in it with his fingernails. 

The leader nodded toward the two people who were holding you, and George couldn’t race across the shop quickly enough to catch them as they stepped out into the street and then Disapparated with you in a blur. His feet felt numb on the floor as he practically tripped over the mess, and he was left with a shaking hand on the doorknob and tears swelling in his eyes, left staring out the glass panes at the empty spot that you had left. 

Now he had nothing more than a harsh pain in his chest that made him want to scream. 

They were taking you away. They were stealing you from him. After all the work he had done to make sure that you would stay with him, that you would be safe. They were taking you away. 

“Sir, I am sorry that you hired someone of such credence without knowing it. Typically their forms of deception are-” The bowler hat man began to speak again, and George flared with anger. 

“What are the charges?” George asked again, whipping around to face the man.

George eyed Fred, who was strangely quiet, staring him down for once in all their years, with what was an unreadable look. He had to wonder why Fred wasn’t as upset about this demonstration of injustice as he was, even if he didn’t like you that much. 

“I have already given you the warrant, Sir, which is my only necessary duty under Rule 36, Section B-” 

“This is a piece of rubbish!” George yelled, cutting off the man’s rambling. “It’s so unreadable - it - it doesn’t mean anything,” He added harshly, throwing the now crumpled warrant at the man’s feet. 

The man sighed and kicked it aside. 

“I have copies.” He said under his breath, seemingly more so to himself. “The charges are Conspiracy to Commit Fraud, Conspiracy Against the Ministry of Magic, Aiding and-” 

“What does that even mean? What evidence do you have?” George pressed. “I’ve known Y/N for years, she hasn’t done anything wrong. You’ve got this all wrong, you’re mistaken.” 

The man paused, hanging a deadly silence over their heads as George stared him down and Fred stared George down, all very tense. George was seemingly the only person in the room who had absolutely no idea what was going on. He was the only one who thought it was entirely shocking that you had been arrested. 

“Is Miss L/N not related to a known Death Eater? Several, actually, if I’m not mistaken?” The man posed. 

George’s throat tightened harshly. 

They were arresting you because of what your father had done? 

That was so unfair. So grossly unfair. That was plainly unjust. It was horrible and unethical and - just stupid. It was bullshit. 

“Yes, but-” 

“Well I’m terribly sorry to break the news to you, Mr. Weasley, but typically those regrettable values are passed on in families. Nobody has seen or heard from Mr. L/N since The Battle of Hogwarts, and we have a feeling that his daughter will know exactly where to find him.” 

“She won’t.” George spat back. “She hasn’t spoken to her father in years, I know that for a fact.” 

George hated to lie, but he knew that if he did tell the truth, they wouldn’t believe him. They would never believe the fact that the last time you had seen your father, it had almost ended with you dead for your ‘betrayal’ of the Pureblood line. 

“Well Mr. Weasley, I’m afraid that the Ministry can’t simply take your word for it. We must use our own tactics and gather the information for ourselves.” 

His stomach grew sickly at the implication of what ‘tactics’ they would use, thinking that you would come back to him as a hollow shell of your former self after being tortured by Dementors for hours, destined to never give them the answers they wanted to hear. And that was only what he knew about the things they did. Merlin knows what other things he couldn’t even imagine that they might do to you. 

Before George could further argue - before he could defend you and explain that you hadn’t spoken to your father, that you hated him, that you had no idea where he was - the man left the shop and Disapparated himself as well, leaving George hurt and speechless. 

But only for a moment.  

Then, everything within George was telling him to spring into action. You hadn’t done anything wrong, and there was nothing they could truly charge you with. If they were extorting you for information about your father, they weren’t going to get it. So they needed to leave you the hell alone. 

George was going to free you. 

He stormed past Fred to the store room, grabbing his coat off the hook he had hung it on in order to lug around the boxes, and he put it on and started straightening up his appearance a bit. If he was going to the Ministry (or to Hogwarts to seek back-up first, he wasn’t quite sure yet) then he would need to look nice to ensure that he would be taken seriously. 

“What are you doing?” Fred asked, slowly trailing behind him into the storage room, entirely curious about his shift from shock and anger to determined urgency. 

“Going to get help.” George announced, as it was the only thing he was sure about. 

Help from where or who, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps he should go to Hogwarts and find Hermione - he could grab the crumbled warrant off the floor along the way and have her read it. She would know how to decipher the bullshit wording and find some kind of loophole within it. 

“Are you going to close up and come along or are you staying back to watch the shop?” George asked, his mind still busy with planning his next move. 

Fred gaped at George, his expression somewhere between disgust and shock. Again, George felt a strange uneasiness in the fact that he genuinely didn’t know what his brother was thinking. Perhaps he was intimidated by the idea of taking on the Ministry, or perhaps he was just hesitant to leave the shop when they had so much work to do. But George knew what had to be done when such harsh injustice had just been done right in front of his eyes. 

“You can’t be serious.” Fred breathed out quietly, almost timidly, the words leaving him like air seeping out of a balloon. 

“I am.” George easily confirmed, firm and confident now. “Maybe we can go to Dad, or-” 

“Dad’s department would have absolutely nothing to do with this.” Fred fired back, edging on rude. 

“Then I’ll go to Hermione. She’s read books about this sort of stuff - hell, she’s probably read through the laws that they are currently breaking by holding Y/N without cause, and-” 

George moved to walk around Fred, going to get the warrant so that Hermione could look it over. Much to his shock, Fred stopped him by raising a hand to the middle of his chest. 

“Georgie, slow down.” He said, using the nickname in an attempt to ground his brother from what he believed to be a small fit of insanity. “Look, I know you had a very strange, misguided, schoolboy crush on this girl once, but-” 

“That’s not what this is about.” George ground out through his teeth. 

Yes, George had confided in Fred that he fancied you - only to have Fred mock him relentlessly for it. But even if he had absolutely no romantic inclination toward you, seeing someone be arrested without cause would still truly bother him. It just wasn’t right. If it had happened to you or anyone, it wasn’t right. 

“Then what is it?” Fred pressed. George chose not to dignify this with an answer, hoping that his brother was having a momentary brain aneurysm that would soon end and that they would be back on the same page again. “As far as I’m concerned, dear brother, they just took care of our problem for us. We should be thanking them.” 

George clenched his jaw angrily. This was the first time in nearly ten years that he had genuinely wanted to hit his brother. 

“You can’t be serious.” George hurled Fred’s words back at him, harsher than Fred had originally said them, causing him to roll his eyes. 

George stepped around him and walked back out into the shop to find the crumpled up paper that he needed. 

“Come on, what’s so great about Y/N anyway?” Fred whined. “Any sense of good looks she has is easily wiped out by her horrible personality-” 

“She’s not nearly as horrible as she was.” 

George argued gently, reaching down to pluck the paper off the floor. 

“Besides, this isn’t about great or not great - this isn’t about stupid personality conflicts. This is about right and wrong. And you know it.” George told his brother firmly. “She shouldn’t go to Azkaban simply on the basis of being related to a Death Eater when she hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s shown that she’s nothing like her father, so she doesn’t deserve to be arrested for his crimes just because they’re too bloody stupid to find him.” 

George stared Fred down, and Fred looked swollen with thought for a moment, taking a heavy breath and clenching his jaw as he clearly hesitated to speak. Obviously, he wanted to argue - but he knew that George was right. 

“And might I remind you that she saved your life. And you would not even be standing here with breath in your lungs to whine and complain without that ‘horrible’ witch that you claim to hate so much.” George added on smugly, unable to resist. 

Naturally, this caused both of them to think back to The Battle of Hogwarts, when you had indeed saved Fred’s life. A Death Eater had fired off a curse that caused a ceiling to collapse above Fred’s head, and if not for your quick thinking to hurl a non-lethal stunning curse at Fred that threw his body out of the way of the debris, he would have been crushed under hundreds of pounds of falling stone and killed. 

Of course, he whined at you for days after he woke up from the minor head injury that you caused by knocking him into one of the few still-standing walls. And to this day, he had never once thanked you for saving his life. And you never brought it up, because whenever you did, all he did was whine about the scar he now had - one that was well disguised in his hairline and barely noticeable. He always said that you had ‘deliberately maimed’ him to get back at him for the years of name calling. 

The two of you couldn’t get along over anything. 

“You’re gonna keep lording that over my head, aren’t you?” Fred mumbled quietly, rolling his eyes. 

After a few moments of Fred’s mind churning hard, the thoughts clearly simmering behind his eyes, he took his wand out of his pocket and flicked it toward the front of the shop. In a few smooth movements, he closed the blinds, locked the door, and switched the sign from ‘Welcome’ to ‘Closed - Please Come Again Later’. 

“Fine.” He huffed out, clearly defeated. “I guess you’re right. But I don’t have to like it.” 

George beamed a smile at this brother. 

“We’ll go and find Hermione, then?” 

“Strangely, I think we’ll have better luck calling in a favour from our big brother.” Fred noted. “The stick up Percy’s arse might actually be useful for once.” 

George hadn’t even thought of that. But that was why he and Fred made a very great team. 

“And for the record, I still don’t like Y/N.” Fred hastily added on as they walked upstairs to leave via The Floo Network. “But I do hope that this finally gets you laid.” 

George sharply rolled his eyes at this, and chose not to reply - mostly because he knew that coming from Fred, it wasn’t entirely intended as a joke. 

… 

You were surprised by how passionately the twins defended you. They stood up as character witnesses for you in court - and had even called upon others to do the same. 

Perhaps that was why you were still ‘settling into’ a job that you continuously claimed to yourself was only temporary. 

As much as you were annoyed by the constant sounds and bright colours and the steady stream of customers, you found a certain sense of comfort in the shop. You were annoyed by the twins, but when it mattered most, they had backed you up. They had saved you. And you knew that people needed laughter now more than ever, even if you weren’t in on the joke. 

… 

You were pleased that even if your life didn’t necessarily make you happy, you had established a sense of routine that made your life relatively stress-free. 

You would wake up, make yourself a cup of tea, get dressed and put on some make-up (even though the obnoxious orange apron ruined whatever ‘look’ you typically tried to go for, you still did pride yourself in your appearance). And after eating something easy for breakfast, you would make your way downstairs to help George open the shop. 

Sometimes he would bring you a pastry as a thanks for being awake so early, which you found strange because it was quite literally part of your job. But you still found yourself accepting whatever danish or croissant he brought you - and taking his copy of the Prophet to read on your lunch time break when Fred finally stumbled out of bed to come into work. 

George was much more of a morning person, so he and Fred had an agreement that if George opened, Fred would be the one to stay later to close up when needed. 

They balanced each other out in a lot of ways. 

Fred was better with numbers, so he attended to the books. George was better with the artistic aspects, so he designed the packaging for new products. Fred was much more outgoing and easily charmed new people - so he spoke to people about getting WWW products into shops in other places around the world. And he even made business deals to get them rare and new ingredients for products that they wanted to make. And George was a better Potioneer, so he often made test batches of those new products with the new ingredients that Fred acquired. 

During your time at school, you had been one of the people who had made the mistake of believing that the twins were simply two halves of the same person. You had thought that they were truly identical, inside and out. You lumped them together in your mind so often, thinking that there weren’t any differences between them. 

But the more time you spent around them, especially while working at the shop, the more you realized that they were truly, utterly different. They worked together not because they couldn’t be separated or because they naturally came as a pair - but because they had established a friendship and a working relationship that genuinely worked well for them. They balanced each other out with their unique talents, they didn’t just have the same skill set twice over. 

In a lot of ways, you admired it. 

Even if that strong partnership had caused you to be covered in slime or paint or to be tripped and trapped in a broom closet during your days at Hogwarts far too many times. You admired them much more now that you worked with them, and not against them. 

It was seemingly just another random Monday when George took a break from whatever he had been doing and came to find you in the upstairs store room. You were going through a new batch of products and taking inventory of everything before you stocked them out on the floor. 

“How’s it going?” George asked, using his height to his advantage to peek over the pile of boxes at you. You were sitting on the floor with one of them open in front of you, counting and sorting a batch of products for their newly improved Skiving Snack Boxes. 

“Fine, I guess.” You answered dully, using your quill to jot down a number on your parchment before you forgot it. “Wasn’t Fred supposed to do this last night? Where is he, anyway?” 

“Oh, he’s gone on a trip.” George told you, leaning his folded arms on the box in front of him. “He’s visiting Angelina during her week off from Harpies’ training.” 

Angelina Johnson, Fred’s girlfriend of a few months, had been recruited for the professional Quidditch team The Holyhead Harpies. A few weeks prior, she had left to go to Berlin, where the team’s prestigious coach resided and they had a training camp set up for the team. Since then, you had overheard Fred complaining to George near constantly about how she wasn’t allowed to leave training to come and visit him and how he almost never got letters from her because she was too busy and too tired to write to him. 

You hoped that him getting laid for a week straight would mean that he came back in a better mood. Even if it meant a whole week of you having to pick up the slack and do more work while he was gone. 

“And he’s meeting with some potential investors while he’s there.” George added on, casual and conversational. “Apparently he was in communication with someone who has a line of Prank Quills that we might want to buy off them for the shop,” 

“I thought you two always made your own products?” You questioned, raising a brow at him. 

“So far that has been the case, yes.” George confirmed, obviously proud. “But it never hurts to expand our horizons and see what other mischievous minds have come up with,” 

You shrugged. It wasn’t your business to worry about. 

“I just wish that I would have been warned that I would be stuck in this dusty, spider-invested hole doing inventory.” You lamented, staring down at yourself in disgust. 

You had worn a dress that day, and a pair of rather nice black lace tights along with your usual heels. And now you were sitting on the dusty floor, with your shoes and tights getting disgustingly filthy. 

“I would have worn crappier clothes…” You mumbled the last part to yourself, heaving a small sigh as you lightly kicked one of the boxes, needing to get out some of the frustration. 

“I thought Fred mentioned this to you?” George posed, confused. “He should have warned you that you might have to pick up a few extra shifts-” 

You let out a harsh scoff, cutting off George’s words. 

“This might have escaped your attention, George, but Fred doesn’t talk to me unless it’s absolutely necessary.” You pointed out. “Beyond talking about the products, he doesn’t even say ‘hello’ to me when he comes in. I think if the building was on fire, he would ask you to tell me to evacuate.” 

George sighed, mentally conceding to your point. 

“Yeah, I think Mum got on him about that whole… ‘if you don’t have anything nice to say’, bit.” 

You rolled your eyes at this. 

You thought back to a time when Mrs. Weasley had come into the shop to bring the twins some food she had made for them, complaining about how they likely weren’t eating properly. 

But she had accidentally stumbled upon Fred calling you stupid and useless, accusing you of losing some of his inventory sheets, though the conflict was far from one-sided. You had called him blind and dumb and said that he would never be able to find a hole in his own arse even with a mirror, arguing that he had obviously lost them himself. 

But naturally, Molly had only heard the incriminating words coming from him, which quickly put a fury in her. She had put her casserole dishes on the front counter, marched around it, grabbed him by the ear, yanking him harshly toward her - she berated him for calling you such names without shame and threatened to yank his ear right off so that he and George would match. 

(She had put on a sweet voice and apologized profusely to you on his behalf before making him grunt apologies through the pain, and then she had invited you to a nice helping of cottage pie - so the day turned out wonderful for you.) 

Obviously, since then, he had been terrified to say a cross word to you, lest it somehow get back to his mother. 

“Well I understand.” You replied. “He’s never had anything nice to say to me, so he’s just stopped talking to me completely. It makes sense now.” 

“Yeah, Fred is…” George trailed off, trying to find words for it. 

To this day, George didn’t entirely understand why Fred was so petty and aggravated with you. Sure, the two of you had exchanged plenty of mean words to each other during your days at Hogwarts, but you weren’t even as quick to anger these days as he was. He was usually the one to start it. 

“I’m sorry about him.” George landed on those words, deciding that even if he didn’t understand the cause behind Fred’s petty anger toward you, he could apologize for it. “He can be a bit of a stupid git sometimes.” 

“‘Can be’ - that’s a funny way to put it.” You replied, nodding, your face breaking into a slight smile. 

George smiled. Again, he was pleased to have a conversation with you where you didn’t seem so deeply annoyed with him and didn’t try to insult him. Thus far, you didn’t even seem so eager to get away and end the conversation. 

He would even dare to say that you seemed content. That you were enjoying his presence. 

Typically, this would be the part of the conversation where he would say something like ‘I should let you get back to work now’, and then he would leave the room and leave you alone, knowing that your patience with him was thin and he shouldn’t wear it out. But this time, he decided to push things just a bit farther. He was trying to make progress with you, after all. (He knew that Fred had been joking, but he wanted to go on a real date with you before the end of the decade.) 

“Well, at least we can enjoy this week without him.” 

You were intensely curious about his use of the word ‘we’ in that sentence, but another word tripped you up far more. 

“Enjoy?” You questioned. 

You knew that sometimes Fred and George bickered with each other - running a business together could be stressful, and they didn’t constantly agree about everything. But as far as you knew, they enjoyed spending time together and they were practically inseparable. You didn’t think that George would be relieved to have time without Fred. 

You wondered why he seemed so happy not to have Fred around. 

“Yeah,” He nodded. 

George grinned at you, and you found a pang shooting through your gut. It was an odd kind of delight that you could barely acknowledge igniting inside of you as you realized that he was smiling at you, genuinely smiling at you. There was no indoor swamp or parade of water balloons to be found. You weren’t the butt of a joke in order for that smile to happen. It ignited an instinctive panic within you, but you found yourself really liking his smile. 

“We should have dinner together or something.” He chuckled brightly. “We could finally spend some time together outside of work. Have a discussion that doesn’t involve sales numbers or product displays.”

That small spark of panic flamed into a full-blown raging fire when you realized what he had meant. That the ‘we’ had been the truly important part of the sentence - ‘we can enjoy this week’ - he had meant that he wanted to spend time with you. He wanted to enjoy some time with you. 

He wanted to spend time with you outside of work? 

He wanted to be alone with you? 

He was asking you out on a date. 

No, he wasn’t - a voice inside of your brain instantly demanded. There was no way he was asking you out on a date. He didn’t like you, he never thought of you that way. There was no way he thought of you romantically. 

He was only trying to be nice because he was a decent human being. He had been raised much differently than you had. This was just his instinct toward common courtesy acting up again - the same one that had caused him to extend the job offer toward you in the first place. He thought you were pathetic and lonely and he likely knew that you spent all of your time outside of work by yourself. He was extending this offer to you due to pity. 

Absolutely alarmed with that internal panic, you forced yourself to break the horrible moment of ongoing silence by asking: 

“Is that… necessary?” You choked out, knowing that you sounded like an animal caught in a trap, hating how intimidated and unsure your voice was. 

“What?” George gaped in return, his face pressing tight with confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“Are you ordering me to have dinner with you?” You asked, doing the cowardly thing and doubling down instead of clarifying what you truly meant - asking him if he had intended it romantically, as a date. “Are you asking me as my boss or can I do what I please in my own free time?” 

George’s face shifted from bright and hopeful to downtrodden, and seeing this instantly caused something inside of you to ache. It was the first time since unnerving grief of The Battle of Hogwarts that you had felt anything other than stress and tired boredom toward life. 

“I’m asking you as a friend.” He quickly clarified, a sharp sourness popping up in his voice, barely covering up the lulling sadness that tightened his throat. “And I thought that you would be pleased to spend your free time with me, but I guess I thought wrong.” 

Friend. 

For some reason that hurt you more than any insult could have. The strange reality of a date you could have dealt with. Even if he had come in and demanded that he was taking you out on a date - your mind would have eventually adjusted to the pure bizarreness of it. 

But him calling you a friend? It hurt and it was too strange, all at once. 

You weren’t friendly. You weren’t anybody’s friend.

Perhaps it was because something inside of you screamed that you didn’t deserve the title, but you hated it. Instantly, it caused you to seethe with anger. So as he finally turned and walked away in defeat, you had to open your mouth and deliver the final blow. You pushed yourself up off the floor, barely able to see over the stack of boxes to shout your next words at him. 

“We aren’t friends!” You spat out bitterly. “I’m not your friend.” 

When he turned back to you, he had the most utterly hurt expression that you had ever seen - his gentle eyes swimming with pain and his mouth drooping into a pathetic frown, his cheeks that were usually full with laughter sagging in a horrible way that didn’t suit him at all. 

Though it made you feel sickly to see him like this - in the typical fashion that you were taught, you killed any kindness that had been shown to you. You stepped out from behind the boxes, and continued firing blows as he tried to speak. You had to make sure that this notion of ‘friends’ was truly dead.  

“Y/N-” 

“No.” You rasped, your throat slightly tight with tears that you were holding back, hating yourself for being like this. “Just because we ended up on the same side, doesn’t mean we have to like each other. Fred doesn’t like me, so why should you?” 

George’s expression grew even more painful at this, but he didn’t have anything left to say. 

“I’m your employee, that’s it.” You said, firm and finite. “We can be courteous to each other, but we don’t need to have fucking tea parties and hold hands and-” 

“I get the point.” George sighed, cutting you off. “I get it. I won’t try to be nice to you anymore.” 

With that, he stormed out, not sticking around long enough to see the bitter, angry tears that you released as you moved to get back to your work. 

After he rang up a few off-season customers in the shop and then saw them off, his mind began churning and he formed a terrible, brilliant plan. Even without Fred around, he could still make plenty of trouble on his own. 

And as George plotted his clever, mischievous little plans to get back at you, he also thought about how you came to be employed at the shop in the first place. He thought back to the whole reason that he believed the two of you were friends at all. A night that he considered two parts luck and one part clever scamming on his part - as most of his life beforehand had been. 

… 

Three days. 

It had been just three days since The Great Harry Potter, The Chosen One had defeated Lord Voldemort once and for all, truly killing the darkest wizard of all time, even leaving behind a corpse to prove it. A corpse that had been burned in the courtyard of Hogwarts to many rousing cheers from the tired crowd of onlookers. It had been three tender days since the battle had ended, leaving everyone tired, battered, bruised, and cautiously optimistic for the future. 

It had been three days filled with roaring celebrations for the Dark Lord’s defeat, and those rousing parties were finally starting to die down, leaving a breath of space in the wake of the disaster, time for funerals to bury the dead and mourn the people everyone had loved. And finally leaving mindfulness for the discovery of gruesome things that Voldemort’s followers and people within the Ministry were trying their best to cover up. Many people who had ended up on the wrong side were fleeing the country, trying not to be apprehended for their crimes. 

George had been awake for days straight, setting up some extra spells to protect the shop from looting as Diagon Alley descended into chaos with so many celebratory parties having broken out. With Fred still in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing due to the injury he had sustained during the Battle, taking the time he needed to recover, George was on his own to make sure that Fred still had a shop to come home to. He had to make sure that everything they had worked so hard for wasn’t ruined in just a few short days. As happy as he was that Voldemort had been defeated, he was glad that all the revelry seemed to be dying down now. 

Though he was bone-tired and exhausted, as he locked up the shop, he chose not to go back to the apartment - vacant of Fred and far too lonely. And he couldn’t see himself going to the Burrow either, where Mum was likely cooking a feast to over-feed everyone and fussing over injuries. (He didn’t need his head wound cleaned until it was sore and he was feeling a bit too sickly to eat.) 

He couldn’t lay down and go to sleep, because every time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was the image of Fred, his head bloody with a large cut across his forehead from where you had flung him into a wall, to save his life from tons of falling debris. But still, the sight of his limp, unconscious body on the floor as he grew more pale, unable to woken up no matter how much George shook him and called his name - it was a frightening one that shook his soul at the time. 

George had only been able to breathe again once he received the news from Madame Pomfrey that Fred was going to be okay. He would just be unconscious for a few days while the wound healed and the swelling in his head went down. 

So, like many other people on this day, whether it was for celebration or mourning or just to dull the pain, George wanted to get drunk. He was not surprised when he found The Leaky Cauldron packed, and he had to force his way in, using his height to his advantage to elbow his way up to the bar in an attempt to place his order. But before he could actually get the barmaid’s attention, any thought about drinking flew from his mind when he spotted you. 

You were leaning against the end of the bar, propped up with your face in the palm of your hand, your elbow pressed against the bartop - you looked as though the filthy, unpolished wood of the bar was the only thing supporting your entire system at the moment. 

Your dark eye make-up was smeared, and you were sitting on a long dark trench coat that you had draped over the barstool, your blouse was partially unbuttoned, revealing the dark, lacy bra that you had on underneath. Your dark stockings were torn in some places, beginning to turn into runs up your whole leg, your skirt riding up to a short length that he knew you would have deemed far too inappropriate and yanked down if you had been paying attention at all, one of your heels having fallen off to the floor. 

You were a drunken mess, that much was immediately obvious. As he shoved past more people and got closer to you, he could smell the scotch practically seeping out of your pores. 

George had to wonder how long you had been camping on that barstool, drinking away your sorrows. He wondered which loved one you were mourning - who had died that was close to you in order for you to need so much booze to drown the feelings out. He immediately felt an instinct flare up to care for you, and he knew that he wouldn’t be having his drink, and he wouldn’t be leaving the bar without you. Especially not when you were in this state. 

“Y/N.” George gently called your name as he came to stand at your side, still towering over you as you sat on the tall barstool. 

Instinctively, he put a hand on your back, feeling the need to protect you from the bustling crowd, suddenly conscious of how many men were in the bar and how vulnerable you were. He felt intensely lucky that he was the one to find you, and not some other foul git with worse things on his mind. 

Finally, after a long, delayed moment, you turned your head in response to him calling your name. Your eyes were terribly slowed by how much alcohol was in your system, and you moved in slow motion as your gaze wandered from the wall in front of you over toward him, seeming entirely surprised to find that the warm hand on your back was attached to him. 

“Weasley.” You said quietly, and then let out a small hiccup. “George. George Weasley. You’re the tall one.” 

“Yes.” George responded. 

He knew that with the bandage wrapped around his head, still supporting his very visible ear injury, (or rather, the random hole in the side of his head where his ear used to be) he was much more easily discernible from Fred. But he was still glad that you knew who he was. 

“How much have you had to drink?” He knew that it was likely a stupid question, but still, he felt the need to ask it. 

“How much have you had t-to drink?” You countered, slurring, scowling harshly at him. 

As much as he would like to pull up a stool beside yours and follow you into stupid levels of drunkenness, he knew that he had to be the responsible one. Stupid Gryffindor nobility. And he owed you, because you had saved Fred’s life just a few days ago. He would owe you for that for a long time. So it was time to start paying you back - even if getting you into a warm bed and making sure that you didn’t drown in your own vomit was small compared to saving someone’s life, it would still be a start. 

“Come on,” George insisted, wrestling your coat out from underneath you and trying to get you into it. 

Of course, you immediately started fighting him like a cranky drunk toddler as he moved to put your arm into the sleeve. 

“No!” You shouted at him, beginning to push him away, causing a few pairs of eyes in the pub to look over. “I am gonna keep drinking! B-because getting drunk is the thing to do. Drinking is the thing. It’s all that there is.” 

“Why?” George countered, pausing with your arm awkwardly halfway into your sleeve. 

You gave a long, lazy blink up at him. He thought that perhaps if you could vent your sadness to him, then you would be less inclined to drink, and you wouldn’t fight him off so that he could take you home to rest. 

Your face broke into a smile - not one of actual happiness, but a twisted one that said your mind was truly breaking under the weight of what had upset you. And then, you began laughing. A broken, harsh laugh that pierced right through George as your scotch-soaked breath puffed across his face. 

“I - I have nothing!” You cried out, sounding utterly mad. “I have no prospects, no family, no job! No future! Nothing!” 

So that’s what was upsetting you so much. The end of the war had reminded you that you and your ‘family’ had ended up on two very different sides. And the entire battle against Voldemort had disrupted your education and the Potioneer training that you had wanted to do after Hogwarts, so you weren’t sure what you wanted to do with your life now. 

It was all a very crappy situation to end up in. While George had the shop to go back to, and a very loving family to fall back on for support (his mother’s love so smothering that sometimes he dared to complain about it) - you didn’t have anything. A pang of guilt throbbed inside of him as he watched your face become distant and haunted, and even more terrible words came drifting from your drunken lips. 

“He even took Pixie.” You sniffled quietly, picking up the cup in front of you and finishing the last of your drink. “The bastard took everything… and he just had to - fuck. I can’t believe he killed Pixie.” 

“Who’s Pixie?” George wondered quietly, hating the depth of the mourning in your voice. 

He had to guess that the ‘he’ you were referring to was your father. It didn’t surprise him that he had killed someone dear to you, and that was one of the reasons you were in the bar, trying to drink yourself into unconsciousness. George wondered if Pixie was a pet of yours or something along those lines - it would be a bit of a strange name for a person. But if it was a person, he would report the murder so that your father would pay for the crime when they caught him. 

“She - she was my House Elf.” You told him with another drunken stutter. 

Oh. 

George had never been around House Elves much in his life. He knew that it was something often linked to Pureblood culture, and his parents had never liked the idea of having one around. They were much more into ‘the value of hard work’ and ‘getting stuck in’, and they had always taught the Weasley children from a young age that if you want something, you need to do it for yourself. It was likely why Fred and George had worked so hard to get the shop - making the products from scratch, getting their seed money by taking bets, filling out all the paperwork to get the lease in Diagon Alley. Even if it wasn’t exactly what their parents had envisioned for them, they had worked hard for it. 

George’s experience with House Elves was very minimal. Other than the few times he and Fred had ducked into the Hogwarts’ kitchens to hide out from a professor after a particularly epic prank, only to have dozens of beady eyes staring at them; or hearing Harry speak of Dobby as a good friend; or the few months the Weasleys had stayed at Grimmauld Place and he had tried his best to avoid Kreacher and his ramblings about ‘Blood Traitors’ - he wasn’t really sure what having a House Elf was even like. 

So he simply sat there and listened as you spoke about Pixie, your heart clearly aching for your lost beloved Elf. 

“She was m-more of a mother to me than… well my mother was dead. She took care of me more than my father did, honestly. She did everything for me. It was her job, but - it felt like family.” You choked on these words, clearly most mournful when thinking of this. “She used to wake me up, and cook for me, and do the little buttons on my jumpers. And she used to tell me ‘don’t frown, girlie, because you never know who could be falling in love with your smile’. And I know it’s stupid, but I loved her. And I was - I was gonna take her with me. I - I had no clue where I was gonna go, but I was gonna take her with me.” 

George’s insides ached as the undistilled sadness came through your voice, and he could do little more than to listen as you continued on. He knew that it was important for you to feel heard when you were at your weakest. 

“I went home. I wasn’t planning on staying, I just… he ruined everything.” You huffed, your words touched with anger even though grief was the prominent emotion. “He had burned all the pictures of my mother… and there was this jewelry box that she had given me that belonged to her grandmother. And he had smashed it. He just wants me to suffer. He’s such a bastard.” 

You looked up at George then, your eyes shining with tears, and his throat was throttled by his own unshed tears. 

“He is.” George easily confirmed. Unsure what else to do, he tried once again to get you out of the bar. “Come on, love. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, and we can get you some water-” 

He moved onto trying to care for you, knowing that he couldn’t take away your pain. He could only try to ease it - he could only be there for you now to make sure that you didn’t make a terrible mess of yourself. He was trying to make sure that you had a safe place to land. 

“I don’t even have a reputation.” You whispered this quieter, pulling George closer by the front of his shirt to say it, as though it were a fantastic secret. “That used to be all I could think about - my reputation. I used to spend every day thinking of what other people thought of me… I mean now I know what everyone thinks of me!” 

Much to George’s alarm, you back shouting, turning to stare at everyone else in the pub as you intentionally attracted their attention. 

“They all think I was part of it! They all think I’m one of them!” You hissed out, your voice struggling to slither out of your heavy, drunken lips, not sounding nearly as intimidating as you likely wanted it to while you glared at the crowd of on-lookers. “But look! Look, everyone!” 

George had no idea why, and then suddenly, you ripped your arm out of your jacket once again, and you began waving both your arms frantically, showing off your bare arms to everyone who continued to stare. 

“Look, everyone! No Marks! I am not the person you think I am!” 

Oh. 

You were desperate to prove that you hadn’t been fighting on the wrong side. 

“Just because my father is a self-righteous arseh-” 

“Love, calm down.” George told you, gently bringing your arms back down, knowing that you would regret making a fool of yourself later. 

You let out a sputtering laugh in his direction. 

“Good idea!” You gasped, and then waved toward the barmaid. “I’ll have another-” 

“No, she’s cut off.” George said sharply, looking at the barmaid rather than trying to tell you. 

George then went back to trying to dress you, squatting down and forcing your shoe on, which wasn’t too difficult. When he came back up and kept trying to wrestle you into your coat, he found the barmaid waving a piece of parchment in his face. 

“She hasn’t paid her tab.” She said gruffly. 

By the look of the amount, you had been there all night. 

“Send it up to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.” George said, shoving the paper back across the bar. 

“Fine.” The woman huffed. “But I didn’t know that a couple of good boys like you associated with Death Eaters-” 

“She’s not a Death Eater.” George spat back. “She saved my brother’s life a few days ago. So you should check your facts before someone in a worse mood hears you spouting that shit,” He added on, giving a thinly veiled warning. 

George finally got you into the coat, and he kept an arm tight around your shoulders as he steered you through the crowd and out of the bar. Walking you down the cobblestone street, keeping you from tripping over yourself while you were wearing those bloody heels was certainly interesting. After a journey that felt too long, he finally got you through the shop and upstairs to the apartment above it. 

He and Fred still had a few boxes left there (more for storage purposes than anything else), and he would have to find something to make up the bed with, but it was better than nothing. Definitely better than trying to Apparate with you in this condition. 

He sat you down on the couch that they had left behind, and you sank into the soft furniture, quickly kicking off your irritating shoes as you relaxed back and closed your eyes. George went to the kitchen and got you a glass and filled it with water, bringing it over to you, knowing that something other than liquor would do you some good. 

You took it from him without a fight, and began gulping it down, finishing almost the entire thing as he smiled at you. He was glad to be taking care of you right now. Not only did it occupy his mind, but he was thankful for the company. Unlike what most people thought, you were easy to get along with. 

As you took a breath from the water, he moved toward the boxes, looking for something to make up the bed with. You gave him a curious look. 

“Is someone moving?” You slurred out, your words still weighed down by drunkenness. 

You would definitely need to sleep it off. 

“Yeah.” He answered. “Fred and I have already moved. We used to live here. But we got a better place outside of London.” 

“Oh.” You replied, giving another hiccup. “T-too bad. This place is kind of cozy.” 

He was surprised that someone like you - someone who came from riches and grew up with the ‘finer things in life’ didn’t make a comment about the apartment being small and cramped. But he supposed that you weren’t a snob like Malfoy, after all. 

“It’s nice that it’s empty. It means that nobody will care that I’m putting you up here for the night.” He told you. 

“What?” You gaped in return, seeming confused by his words. 

“You’re not Apparating while drunk.” He told you. “So you’re staying here.” 

There was a moment of comfortable silence, and then you surprised George when you spoke up again. 

“George?” 

When he turned around to face you, you were looking at him with that intense sadness in your eyes again, and it truly struck through his gut. He hated that he felt so utterly helpless. He hated that he couldn’t take your pain away. 

“What is it, love?” He asked, wondering what was on your mind now. 

“Do - do you think I’m a bad person?” You asked, your voice terribly pitiful and small. 

Just like the image of Fred bloody and unconscious, this punched a hole right through George’s chest. 

“What? No. Of course not.” George itched with the urge to reach out and sweep you into a hug, but he feared that this would make you uncomfortable. So he squeezed his hands at his sides and eventually crossed his arms over his chest as he spoke again. “You’re so far from being a bad person. You fought alongside us. You saved Fred. You’ve always been good.” 

“Not always.” You huffed quietly. 

“Well you’re certainly no Death Eater.” 

George declared, turning back and grabbing a quilt that his mother had made from one of the boxes and bringing it into the naked mattress that was still stacked on the twin frame in the bedroom. (When the shop first started, the twins had been so busy that they used to take shifts sleeping, and only needed one single bed between the two of them, so it was all the apartment had.) 

By the time he had made up the bed to be somewhat comfortable, he came back out to discover that you had fallen asleep on the couch. So he decided not to risk waking you up by levitating you, and instead he very gently lifted your feet up to join the rest of your body, tucked a small throw pillow under your head, and covered you up with the quilt. 

While he stood there, admiring how peaceful you looked in your sleep, he did have to use the deepest form of self restraint to keep himself from laying a small kiss on your forehead. He couldn’t let himself give in to that urge because that wasn’t the nature of your relationship. No - he just left you a note telling you to meet him downstairs in his office when you woke up. 

… 

When you found George in his office the next day, if you had any signs of a hangover, you certainly didn’t show them. You were carrying yourself very well - you had rubbed off your smudged make-up, tidied up your hair, straightened out your clothes, and even taken off (and presumably thrown away) your ruined stockings, giving him a rare glimpse of your bare legs. 

However, as you stared him down after knocking on the open door, he was surprised to see such a deep scowl on your face. He thought that the two of you had made progress the night before and that you would be… softer toward him. Especially after opening up to him so much. 

“Y/N-” He greeted you warmly. 

“Look, Weasley, I’m really sorry about last night. Whatever happened-” You began speaking vaguely, and he cut you off, immediately curious of something. 

“How much of it do you remember?” He asked. 

He would be mildly devastated if you didn’t remember the night before - the tender emotions of it, the way you had opened up to him. But he knew that you had certainly been drunk enough to cause memory problems, and that was likely the only reason you had opened up to him so much. He definitely wouldn’t hold it against you in the long run. 

“Excuse me?” You gaped, seeming almost insulted by the question. 

“How much of last night do you even remember?” He prodded, repeating the question. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” 

You let out a huff, your whole body tense. And then, deflating like a balloon, your posture slumped for the first time in all the years he had known you, and you finally let your guard down in front of him for the first time while sober. 

“No.” You admitted hesitantly. “Go ahead, start laughing.” 

You were on the verge of tears, and George hated that you thought he might make fun of some of your most vulnerable moments. 

“I don’t think people being upset is very funny.” He told you honestly. “People freaking out because they’re covered in muck or because something jumped out at them? Yes, that’s funny. Genuine upset - that’s not funny.” 

“Thank you for the clarification.” You said, deadpan coming into your voice as you were unsure how to proceed. 

You moved to leave, and George’s next words stopped you. 

“Last night, you were complaining because you said that you have no prospects.” He told you. “Nothing planned for your future.” 

You froze up, not yet turning around - absolutely hating the vulnerability you had disclosed to him. 

“Fred is gonna be in the hospital for a while, as you know. And I’m gonna need some help around the shop while he’s gone. We’re probably gonna help around here after that anyway. We’ve been getting busier and busier.” George continued on. 

You slowly swung around, heart pounding in your chest as you processed his words. 

“I know it’s probably not glamorous - it’s gonna be a lot of hard work and some of the products can be tricky-” 

“Are you offering me a job?” You asked, trying to get clarity on the situation. 

“Yes.” George nodded. “It’s fifty Galleons a day, flat rate, no commissions. Plus, if you want, the flat above the shop is vacant. And it’s furnished.” 

“What would the rent be?” You asked, thinking that there was a catch. 

George shrugged. “It comes with the position. But you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.” 

He remembered what you had said about going ‘home’ but not planning to stay there - you said that you had no clue where you planned to go, and he wanted to help you out with that. He truly wanted to be your soft spot to land. 

He knew that you were likely used to living in some fancy mansion, and the flat above the shop was small and shabby in comparison - but you had called it cozy. You liked it. Hopefully you would consider it a nice place to live, especially in the wake of the war that had just taken place. 

“And you want me to take the job? You want me around here? In your shop? Every day?” You questioned, motioning toward yourself. 

“I can think of nobody better qualified for the job.” George grinned at you. 

You let out a sigh. “Okay. I - I guess you have yourself a new employee, then.” 

George extended out a hand to signify that it was a done deal, and out of ingrained social queues, you took it and sealed the verbal agreement with a handshake. 

That was how you came to be employed at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. 

… 

That had been over three years ago. 

You had truly believed that the whole thing would be temporary. And you found more and more that as the days went on, you didn’t mind working at the shop or living in the small apartment above it. 

You found that more and more - you were getting used to it. And you were even enjoying this quiet life. 

… 

You were dreading coming in after having that harsh conversation with George. Immediately after it happened, you regretted so boldly telling him that you weren’t his friend instead of simply taking him up on his offer. But it had been done, and you couldn’t simply go back and change your actions now. 

When you came into the shop that morning, you didn’t find any trace of George. Luckily, there was a set of internal stairs that led from your apartment directly into the shop, so you didn’t have to worry about needing a key for the front door in order to be let in. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if George was making you open by yourself due to his new policy about no longer being ‘nice’ to you, so you set about performing the opening duties all on your own. You swept the floor, faced the shelves, opened the curtains and made sure all the products in the display windows were working how they should be. It was lonely. You found yourself missing his usual quips about ‘barely having his eyes open’ and how he was surprised that you managed to look so awake and put together so early. 

But you had done this to yourself. So you had to accept it. When you were about to open the cash register and make sure that you had the correct amount of change to start the day, you noticed a small box sitting on the counter. A box with a label on it that signified it was from one of the nearby pastry shops in the Muggle part of London. 

It was a place that George ventured often to get baked goods, and he had brought you back pastries from there before. You eyed the box suspiciously. It was large enough to fit quite a few items, and with Fred not around, you had to assume that George had left the box on the counter, intending to share whatever he had brought back with you. He was revoking his promise awfully quickly, but you didn’t entirely mind. 

You were glad to forget about the previous day’s conversation and simply go back to the quiet, pleasant dynamic that the two of you had established. He harassed you with his niceties and you grew increasingly annoyed by it until he got the hint and left. It was simple, but it worked. 

You moved toward the box and lifted the lid, interested to see if he had picked up any of the chocolate croissants this time - 

“Fucking hell!” 

You let out a harsh scream when something jumped out of the box at you as soon as you opened the lid - a blur of green, a pair of glowing eyes and a forked tongue that leapt toward you. Instinctively, you jumped back and ended up with one of your high heels wedged between the floorboards (in a strangely large gap that you constantly whined at the twins to get fixed). This caused your entire foot to get stuck, which made you trip over yourself and fall into the display of Extendable Ear boxes that was set up behind the counter. 

You let out another undignified scream as you felt yourself falling, and you frantically looked around for whatever it was that had come out of the box, soon spotting the long, lanky body of the snake on the floor at your feet. You squirmed and screamed again, literally wiggling out of your own still-stuck shoe in order to escape it, frantically tripping over the downed boxes trying to get farther away.  

Your fright quickly turned to fury when you heard laughter. 

Laughter that was all too familiar to you. Except, it wasn’t echoed by a secondary voice that sounded like a pair to the first. It was entirely solo this time. 

You looked for the source of the laughter, craning your neck upward toward the voice. Soon you saw George descending from the second floor balcony that overlooked the main floor of the store, his face split with a wide grin as the sounds died off into a dull chuckle. You glared at him the entire time. You began to grind your teeth out of pure fury while he raised his hands and slowly began to clap. 

“My, my, that was magnificent.” He announced loudly, congratulating himself. “You dream, and you hope, but you never think it’s gonna be so satisfying.” 

“Satisfying?” You parroted back, the word coming out as an infuriated hiss. “You put a live snake in a pastry box to scare me and you-” 

“Live snake?” George quickly cut you off. “Seriously, do you think I’m that reckless?” 

He walked over to the area behind the counter, and you felt truly stupid when he picked up a very obviously rubber toy snake from beside your now empty shoe. He turned around and presented it to you with a wide, satisfied smirk - one that would have looked far more fitting on Fred. 

“It’s charmed.” He announced proudly. “Though I am flattered that you consider my work so realistic. But I suppose I had to step up my game after you critiqued my Serpent Morph-O-Mask to hell and back.” 

“Shut up.” You huffed at him, limping over with your uneven, one-heeled walk, going to retrieve your shoe. You hoped to put it back on and make up some excuse about something else that you had to do, and hopefully you would be able to avoid him for the rest of the day. 

“And you know, this wouldn’t have happened if you simply wouldn’t have assumed that anything in this box was for you.” George pointed out, motioning to the still open box of pastries on the counter, which you now noticed had a few very delicious looking croissants in it. The chocolate ones that he knew you liked. “You could have just asked me-” 

“So then I would have gotten scared by a fake snake after I asked you nicely for a pastry?” You fired back sarcastically, leaning down grabbing a hold of your shoe. 

You were soon disappointed to find that the heel was firmly wedged into the gap, and you yanking on it once, twice, did nothing to free it. You stood up and moved to grab your wand from your apron, but by then, George had knelt down and had a hand on it. He used a burly arm to pull it free with a grunt in one single motion - a show of strength that you would never admit had impressed you. 

“I don’t think you’ll ever find out what happens when you ask for things nicely, because you never do.” George told you, holding out your shoe for you as he continued to kneel, implying that he would slide it onto your foot for you. “Now, come on Cinderella.” 

His words confused you, but you stepped forward anyway, feeling exceedingly awkward about it. Especially with how unexpectedly intimate it felt to have him put a warm hand on your calf and guide you into the shoe, shoving it snugly onto your foot with his other hand. 

“What the hell is Cinderella?” You asked him quietly as you pulled your foot back, now with your shoe securely on it. 

“Oh, it’s some Muggle story that Hermione made Ron read. He was telling us about it-” He explained as he stood to his full height. “Some woman loses her shoe, and this prince-” He cut himself off abruptly. “Some ladies cut their toes off, and there’s mice. It sounds interesting, I guess.” 

You almost wanted to ask him to further explain it, mostly out of bored curiosity. But before you could, he changed the subject entirely. 

“Clean this up,” He told you, gesturing to the many boxes you had knocked over in your haste to escape the joke snake. “And then go sweep upstairs. Last night I had a mishap with some of the Instant Peruvian Darkness Powder on my way out.” He added on, speaking to you curtly like a boss typically would. 

He then took one of the croissants and closed the box before he promptly left to go open the shop’s front door for the day. 

You looked at the pile of boxes now scattered across the floor and heaved out a sigh. 

This was a horrible change of pace. Any time that the twins had pranked you in the past, they had always been the ones who had been forced to clean up afterwards. But you definitely weren’t at school anymore. They weren’t going to be forced to scrub cauldrons for detention if they did something to you. 

It was going to be a very long day. 

… 

With Fred gone, it turned out to be a grossly long week. 

Without his brother there, George was bored or something, and he turned to bothering you for entertainment. Which meant that his childish pranks only continued and grew worse as the week went on. 

The next day he brought you a cup of tea, seemingly as a peace offering to apologize because you had been so upset about the (fake) snake. You accepted it without thinking anything of it, taking a small break in between stocking shelves and sweeping the floor to drink it. 

Unknowingly, for the rest of the day, you walked around with large, bright blue feathers growing out of your head where your eyebrows were supposed to be. 

Customers gawked at you and children pointed and laughed, which you thought was run of the mill for a joke shop. You forced yourself to assume that they were enthusiastic about the products around you - not that they were laughing at you. You only thought to duck into a bathroom and check to see what was wrong after you spoke to George about a new product line and it was clear that he could barely contain his laughter through the whole conversation. That was around late afternoon. And when you finally saw what he had done to you, then you stormed upstairs, boiling angry, absolutely fuming at George for embarrassing you like that. 

Not wanting to start firing off spells so close to your face, you did the only thing that you could think to do - you trimmed the feathers down with a pair of scissors and ended up shaving your eyebrows cleanly, completely off, when you saw that there was still traces of the bright blue growing out of your roots. You ended up having to draw them back on with an eyeliner pencil, and by the time you returned, George scolded you for taking ‘such a long break’ and made you sweep cobwebs out of one of the store rooms as a punishment. 

Later that night, after consulting an article in Wonder Witch Magazine about overplucking one’s brows, you mixed up and applied the slightest dab of hair tonic to the area and managed to grow them back to the way they were, but you were still fuming angry with George. 

The rest of the week went like that. He disrupted your usual routine with childish pranks, making you angrier and angrier. Glitter bombs disguised in a package of Extendable Ears that you had to unpack, making frog sounds go off whenever you were talking to customers to disrupt you, and then escalating to releasing live frogs into the store to scare you and making you run around to catch them before they ruined the merchandise. 

Toward the end of the week, after a hard day of living in paranoia of every move he made, trying to dodge his childish antics, you went upstairs and collapsed onto your bed. You were utterly exhausted, and you couldn’t help but to think about a time when he had been kinder to you. You truly thought that without Fred around, George was a lot less lethal when it came to this ‘mischief for no good reason’ stuff. 

At least, that’s what your time at Hogwarts had led you to believe. 

… 

Umbridge was one of the worst things to ever happen to Hogwarts. 

You had seen far too many awful, unqualified professors in your time - and you could officially say that the man who turned out to secretly be a Death Eater was a better teacher than her. 

But even as you sat in a lonely, secluded, cold corridor after a long, late night detention with her - even as you clutched your bloody hand, she wasn’t the main person occupying your mind. She wasn’t the reason you were quietly sobbing to yourself while you clutched your hand to your chest, for once, not caring if you got your pristine uniform stained with your own blood. 

Being in detention with her had gotten you thinking about everything in your life. Your father, your blood status, everything that had led up to this point. And as you had written those hundreds of lines with her terrible quill, somehow scrawling in your own blood, you kept thinking about the last DA meeting that you had been to. A meeting where Harry had been teaching everyone The Patronus Charm, and you hadn’t even attempted it. 

Why not? 

Because you couldn’t come up with a single strong happy memory to focus on while casting the spell. And you were far too embarrassed to admit to anyone in the room, especially Harry. And the more you racked your brain, trying to come up with a memory that you believed could help you pull off the spell, the more you came up with: your father screaming at you, telling you that you weren’t good enough, casually tossing discontent toward you, telling you that you were stupid and emotionally immature when you were only a child. 

Your only friends being House Elves - who were nice to you, but forced to be there in order to care for you. You thought of lonely days at Hogwarts where others stared at you and whispered about your past, where the few attempts you made at friendship during your early days of school were met with children fleeing from you because they believed the rumors about your family and how ‘evil’ you must have been because of them. 

You thought of how embarrassing it would be to not be able to perform the spell in front of everyone at DA. How they would all know that you were a fraud. And the more you thought about how pathetic your life was and how embarrassing the next meeting would be, the more upset you became. 

So you wept. 

Little did you know, someone had stumbled upon you and was listening to your cries. 

Umbridge had come up with the horrifying but clever strategy of separating Fred and George for their detentions. On this night, while Fred was scrubbing cauldrons for Professor Snape while George had just finished shining the floor in the Defense Against The Dark Arts Classroom. On his way back to the Gryffindor common room, he was more than surprised when the sound of weeping in a corridor led him to you. 

At first he was terrified to approach - terrified that acknowledging you crying would get him on the wrong end of a hex. But as he lingered near the end of the secluded corridor, eventually, you looked up and spotted him on your own. 

“Oh great.” You sighed heavily, sounding entirely bothered by his presence. 

“I'm unarmed.” He said, putting up both his hands in surrender, showing you that he held no prank products and genuinely meant no harm. 

You hastily wiped your tears, an instinct to hide your vulnerability; though you knew there was no way that he hadn’t seen you crying. You were hoping naively that he would simply let the subject pass in silence - and he might have, until he spotted something on the back of your hand. A set of red welts that were bleeding freely that signified that you had just been freed from a detention with Umbridge yourself. 

“What were you in for?” George asked, gesturing to your hand, cautious not to get close enough to touch it, not wanting to unintentionally graze against the open wounds and hurt you. 

“Oh.” You sighed, glancing down at it, having been so caught up in your upsetting thoughts that you had almost forgotten about the smarting of your hand. “I must not tell lies.” You said, reciting the line now engraved into your hand that was illegible past the blood. 

You realized that you couldn’t tell him the truth - ironically, completely ignoring the directive that Umbridge had been trying so hard to drill into your head. So you quickly made up a lie about the reason you had been put into detention in the first place. 

“The awful old cunt was convinced that I was lying to her when I said I have no clue what you and Fred are planning next.” 

In actuality, she had called you in for ‘questioning’, and grown increasingly angry when you refused to drink the tea she offered you. Veritaserum was colourless, tasteless, and odorless, but because of your true talent for potions, you immediately recognized the amber tinted bottle on her desk that clearly contained it. Knowing that the stuff couldn’t be stored with any chance of light getting at it and tainting, so it had to be kept in tinted glass, you pushed the tea cup away and she immediately gave herself up with her petty reaction. 

She questioned you about what kind of ‘activities’ you got up to outside of class, only to receive boring, dead-pan answers from you about studying and sleeping, and then she moved on to asking you about why you were spending increasing amounts of time with ‘the Weasleys’, and Granger and Potter. When you went silent, she not-so-subtly threatened to Owl your father and tell him about ‘the kind of company that you were keeping, and you couldn’t help it - you grabbed a quill off her desk and slapped it down in front of her, daring her to do it. 

Which only ended with you writing lines for her. It meant that you had silently won that round. You guessed that she was actually slightly afraid of your father - or afraid of the fact that you didn’t seem all too scared of him. Not anymore. 

But you couldn’t possibly spill all of this to George now. Just because you worked on practicing spells with the DA members didn’t mean that George or any of the others cared about your personal gossip. 

Despite what Umbridge believed, it was just easier to make up a lie. 

“I don’t even know what Fred and I are planning next.” George replied honestly, light laughter on his lips. “We just use a mixture of improvisation and our knack for causing mischief.” 

“Exactly.” You said. 

“You know, I have a healing cream that works pretty well to prevent scars.” He said, reaching his hand out to show you his, where the once deep indent of ‘I shall not talk back’ was now barely visible. “Fred and I had to come up with something good after testing the early versions of our products on ourselves started to go awry.” 

You never would have guessed that they actually tested those awful products on themselves, but you had to silently admire them for being willing to do it. 

“Oh, um, thanks but - it’s not that big of a deal.” You said. “I’ll be fine.” 

Truly, the physical pain was not the thing bothering you the most. 

You moved to walk away, and George surprised himself when he dared to speak up again, shouting down the hallway after you. 

“Then why were you crying?” He asked. 

You turned back around, startled into facing him again. You hated that he had asked the one question you hoped he would avoid. 

You heaved a terrible sigh, fidgeting with the end of your skirt as you mulled in the silence, wondering if you should tell him the truth or not. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took the few steps toward you again, closing the gap because you weren’t eager to run away. 

“I -” You choked on a breath, and George waited patiently for you to speak. 

You hated to be vulnerable, but the darkness and the late night made it too easy. The fact that he was alone instead of being bracketed by Fred staring you down with his hyper critical eyes made it too easy. George - sweet George - and his damn soft eyes and his expression full of nurturing rather than judgement. He made it too easy. 

He made it all feel so safe. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid Patronus thing from DA, okay?” You admitted hesitantly, rushing to get the words out, bracing yourself for the laughter you felt was inevitably after he heard the words. 

This confused George slightly. 

During the last DA meeting, Harry had been teaching everyone how to produce a Patronus Charm - something that was difficult, but incredibly useful against dark creatures like Dementors. Even George himself hadn't been able to produce a fully corporeal Patronus, only a shield version, which Harry still congratulated him for being able to do. George had noticed you standing back to watch everyone else, pacing around the room with your wand grasped in your hand tightly, held down by your side, and he overheard something about you ‘taking time to think’ when Harry asked you if you needed help. 

He knew that it was a very difficult spell and upon leaving the meeting, he hadn’t faulted you when he hadn’t seen you cast one. 

“What about it?” He asked, confused. 

“I wasn’t able to do it.” You said, clearly embarrassed. 

George shrugged, letting off a nervous laugh. 

“It’s a really hard spell.” He said. “I can’t conjure a full Patronus myself. Not yet. That’s the point of DA - to practice. And-” 

“No.” You heaved, the word so heavy on your breath. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Pure tragedy overtook your features, and George’s heart ached for you as he waited for you to finally speak the words. 

“I - ugh.” You sighed, scuffing your heeled shoe harshly against the stone floor, unable to look at him as you said it. “I couldn’t even try. Because I couldn’t think of a happy memory…” 

You trailed off the last words very quietly, and if George hadn’t been straining his ears to listen, he wouldn’t have actually known what you said. 

Oh. 

Oh fuck. 

George was struck with the horrible realization that not everyone’s life had been like his. He had always known that the two of you were very different, but… he had never thought about it like this. 

On that day in DA, he had struggled to begin because he had too many happy memories to choose from, and Harry theorized that he wasn’t concentrating hard enough on just one. He had memories of childhood birthday celebrations, family dinners, years at Hogwarts with friends, playing pranks with Fred, the Quidditch World Cup - all those among many memories that made him intensely happy. His life was so joyful. 

Finally, George landed on a particularly intense memory of when Bill had gifted him his first broom. It wasn’t brand new, but Bill had spent one of his first paychecks post-Hogwarts on two secondhand refurbished brooms for him and Fred on their birthday so that they could stop using the absolutely crap ones from the Hogwarts storage shed for their practices. That was the year they had both made Beater for the first time. Flying on that broom had felt like the most perfect, joyous freedom that George ever could have tasted. Especially knowing that his brother had gifted it to him. 

“It’s not like my life is terrible.” You quickly rushed to assure George. “But it’s all just - a blur. My father isn’t some vessel of affection. And I don’t remember much of my mother. And Hogwarts-” 

You quickly cut yourself off, sucking in a sharp breath as you held back more tears. 

Oh hell. What had Hogwarts been like for you? Fred and George tormenting you with pranks over some stupid house rivalry? Making your life more difficult for no reason? 

Did you even have any good friends? 

George never remembered seeing you around with anyone. At least, not with friends like he had. 

You always walked the halls alone, you always ate alone. But he thought that was how you preferred to spend your time. He always thought before this that you were simply snobbish and you never thought anybody else was good enough to be in your company. But more and more these days, he was realizing that fact simply wasn’t the case. (He supposed that Slytherins weren’t the easiest to make friends with, and Slytherins didn’t have much luck making friends outside of their house, especially not when their father was a known Death Eater.) 

Silently vowing to become your good friend from then on, George moved on to a more important matter first - helping you cast a Patronus Charm. 

“What do you remember about your mother?” He asked. 

“What?” You gaped, confused. 

“Your mother - do you have any happy memories of her?” He asked. 

You stirred in quiet thought for a moment. You hated where this was going, but with his gentle eyes still giving you that terrible sense of safety, you found yourself opening up to him once again. 

“I don’t remember much of her.” You told him quietly. “She died when I was really young - when I was only four. My father always talks about her like she was some horrid bitch. He never paints a kind picture of her, and I often wonder if I’m misremembering her because I was so young.” 

“You should disregard anything your father says as a general rule.” George told you, entirely confident in his own words as he always was. 

This was the first time that you considered, beyond his beliefs about ‘Mudbloods’ and your family’s ‘natural superiority’, that your father might have been wrong when he spoke about you. Before you could dwell on that thought, however, George spoke up again. 

“What do you remember?” He asked, stressing the word to put meaning on your own personal experiences, not the weight of someone else’s. 

He genuinely valued your opinion for once. It felt strange that someone did. 

“She was kind.” You said quietly, still reserved. “She smelled wonderful - like rising bread dough and fresh flowers. She was always smiling. She-” 

You cut yourself off, growing tearful. It had been a long time since you had allowed yourself to remember. 

“Keep going.” George encouraged you. “It's okay. You should hold onto these things.” 

The soft rumble of his voice - so much gentler than usual - made the words feel true. You tried to let yourself fall into the memories. Far off in your mind, you ran into your mother’s embrace. 

“She used to give me these little square sweets after every meal.” You said, making the small shape with your fingers as the memory truly sank in. “Different chocolates filled with things - mint and nougat and strawberry. She said that you should always have something sweet after every meal. And I would bite them in half and guess the flavour, and then I would give the other half to her and kiss her on the cheek.” 

It was something you hadn’t thought about in so long, and though it was tender, it did bring you joy. 

“Good.” George whispered, terrified to break your concentration on the memory. “Hold onto that.” 

He took his wand from his pocket, not even thinking about the fact that you casting the charm with his wand might not be as successful, if successful at all. He was simply too eager to try it out. He stepped behind you and you felt odd with the sudden closeness, wanting to run from the contact as he crowded up tight to your back and grabbed your wand arm, placing the wand in it. 

“Come on, you can do it-” 

“George, no-” 

“Just try.” He insisted, gently whispering in your ear in a way that was strangely intimate. “Just once. For me.” 

You had no clue why you went along with it, but you did. 

“What was your favourite flavour?” 

“What?” 

“What was your favourite flavour of the sweets that your mother gave you?” He asked. 

“Peanut butter.” You replied. “If it was a peanut butter one, she would let me finish the whole thing by myself. And she always laughed when I licked my fingers. Not in a mean way - she wasn’t laughing at me… but she was laughing because she was happy. Happy because she knew I was enjoying it.” 

“Now say the words.” He whispered, guiding your hand to raise the wand up into the sky. 

Strangely, you trusted him. 

“Expecto Patronum.”

Engulfed by the safety of George at your back and feeling the intensity of your mother’s love inside of you, the overwhelming magic flowed through you. In a moment, you were amazed as a bright white light came flowing out of the wand - George’s wand - not just blasting into a shield but forming into a beautiful array of moving, living beings that filled the whole corridor within seconds. The previously dark space was soon lit up by dozens of tiny bright little lights that danced so beautifully for the two of you. 

At first you thought they might be butterflies, but when you got a closer look at their wings and their size, you realized that they were moths - not as beautiful or well liked by people. How fitting. You couldn’t help but to reach out and try to catch one - and that dreamy little beam of light, that magical little white moth landed on your extended finger before it dissipated off into nothingness as the magic dissolved and the corridor darkened once again. 

“I told you you could do it.” George said cheerfully. 

You turned to George, and likely for the first time ever, you smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Weasley. I mean it.” 

When the Owl Post came the next morning, a random Tawny owl that you did not recognize dropped a poorly wrapped package into your lap and then screeched away. When you peeled it open, you were surprised to find a random jar of some cream, along with a package of peanut butter fudge. It came with a scrawled note that said ‘it would be a shame for that beautiful hand to be scarred forever’. 

You peered across to the Gryffindor table and found a certain tall redhead grinning at you, and he gave you a wink. The cream smelled vaguely of green tea, and was very soothing to apply. The marks on your hand faded within a week of use, and it never left a scar. The fudge tasted amazing, and thankfully, did not give you a fever. It reminded you of your mother - and for the first time in a long time, you actually let yourself indulge in those memories. 

You had to wonder where he had gotten the sweets on such short notice. But you supposed that was just another ‘Weasley trick’ you weren’t allowed to know about. 

That day had shown you a kinder side of George that you had never truly expected even existed. 

… 

Despite what you believed, George could be just as much trouble by himself, even when Fred wasn’t around for him to conspire with. 

The entire week culminated in an incident that you never could have predicted - one that had you mentally begging for Fred’s return. 

That afternoon, just after closing, you were tallying up the register as a part of your end-of-day duties, and George walked up to you, seeming far too ‘innocent’ for your liking. His presence now filled you with a slight sense of dread, wondering what he would do next, but you said nothing about it. You didn’t even look up at him - you continued your work, counting the money and writing down your tally while he lingered off near the edge of the counter. You hoped that if you didn’t acknowledge him, whatever prank he had planned next simply wouldn’t play out. You were far too tired for his antics now. 

“Y/N,” He called your name gently, and you still didn’t look up. 

Instead, you hummed gently in response to acknowledge him, pretending that you were far too busy to look up from your work. He let out a deep sigh, walking around the counter toward you. 

“Look, I do have to say that I’m sorry for everything. This week, I pulled a lot of immature pranks on you and it was a step backward between us,” He announced, his tone sounding oddly… insincere. 

You finally looked up from the ledger book to face him, and you found that his expression was… smug? His mouth was tight, clearly holding back a smile, and his eyes were glinting with an ardent joy that you knew had to be ill-conceived mischief. 

Your stomach churned as you wondered what he was up to, and you immediately knew that the apology was a false, a cover for whatever he was attempting. You didn’t trust him - not one bit. 

But you knew that you couldn’t call him out for it right away, otherwise he would simply try again later. And he would come back with a better set up, or simply try to catch you off guard next time. You had to figure out what he was doing first, and put a stop to it. 

So for now, you pretended to believe him.  

“Yes, it was.” You replied quietly. 

You glanced around, trying to see if he had set up any trip-wires, any hanging buckets. You looked down at the drawers in the front counter to see if any of them had moved during the quick break you had taken for a cup of tea (one that you had definitely made for yourself this time). You had to wonder if he had hidden anything inside of them that would jump out at you when you opened them. 

“Thank you for apologizing.” Your tone was dead, your mind too busy focusing on trying to figure out his next move. 

“I got you something!” He added on excitedly. 

When he reached into his pocket, you instinctively took a step back, your eyes glued to his hand as he took a few sweets out and laid them on the counter. The green sour apple candies that you loved. You were instantly suspicious of them, just like you had been the first time he had gifted you some (in the same manner of apology). But you had to guess that he wouldn’t stoop to tampering with them. 

You gave him a harsh glance, and he gave you a smile. And then, you reached your hand out to grab one. 

But that was your greatest mistake. 

The minute your arm was extended, he reached out with his arm - the one that was closest to you, his left, and before you could blink, he wrapped something cold and metal around your right wrist and tightened it. A sharp ‘click’ sounded through the air as he secured the metal around your arm, trapping you. 

He started cackling loudly - as both the hilarity and the victory of it truly overcame him, and your brain began to process what had just happened. You lifted your arm up, tugging on the metal, realizing that it was a wrist cuff attached to a chain no more than four inches long, and on the end of that chain was George Weasley. 

He had handcuffed himself to you. 

What. The. Fuck. 

He had cuffed himself into the other side and hidden it under his jacket sleeve before walking up to you, holding the cuff in his hand down by his side to hide it from you. He had planned this out. 

But what-? Why had he done this? 

Why the fuck had he chained the two of you together? 

You yanked on it again, causing his hand to flail along with yours, a sharp bite grinding against your skin as the metal tugged on your own wrist, very secure in place. The realization that the two of you were now solidly attached was truly, fully settling into your brain. 

“What the fuck?!” You yelled, shocked and slowly becoming angry as he continued to laugh and beamed a smile at you. “What the fuck is this, George?” 

“Oh come on, it’s a joke!” He replied, still grinning. “We both know that you and I could use some extra time together.” 

“I said-” You were about to remind him of your previous protests to this exact idea, but he cut you off. 

“You said that you didn’t want to spend time together because we’re not friends.” He reminded you. “And the only way for us to become friends is to spend more time together. Ironically.” 

He always had a way of making you regret your own words. 

You glared at him intensely, now absolutely fuming with annoyance and a growing rage. 

“I - I don’t care, you idiot!” You screamed in return, beginning to panic. “Get rid of it! Unlock it!” 

You continued to flail in panic, making your own wrist continue to hurt more as the short chain caused his arm to act like a dead weight against your own, preventing you from moving too far away from him. It made you feel so terribly trapped, and you hated it. 

Sure, of all the people to be trapped with, he wasn’t the worst by far. But you had already spent so much of your life feeling trapped; you had spent so long being defined by your father’s choices for you, in fear that all eyes in the world were judging you based on his reputation (which mostly turned out to be true). And just as you were barely becoming free from those chains, George had come and slapped another literal one onto your wrist. 

It caused a terrible anxiety through you, turning your muscles to putrid stone within seconds and tightening your throat as your body threatened tears. And you refused to let yourself cry in front of him, so of course, it only manifested as harsh anger toward him while your brain put up shields and tried to protect you. 

“Calm down, will you?” George replied, his face still vibrant with laughter, obviously not taking you seriously. “It’s just a joke.” 

Of course. His singular excuse for everything in life. 

“A joke!” You screamed back so harshly that your voice easily broke. “A joke?!” 

“Y/N-” 

You didn’t let him speak. 

“Everything in your life is a joke!” 

You shouted, getting closer to his face to magnify your words since you quite literally couldn’t get away. 

“You had absolutely no work ethic in school and wasted any brains you had on torturing fellow students for a few cheap laughs and now you wonder why you can’t get a girlfriend because you push away any woman in your life with immature antics and you refuse to actually reflect on anything more serious than what you ate for lunch!” 

Your throat became worn out from screaming so many words with so little breath, getting louder as you went along, but it felt nice to get some of the anger out. 

George just rolled his eyes and then smirked at you, and you became even more irritated by the fact that he didn’t seem at all phased by your words. 

“Are you done, lover?” He asked as you took a breath, still shaking with rage. “You are starting to hurt my one good ear. And it is rather precious to me, as you could understand.” He added on, using his free hand to gesture to that side of his head. 

‘Lover’?

This pet name, and the casual nature with which he spoke it, just left odd confusion mixing in with your anger. 

“Weasley, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t take this off me within the next minute-!” You began to threaten him, grabbing your wand out of your apron pocket to point it squarely at his chest. “I will singe all the hair off your body and turn your cock into something so shriveled and unrecognizable-!” 

“So you do think about my cock, eh?” He said, cutting you off, his smirk growing even more intense now. 

You let out a deep growl of frustration and pressed your wand into his throat, and then, as a warning, you began to count. 

“Ten, nine, eight, seven-” 

You weren’t sure if you were counting down to when you would start firing non-lethal curses at him, or if you were counting down to try and make your rage less potent, but you were glad when it worked. 

“Alright, alright, calm down.” George sighed in surrender, and batted your wand down from his throat with his free hand. You weren’t so easily convinced and continued to hold the weapon in his direction, glaring at him. “I’ve got the key right here. It was just a little joke, a wind up, ya know?” 

He started searching the pockets of his jacket, finally ready to give up the key and unlock you. You did feel a twinge of relief, even if you refused to show it, keeping your appearance firm and stony - a way that you hadn’t looked at him in a long time. 

However, that bit of relief was incredibly short-lived as his hand went into more of his pockets and came up empty-handed again and again, and he seemed to grow increasingly more frantic. You grew more panicked too as you noticed him doubling back and checking his pockets over again, even checking his pants, and dumping things out onto the floor - causing random sweets and crumpled pieces of parchment to fall by your feet… 

But still, no key. 

“George.” You ground out between your teeth, pressing your wand tightly against his cheek. 

“I have it here somewhere,” He mumbled hastily, giving you a nervous grin. 

“You lost the key?!” You shouted, lowering your wand now, knowing that another flash of accidental anger would end up with him on the wrong end of a jinx, and (as pissed off as you were) you didn’t want to hurt him by mistake. 

George continued frantically fingering his pockets, but his expression grew more honestly worried now. Whether it was because he was terrified of what you might do to him, or because he actually didn’t like the results of his own prank and truly didn’t want to be chained to you, you weren’t sure. You had to guess that it was the latter - being chained to you for a period of time longer than five minutes would be incredibly unpleasant for anyone. 

“It - it was an honest mistake, really.” He stuttered out nervously, still frantically looking for the key. 

However, you knew that it was just your luck that the key had gone missing - likely fallen out of his pocket somewhere and truly gone. You didn’t count on him finding it anytime soon. Still, you continued to internally panic - you weren’t prepared to spend much longer like this. 

George flinched when you waved your wand again, and you wanted to go on a rant about how you weren’t actually going to hurt him (even as much as you wanted to). But instead, you fought against his dead weight to raise the cuff attached to your wrist upward, and then you began firing off spells. 

“Alohomora!” You tried the first and most obvious one, and naturally, it did not work. “Aperta!” You tried something a bit more advanced, and still nothing. 

“Wow, I actually thought that would work-” George began. 

“Shh.” You cut him off, trying to think. 

You dug through your knowledge for something a bit more advanced - and you thought of a lock breaking spell that you had read about in a rare Japanese spell book during your time at Hogwarts. Back when you had spent most of your time studying because your social life really hadn’t been that great. 

“Hirake Kagi!” You spoke the words sharply, hoping that you remembered the pronunciation well, causing a small bright white light to fire off into the small key hole beside your wrist. 

When you tugged on the cuff - still, it was locked solidly tight, and you heaved a grand sigh of frustration. 

“Okay, well, that didn’t work, so-” George began to speak again, but you found yourself ignoring him. 

You raised your wand again, this time firing off curses toward the short chain that attached the two of you. 

“Confractus!” You fired a simple spell with the intention to break the chain, and nothing happened. 

“Reducto!” 

A large bright white beam of energy burst out of your wand, and as soon as it hit the small chain, it was deflected off the seemingly unbreakable metal and ended up hitting a nearby display of products, destroying a few of the boxes and knocking far more of them over into a heap on the floor. 

“Ignitis!” 

You moved on to fire, causing a bright orange beam to come shooting out of your wand, one that was also deflected off the metal - this time with slightly worse consequences. The ensuing fragments of energy singed up George’s arm and began to light his coat on fire, and caused you to jump back as particles of ember threatened up toward your face before sizzling out. 

“Woah, woah, stop it!” George demanded, grabbing your wand from you and putting it on the counter. 

Luckily, he had a decent amount of experience with this kind of stuff due to his and Fred’s early failures with their products, and he didn’t panic - he simply brought his free hand up and began aggressively patting out the fire until his jacket was only dully smoking, which did impress you. You liked that he could be calm among chaos. 

“You’re going to kill one of us!” He added on, sounding slightly annoyed himself. Perhaps he had a point. “And trust me, you don’t want to be chained to a dead body that you have to lug around. I am a lot heavier than I look, love.” 

The affectionate nickname gave a confusing twist in your stomach, and you glared at him. 

In the back of your mind, you did consider the fact that you didn’t want to be chained to his dead body - because it would be terribly inconvenient, and because at the end of the day, you didn’t want to see him hurt. Even if you wanted to strangle him with the chain of the cuffs to prove a point, you would have stopped before he lost consciousness. 

“Well what do you suggest, if you’re so clever?” You hissed at him. 

He grinned at you. 

“Leave it to a Slytherin to try and brute force her way out,” He said, reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket for his own wand. 

“This isn’t about Slytherin or Gryffindor, or any of that pathetic bullshit.” You griped, shaking your head. “Whatever, just - what’s your idea?” 

He raised his wand proudly and announced his spell. 

“Accio key!” 

Then, from seemingly every corner of the shop (including the pile of junk that had landed at his feet after he had emptied his pockets), with drawers opening and doors upstairs creaking open, about a dozen different keys came hurling at the two of you. You instinctively ducked down to avoid the sharp metal that would have pierced your skin and likely left harsh gashes due to his lack of foresight. The cuff tugged on your wrist as a reminder of your predicament, and you conveniently used him as a shield for the oncoming debris, hearing him let out a few grunts as some of the keys inevitably hit him. 

“Oh yes, that was clever.” You griped sarcastically. “That was downright brilliant!” 

“Okay, fine, not my best moment.” George sighed as you stepped out from behind him. “Just help me look through these and see which one is the handcuff key. And then I’ll unlock you and you can be free for the rest of the weekend.” 

He let out a tired huff as he bent down and began picking up the collection of keys off the floor, putting them on the counter to go through them. 

“And Monday.” You added on. “I’m taking Monday off because of this little stunt.” 

“Fine.” He quietly agreed. 

The more keys you looked through, the more anxious you became. You recognized each of them - a ring of keys that unlocked different doors in the shop, a key with a fuzzy dice on the end that was a spare for Ron’s Muggle car (that Fred and George maybe had permission to use), a spare key to Ron’s apartment in London in case of emergency, a spare key to the front door of the shop that Fred had lost months ago, a key to your apartment upstairs, a key to the desk in Fred and George’s office, but - 

“You’re sure that none of these is the right one?” You pressed, panicking. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” George replied, sounding slightly downtrodden about it himself. “It was a little one, a tiny small key-” He gaped, gesturing with his fingers, showing you the intended size. 

“And you lost it!” You cried out, angry and upset at the same time. “Oh, you idiot!”  

George sighed in defeat and you kicked the counter in front of you, causing all the keys laid out on the countertop to rattle, along with the change that was sitting in the open cash drawer from your still unfinished closing count. Strangely, this caused you to come up with a new idea. 

“What shop did you buy the handcuffs from?” You pressed, turning to him with a bright, relieved smile on your face. “We can just go there and buy another set for the key!” 

George’s face twisted into a sickly, nervous expression. Your smile immediately dropped, teeth clenching down so hard that your jaw began to hurt as you glared at him even stronger now. 

“What?” You demanded harshly, not even opening your mouth to grind out the word. 

He was going to kill you with stress before the night was even over. Then he was going to be the one dragging around a dead body. 

“I - I didn’t buy them.” He confessed, his voice quiet and obviously embarrassed. 

Unable to resist the urge this time, you reached up and slugged him, delivering a harsh, solid punch to his shoulder. He let out a grunt. 

“Okay, maybe I deserved that-” 

“What did you do?!” You demanded. “What the hell did you get me into?!” 

“Look, I’ll fix it, I swear-” He began to ramble out apologies, but you were more interested in something else. 

“Where are the handcuffs from?” You asked, slowly creeping into insanity, and definitely losing your patience. 

“I found them in Harry’s desk.” He rushed out the words all at once, and your mind began to spin. 

You had to guess that he meant Harry Potter. 

Which meant that you were truly fucked. 

Harry wasn’t officially an Auror, at least not yet. The Ministry had been trying their best to charm him into the program since The War had ended, and this included having him work as a freelance agent on only the most attractive and exciting criminal cases - something that he and Ron liked to talk about a lot. It meant that his name and picture could be slapped all over the Prophet whenever he brought in a high profile Death Eater that had still been on the loose. 

Because he didn’t officially work with the Ministry, he didn’t have an office at their headquarters (even as many times as they kept offering him their best, most gorgeous offices, including all the perks). He had told you once that he hated the idea of being ‘cooped up’ underground all day. Though you didn’t see how his current accommodation was much better. 

You had been to Grimmauld Place a few times during your time as a member of The Order of Phoenix, but you had only found out that it was Harry’s inheritance and current place of residence a few months after The War. Hermione had invited you over there for dinner (you did appreciate being included, even if Ron and Fred often showed their disdain for her trying to do so). Harry had proudly showed you his office and the many keepsakes within - trophies that Dumbledore or others had gifted to him, and creepy, cursed objects that he had trapped in glass cases that had come with the Black family home. 

You could only imagine what kind of ancient demonic magic was keeping the handcuffs from being destroyed. 

(Little did you know, these handcuffs were a relatively new pair of Muggle handcuffs that one of the other Aurors had modded with many intense, advanced spells and given to Harry with the purpose of keeping their perps from escaping.) 

“It’s not my fault!” George insisted with a yell. “He just left me alone in there with all that stuff! And his desk was unlocked! And I wasn’t even looking in the drawers for a pair of handcuffs, I was looking for documents with some kind of gossip! And when I found them, how was I not supposed to use them for some greater nefarious purpose? It’s entrapment!” 

“Just shut up!” You snapped. “Shut up and let me think!” 

You became breathless from screaming for a moment, and after you gulped in air, you spoke again. 

“What the hell are we gonna do?” 

It was more of a rhetorical question, speaking to yourself as you truly took in the utter horror of the situation at hand - being chained to another person with seemingly no way to escape. But naturally, George had to crack another joke. 

“I thought you wanted me to shut up so you could think,” He mumbled quietly. 

You rolled your eyes sharply. 

And strangely, it was your annoyance with him that fueled your next idea. 

“Harry’s desk…” You mumbled out. “Maybe he has another key? We have to go and talk to him.” 

George frowned again. 

“Harry is in Romania.” He said. “Apparently he’s on some top secret mission. Ron couldn’t stop blabbering on about it, so it must be really important.” 

Romania. Great. 

You clenched your fists incredibly tight, jabbing your nails harshly into your palm, trying to distract yourself from George’s presence. Not ending up in Azkaban for murder was the singular motivation that kept you grounded for a few moments as you forced yourself to take deep breaths rather than to scream. 

“So what do you suggest?” You huffed out, your voice quivering with ill-concealed rage. 

“We could try Bill?” George posed. “He works with cursed objects sometimes. He might know more about this than we do. He might know how to break us out without the key. I’ll send him an Owl?” 

You let out a breath of relief, for once, actually glad that the Weasley family was so large that they had members of such varying degrees of expertise. 

“But we have to get to the Owlery before it closes.” He added on, looking at his watch on his free hand. 

Before you could blink, he was attempting to move around the counter, dragging you with him in a sharp jolt, causing your shoulder to pain harshly. Your mind took a moment to kick in and realize that you had to walk along with him to avoid that dragged-along effect. Even if Bill could solve this, you would still be stuck close by George for the next few hours. 

Great. 

As he headed toward the door, going for the Owlery on the other side of Diagon Alley, you realized something even more terrible - he was about to parade you through the streets chained to him. It was the most foolish, embarrassing thing ever, and though it hurt your wrist, you gave a harsh yank back on the cuffs, causing him to hiss in pain quietly and stop dead in his tracks. 

“What?” He asked as he looked over his shoulder toward you, his tone now becoming ripe with annoyance. 

“I am not being paraded around as your new accessory!” You argued. “I already look foolish enough wearing this gaudy apron! I don’t want to have to explain your unique brand of stupidity to other people!” You demanded, shaking the cuffs for emphasis.

“Well, we are currently stuck together, so if I need to mail an Owl, you’re coming with me!” He shouted back, trying to pull you toward the door once again. 

Instinctively, you reached out and stomped on his foot to stop him (your wand still sitting on the counter where he had put it). Your high heeled shoe made a firm imprint in the middle of his expensive dragon-hide oxford and caused a shooting pain through his foot that had him howling and jumping back, glaring at you. 

“Okay, stop it!” George huffed at you, wagging a finger tightly in your face that you resisted the urge to reach out a bite simply to spite him. “If we’re going to be stuck like this, even if it’s only for a few hours, we have to agree not to wound each other.” 

He would never try to physically hurt you, no matter how upset he was, but he mostly wanted it to be a mutual agreement so that he would be safe from you. 

“Fine.” You sighed. He did have a point. Devolving to petty fighting would only make things worse. 

Then, you thought of something that would make going out in public a bit more bearable. 

“Give me your coat.” You demanded. 

“What?” He gaped at you, confused. 

“Just give it to me!” 

He began to remove it from his free arm, but then he realized a glaring problem - with his hand in the handcuffs, he wouldn’t be able to remove his jacket off the arm that was attached to yours. You saw this issue too and let out a huff, grabbing the fabric from him anyway - it would still work fine for your purposes. You took it as far down his arm as you could and then draped the fabric over your joined wrists, doing your best to conceal the handcuffs from any public eyes. Still feeling the chain biting into your skin as the distance tugged on your wrists, you moved to grab his hand, hating how blazen warm his skin was as you laced your fingers with his to keep him still. 

“You know if you wanted to hold my hand, you could’ve just as-” He began to say, smirking at you. 

“Shut up.” You hissed at him. “Just go.” You motioned toward the door, and the two of you finally set off. 

To the late-afternoon stragglers in Diagon Alley, the two of you would have looked like a simple couple holding hands as you walked along, too lovestick to let each other go. No one would have suspected that you were actually chained together under the fabric of George’s coat due to an ill-timed, poorly thought out ‘prank’. 

Apparently it was almost too convincing. 

George paid for some supplies at the Owlery to write his letter, and of course, he had to be the one to write it because he had conveniently set this up so that his proper, dominant hand would be the one free and anything you wrote with your non-dominant hand would be awful chicken scratch. You almost had to wonder in the back of your mind if your spells had gone so wrong because you hadn’t been using your proper wand hand. 

But you couldn’t linger on those thoughts for long, because the woman behind the counter kept eyeing the two of you heavily as your joined hands rested on top of the counter under the folded fabric of his jacket. 

“You two are just the sweetest, aren’t you?” She said, smiling at both of you past thick wrinkles, clearly endeared by a young couple. “It’s just so sweet to see a couple so in love that they run errands together - just can’t leave each other’s side, not for a moment.” 

“Oh we’re certainly attached, alright.” You replied, knowing that the woman was too rosy-eyed to pick up on the bitter sarcasm in your voice. 

“I wouldn’t trade my Y/N for anything,” George added on, giving you a fake, gooey smile. You resisted the urge to hit him again. “We’ll be back here soon mailing the wedding invitations.” 

You gave him a sharp glare for this comment, especially when the woman giggled brightly at this and started asking George more questions - wanting to know about what day your wedding was planned for and how long the two of you had been together. You were thankful when he wrapped up the conversation with her and mailed off his letter to Bill, and after some more dreadful hand holding back down the street, the two of you got back to the shop. 

He locked up behind the two of you and you both decided to wait for the reply upstairs in your apartment. You hated feeling embarrassed by the bits of mess that you had naturally left in your apartment, not knowing that anybody else would be seeing it anytime soon. Random dishes in the sink, an unfolded blanket on the couch, random magazines around. You wanted to rush to clean up, you wanted to do something - 

“We should probably sit down.” George said, pulling out one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. “It might be a while.” 

You didn’t even have the energy to respond with anger. 

You simply pulled out the chair opposite and collapsed into it, glad that you could yank off your apron over your head and throw it to the side. 

… 

You and George waited in silence for the return Owl. 

You picked up a nearby book, trying your hardest to read when his presence was so distracting, and he simply sat there, contemplating (hopefully considering his life choices and thinking about the consequences of his actions). About an hour passed before there was light tapping on the window, and you were grateful to look up and find a brown barn owl there, waiting for the two of you. George rushed up to open the window and you let out a hiss of pain as he inadvertently tugged on your wrist, still not used to being so closely attached. 

“We’re still attached, moron,” You grunted out, rushing out of your chair to follow him. 

“You know, you don’t have to call me a moron every five minutes.” George sighed. “I know that what I’ve done is stupid.” 

He opened the window and took the envelope from the owl and slipped a coin into a pouch on its leg as a tip for the delivery - clearly another Owlery owned owl. 

“If you knew that, then you wouldn’t have done it.” You replied dully. 

George didn’t reply any further, too busy ripping open the envelope to read the letter while you closed the window. You were curious, but too nervous to read over his shoulder; even when you took a glance at the paper, you found the handwriting too messy to even make-out. Though with the way George was murmuring under his breath as he read it, apparently he could understand it just fine. 

“Oh.” 

“What?” You snatched the letter from him, though you didn’t bother to read it, looking from the parchment to George’s once again nervous expression. “What?” 

“He said that he knows a good professional Ministry curse breaker that he can get us an appointment with.” George announced, forcing a grin. Clearly trying to make you feel better about the news. 

You had a feeling that there was a very large ‘but’ coming. And when you didn’t say anything - when you didn’t start celebrating, instead staring him down with an imposing look, leaving the air open for more words, George provided you with it. 

“But the next available appointment is in two or three days.” 

“Two or three days?!” You screamed, your throat becoming sore from how much you had screamed that day. “Have you stressed the exact nature of our predicament to him?” 

“Yes!” He assured you. “But these are very busy people! And they’re dealing with situations much more life-threatening than ours at present!” 

George Weasley had handcuffed himself to you, and now the two of you were stuck together.

...

A/N: I will ask you kindly - if you enjoyed this fic, please reblog it or comment something meaningful down below. I would love to have a conversation with people who enjoyed the fic and sat through the entire thing to be able to read this ending message.

Typically, with a multi-part fic, I would have some kind of reblog and comment goal at the end asking people to give the fic a certain number of comments and reblogs before I post the next part, but I have found that even this doesn't get people to meaningfully engage with fics. The last time I did this with a fic, the goal was not met, and it has been sitting there for months with enough likes to have more than doubled the goal, but people just don't give a fuck to actually comment or reblog. They just leave a like and move on without caring how much effort it actually takes to write a 30k, 40k, 50k fic.

If you're going to comment, I don't care to know if the writing quality was good or anything like that (because it doesn't really start a conversation when people go "this is so good!" it just makes me nod and throw a thumbs up - I want to have genuine conversations about my fics and what is happening in them), I do want to have a genuine discussion about the plot of the fic, the dynamic between the characters, and what you anticipate will happen in the next part - I want to talk about your experience reading it and how that experience differs from other fics. I don't just want to be praised (in fact, I don't want to be praised at all), I want to have fun talking about the characters and the universe here.

Because in case it passed your notice, writing a 50k fanfic (which, this adds up to 50k between both parts) - is a lot of work. And all I ask for in return after putting in hours and hours worth of hard, back-breaking work into a fic like this and then posting it for free, is that people take a few minutes to discuss it with me if they took the time to read it.

Also I ask for the courtesy that people please don't hound me and bother me by asking when the next part is coming out.

The next part will be posted when I am finished editing it, and that could be in 2 days or 2 weeks or 2 months, or even 2 years from now if something comes up. Stick around my blog if you want to see it, especially because I will be posting updates about the progress. And for reference, the next part will be the final part - this is not a series, this is a oneshot that has been divided in half for more convenient editing and reading.

That's all. Even if you don't comment, I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope that you have a great day. <3

[saintvainglorious]

Fics I Enjoyed in February - DC Comics Fic Rec List Part 3

To the shock of precisely no one, I'm still in DC Comics hell. Enjoy the fruits of my labor (reading so so many fics)

Here's fic recs Part 1 and Part 2!

Individualized Education Plan by @cowboysorceror & @deadchannelradio (General Audiences, 7k, 2024) Dick goes to Damian's parent-teacher conference. Damian endures the consequences of Dick being an extraordinarily attractive man. Left me wheezing on my bus ride to work, this fic is hysterical.

“Richard,” he says, in tones of the deeply suffering, “this place is a hostile environment. I must be collected post-haste, as after this latest indignity I am dropping out. Come at once, or I may die here.”

In Service by @smilebackwards (Teen & Up, 13k, 2023) Bruce refuses to let Tim be Robin. Tim, still determined to help, asks Alfred to let him train to be Bruce's next butler. I could not stop squeeing as I read this, deeply wholesome and great worldbuilding to boot.

Tim rings the doorbell of Wayne Manor for the third time in as many days, and for the third time, Mr. Pennyworth opens the heavy oak door. He looks tired and careworn and Tim knows for certain that he’s choosing the right thing now. Mr. Wayne isn’t going to let him anywhere near the Robin suit, but maybe Tim doesn’t need it. There’s another tack he can try.

this year's love by @flybynightwing (Teen & Up, 20k, 2023) A thoughtful and tender exploration of how Dick and Kory might get back together post-Infinite Crisis, featuring Tim being a little troll, Dick & Kory having So Many Issues to work through, and Donna not getting paid enough to deal with this.

Dick and Kory get back together while on vacation. It goes beautifully. If only vacations could last forever.

descartes by @deadchannelradio (Teen & Up, 5k, 2024) Jason finds out how weird Slade acts towards Dick. Yet another fic by deadchannelradio that had me cackling out loud.

“I’m going to kill him,” Jason decides aloud. “Next time I see that man, I’m gonna kill him.” “No, Jason, do not,” Dick says in the same tone Jason uses to tell his dog not to chew on his boots.

The Threat by @jackhawksmoor (General Audiences, 2k, 2022) Damian has some pointed opinions about the way Bruce treats Dick. A gripping Damian POV fic - I love a Damian who expresses how much he cares by via emotional manipulation, and Bruce's reaction is equally tantalizing.

"What are you talking about?" His father sounded puzzled. He had that tone in his voice that Damian always hated to hear. That careless, American tone. His father had never needed to earn his place in a family, so the idea that someone could take it away from him if he wasn’t worthy of it hadn't even occurred to him. Not yet.

A Talon After My Own Heart by @wildsofmarch (Teen & Up, 13k, 2022) A surprisingly well-adjusted Talon!Dick goes on a mission for Slade. I rec the whole How to Train Your Talon series, but this one's my personal favorite. They're so damaged your honor it's great.

There’s a Talon lying on his floor, guzzling his good whisky, when Slade walks into his safe house in San Francisco. “What are you doing here?” he says as he draws his sidearm and slides the safety off. Robin — Dick, he reminds himself — showing up unannounced is never a good thing. “Relax. I’m not here to kill anyone,” says Dick.

Leap, Fall, Fly by @malcyon (Explicit, 15k, 2019) Post-Red Robin, Tim and Kon go on patrol together, and then they go home. This fic is 100% my headcanon for how Tim and Kon would get together if they didn't start dating while Tim was Robin. Gorgeous, peak, no notes.

He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” Tim looks at him, amused. “Dude. I have, like, four.” Kon figures some stuff out. Tim helps.

Putting both hands over my mouth, I can only hope nothing's gonna come out by @hmslusitania (Teen & Up, 26k, 2024) Tim and Jon (now both in their 20s due to Jon's canon aging-up) pretend to date. Kon and Damian proceed to lose their minds. Funny, angsty, and ultimately really heartwarming.

“How unethical would it be to let him keep thinking we’re dating just to try and figure out what the hell is wrong with him?” “On a scale from ‘this is completely hinged behaviour and not weird at all’ to ‘cloning him unsuccessfully ninety-nine times’?” Tim nods. “I don’t know,” Jon says. He thinks about it. “Probably like a four.”

Shoulders by @bluegarners (General Audiences, 4k, 2024) Robin!Dick has a close call on patrol. Bruce is catastrophically bad at expressing love. I rotate Bruce's choices and dialogue from this fic around in my mind like a rotisserie chicken.

It’s as he’s assessing Goon #1’s shoulders that he hears it. Grhk. The sound of someone choking. (You are ten-years-old, and the world is wide open before you. You don't yet know how to worry for yourself. It is your father's job.)

Truth Serum is The Worst by @jackhawksmoor (General Audiences, 3k, 2022) Bruce is truth serum-ed and is very unwell about it. Nightwing!Dick is there to help. Bruce's stream-of-consciousness dialogue (and Dick's reactions) are totally engrossing; the love they have for each other looms large here.

Batman gets dosed with a truth serum and unexpectedly spends most of the time talking about how desperately he loves his children, how awesome they are, and how he wishes he was better at being a father.

i'll grab my light (and go with you) by @havenesc (General Audiences, 3k, 2024) Dick helps Robin!Jason after the kid gets into a fight at school. Sweet, spot-on-characterization for both of them.

“Come again?” “I…” Now, the tone is sullen, even in hesitation. “I got into a fight.” Dick glances at his far wall, still a little sleep-hazed as he puzzles together what exactly about a scrap requires a phone call. “With Bruce?” Dick asks tentatively. “At school,” Jason clarifies, and oh, yep, there’s the difference. That one’s a no-no.

the only people on a stranded boat by @unicorncoalition (Mature, 5k, 2023) It turns out that Dick will call Jason if he ever has to hide a body. I've reread this fic multiple times since first discovering it, it's a gem. The scenario is unhinged, the emotions are raw, and the dialogue is perfect.

When Dick contacts Jason in the early hours of the morning to ask for help, Jason is so thrown by the request that he drops everything and drives to Bludhaven. He is not expecting to find Dick dissociating next to the dead body of an unfamiliar man, nor is he ready for the revelations that follow.

i never noticed the clouds gather round (oh, how fast we fall, how slow we drown) by @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters (Teen & Up, 5k, 2022) Batman!Dick has a flashback, and Damian makes a deduction. I'm very picky with stories on Dick's family members finding out about Nightwing #93, and this one handles how Damian might react so flawlessly it hurts.

It's raining on a rooftop in Gotham and Batman isn't getting up. (Dick dissociates after a bad patrol and Damian comes up against the outline of something his mentor never wanted him to see.)

the higher fidelity by birdsofthesoul (Teen & Up, 3k, 2020) Bruce and Dick go on a road trip scavenger hunt to find a runaway Damian. Dick indirectly confronts Bruce with his questionable parenting decisions. The conversation they share in the diner lives rent free in my mind.

Bruce goes sheet-white, looking like Dick’s just cut him to the quick, and Dick can’t help but think they should have booked a flight, discretion be damned. This — this is why they don’t do road trips. Cars are like confessionals, cramped spaces built for coercing confessions, and neither of them are good with words.

O'er These Mountains I Would Fly by @lurkinglurkerwholurks (General Audiences, 2k, 2019) After saving an injured baby bird, Dick and Damian drive out to a wildlife rehabilitation center. A wonderful edition to the "Damian slowly learning to trust Dick early on in the Batman!Dick era" genre.

“Nervous?” Grayson asked. They had been driving for over half an hour, and this was only Grayson’s fifth attempt at conversation. It had been an unusually quiet ride.

and the shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light by @popsunner (Teen & Up, 5k, 2020) Post-Dick's death, Tim tries to be a brother to Damian. Featuring Tim's grieving headspace, his evolving relationship with his brothers, and his enduring status as the Emotional Support batkid.

Damian is around a lot more since Dick died, hovering like he’s looking for something that isn’t here anymore. It’s alright. Tim is used to playing the part of ghosts. Or: Dick is dead. Things change.

[monkebearness]

He + She (& Her) [Pt. 1]

Kim ChaeYeon (tripleS) x Male Reader (ft. Lee JiWoo)

Part 2

Tags: smut, fluff, open relationship (potential poly), creampie, mommy kink, some rough rink

Word count: 10k

a/n: I've thought of this idea for a while, and I've only decided to write about it pretty recently. yeah, that's about it. I hope you enjoy this!

Friday. It’s past seven o’clock in the evening. For a while, howls and growls can be heard under the moonlight, but they’re not from wolves.

“Oooooooh, God… Yooouuuu're… so beau…nghh…tiful, even with your hair… tied up!”

They’ve been going for two hours, jumping each other’s bones since they’re fueled by intense libido and the primal desire to keep this burning pleasure as long as they can on the squeaking king-sized mint bed. It’s not the only spot in the apartment where they do it. There’s the couch, the bathroom, or even the kitchen counter. But for this couple, the bedroom is simply the best spot. As much as “vanilla” it may sound for some, there’s no denying its ultimate comfort and versatility for all sorts of possible, or near-impossible, steaming private activities that their bodies demand.

During this round, the woman has been grinding on his hips like he's a stallion, holding on to his shoulders with every ounce of her being while her cunt is being impaled by his dick in the past several minutes in one of their favorite positions to date.

“Thanks, ba…by… Ggghhh… Baby, you’re so good… inside… me… Ugh!”

“Mmm… Mahh…” he groans under his breath—almost drowning beneath her jiggling sweaty jugs as he maintains his rhythm with his lover and keeps his strength beneath her. “Moommy, fuck! How are you… still so… tight! It feels so…”

“Just keep… Going…” She undoes her bun, a flashy maneuver that suddenly embiggens his already erect member. “What..? Ugghhh!” she yelps at his surprise, but that’s not all.

His unthinkable urges impel him to take his mouth into her right tit, igniting a shriek of delight and a titter from the woman as he proceeds to suck it within seconds. “Oh, fuck! Hnngghh… Honggi... you naughty… boy!” She struggles to form phrases from the top of her breath while her occupied partner uses his hand to massage her left breast, rubbing it up and down with his fingers, a trick that he intensifies by using his pincer grasps to give her nipple a quick pinch. “Imma…”

Honggi’s mouth slowly parts from Chaeyeon’s knocker, leaving a trail of saliva, and asks her, “What… Is it?”

“I’m safe today, baby,” she whimpers right next to his left ear with a smirk. “And I’m… getting close.” And as a cherry on top, the woman leans near his left cheek and licks it.

Her words and action strikes through his nerve once again, giving him another quick boost for another minute. He knows exactly what she’s insinuating. “Me…” he grunts, feeling his thrusts within her decrease in speed in favor of strengthening his pounding. “Nggghhh… too!”

Their movements slowly take a halt, anticipating the warm build-up flowing and leaving their crotches. She holds his chin, leaning down to reward him with a kiss. He amplifies it by sliding his tongue in her submissive mouth, allowing a moment for them to sloppily clash together in the midst of their skins slapping. Five seconds later, Honggi bursts his load inside Chaeyeon’s womb, moaning in each other’s mouth as they’ve reached their respective climaxes.

They catch their breath, falling flat on the bed. “You did so good, baby," she wheezes before lying on her pillow. She places her hand on his chest. “You always have, oppa.”

“You do remember that we’re still the same age, Chae-yah,” he brings up with a snicker.

“Yeah, but oppa gets you up, doesn’t it?” she counters with a teasing tone, lightly pinching his nose. “‘Cause you’re still months older? Almost a year, even.”

“I don’t care what you call me, mommy,” he submits, gently stroking her hair sideways. “Here or outside.”

He kisses her forehead, inciting a giggle from her. She inches her head on to his chest, where the two relax and hear each other’s breathing for about fourteen minutes while they talk about their day, allowing Honggi to reflect on their mundane yet special past. About two years ago.

= = =

“So I wasn't too tipsy that night,” the woman cheered. “You really were from SSU too!”

He puts down his cup on the table. “I thought you were familiar too,” he pointed out.

She pointed her fingers. “You were the class clown from Tone’s friend group, right?”

“Yeah! And you, you…” He snapped his fingers four times, until more of his memories were reignited and much clearer. “Oh, right! You were that cute and clumsy girl from Tone’s club. The Dimension Beamers, was it?”

“Diamond Dreamers,” she corrected him with a chuckle, not even defending his claim. “Gosh, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name from someone.”

They went to the same university, but they weren’t that close. Mutual friends at best... The encounters they had were mostly teasing each other whenever their friend groups interact. But they have been coworkers for almost three years and, of course, one thing led to another, as cliché as that sounds. When they were promoted to a new team at the Cultivation Of Seoul Media Organization (COSMO) Broadcasting Station, the two felt a “spark” during their first post-college reunion. The day after their first team dinner, the pair chose to meet at a café in their company building during lunchtime.

“Right, right, that’s what I meant,” he replied. “Mianhae. You got a point. It’s been about six years since we graduated from Seoul State, so forgive my memory.”

“No worries. But, may I ask: how long have you been working here?” she asked. “I feel like I’ve seen you a few times before, but I’m sure if you were someone I crossed paths with.”

“I’ve only been here for a year, actually,” he clarified. “Though I’ve worked other jobs at other companies before I got here after Tone and some of my pals are here and gave their recommendations for the application. How about you?”

“About two years now. Got here on my own, but it wasn’t easy either. Company had more rounds of interviews for applicants in its early days.”

“Wow, you’re an OG employee… So that makes you my sunbae, then?” he teased.

“Yah!” she roared. We’re in the same year first during college… I’m not allowing that.”

“Fine, fine,” he yielded to her intimidating whine. “Besides, I don’t wanna get fired too.”

Chayeon only raised her eyebrow, much to her chagrin.

He inched his arms away from the table with vigilance. “Will I get fired for saying that?”

“Nah, relax…” she reassured him, before taking a sip of her iced americano with a slight smile. One of his statements from earlier still stuck in her mind. “So… I was that cute member, huh?” her smile grew into a smirk. “Don’t you think I’ve forgotten that.”

He gulped, coming up with anything off the top of his head to justify what he said. “It’s just from my memory. Have you not called yourself that word back in the day? I can still remember how confident you were with aegyos, even to people who weren't that close to you. You were practically a celebrity, just like the rest of your club.”

“That was pretty embarrassing. But those were some fun times,” she looked down and shook her head, before her mind recalled what she remembered about him. “And you…”

“What about me?” he countered with an alarmed tone before she could finish her statement. He must’ve thought of the most unflattering adjectives about himself.

“Don’t get so defensive all of the sudden, Mister,” she chortled. “For someone who was known as the clown in your group, I remember you had some charms and talents too, especially when you worked during the campus festival… You deserve to be here like everyone else, whether you got here through recommendations or not.”

“That is quite nice to hear, actually. Thanks.” He raised his right hand sideways, keeping his thumb apart from the rest. “I look forward to working with you, Chaeyeon-ssi.”

She took his hand, shaking it with her left. “Likewise, Honggi-ssi.”

They became friends, as expected, but even that wasn’t an easy path for them to take. The moment Honggi’s close friends and colleagues from his previous team heard the news of them hitting off, they went to him whenever he’s on his own several times— pestering him like insects flying on his radar, buzzing and whizzing around him, even though they were in different teams and floors apart.

“I know you’re kinda down bad,” his taller colleague assumed. “But are you sure you wanna go with Kim Chaeyeon?”

“Can’t you just go after someone else?” another one of his old deskmates chimed in.

“What about her, man?” Honggi wondered. “She seems pretty nice and approachable. Definitely more capable than me. I got to know her better, compared to when we’re in college. And besides… We’re just friends.”

“Another load of bullshit from you, man,” his taller one cackled. “Friends? Since when have you been friends with a woman, let alone at work?”

“Since Kotone? Since Suhyeon? Since Jayoon? Do you want me to go on?”

“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in defeat. “Fair enough, man.”

“And before you even ask,” Honggi continued with conviction. “No, I didn’t have the urge to sleep with them, you weirdos. Like I said, I’m just friends with Chaeyeon now.”

“Whatever you guys are right now,” the old deskmate added, telling him with a tone of concern. “There’s some things you don’t know about her.”

“That’s true,” the taller one hums in agreement. “It's better if you find some of the tea that she may not even spill by herself. Otherwise, you’ll regret it down the road.”

“Like what?” Honggi’s voice became a little louder. The two became daunted by him. 

He sees them as invasive. Despite the two of them being his friends for years, this was the first time he did not feel comfortable listening to their babbles about office drama. Ironically enough, he's no stranger to being an office gossiper himself back in the past. “Mianhae, guys,” he sighs. “Just spill it out. I'm sure it's not that big of a deal.”

“When she first worked here, she was more…” the deskmate scans through his mental thesaurus. “Promiscuous. That woman is wilder than she looks, man. As in more than you can imagine. But I don’t know, maybe she isn’t like that nowadays.”

“And?” he tilts his head. Hearing their persistence has been rubbing him the wrong way. “Her relationships should be the last of my business, let alone anyone else’s.”

“Whatever, man,” the taller colleague gives him a pat on his shoulder. “Just be careful when you’re dealing with that kind of woman… Especially if you’ve fallen for her.”

“Thanks, but umm,” Honggi scoffs at their warnings. Even though their overwhelming load of cautions made him a little worried, not for himself or even his own friends, but for Chaeyeon. “I think you guys are being overdramatic.”

“We just don’t want you to get hurt, dude. But if you’re still not convinced, you’ll see.”

Honggi heard the rumors from other colleagues about cases of cheating on her previous relationships, but Chaeyeon dismissed them, though whenever he got any close to being curious, she could only tell him responses like, “It’s, uhhhh, more complicated than that. But there was no cheating involved or anything.” Nevertheless, she was starting to enjoy his company over time, and so did he, in spite of all the misgivings he heard from other people around his workspace. A trust was strengthened through their bond ever since they felt that spark, prompting them to keep meeting each other from time to time.

The following months between the two were basically a game of “will-they-won’t-they?” Until the moment of truth came a year later. One had to finally make their first move.

“Hey, do you want to go to dinner?” Honggi approached her. “After work, that is?”

She placed her elbow on her desk, staring at him with a whimsical smile. “What is this, Lim Honggi-yah?”

“I’m just asking you out… For dinner,” he told her without any further details, making his tone sound casual. Just maybe a little too much. “I’m sure it’s not that different whenever we have lunch in this building. It’s just outside... Unless you have plans for tonight, then we can do it some other—”

“Loosen up,” she snorted a laugh due to his rapid pace. “I’m super free tonight… So, I would very much like that. You got any place in mind?”

“I was thinking if you have a suggestion,” he proposed. “Since you know this district a little better than I do.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

Even though he’s already thought of a comeback, Honggi tried to keep a straight face. “I’m, uhh, I’m just letting my sunbae do the honors.”

“Yah!” she exclaimed, leaving from her seat to chase off the running man across the room, before heading to the nearest pojangmacha outside their building. Honggi insisted that it would be his treat, so she took his words to heart.

“I’ll have a plate of gyeran-mari, a platter of tteokbokki, an odolppyeo-bokkeum, a bowl of eomukguk, and a bottle of makgeolli.”

“Okay,” the vendor turned her head to the man, whose eyes only widened at her orders. “How about you, son?”

“I… uhhh… I’ll have another bowl of eomukguk, and a roll of kimbap. Kamsahamnida.”

She chuckled at his reaction as soon as the vendor started preparing their orders. “I’ll pay for my orders, okay? Plus, they’re all meant to be shared, so you better help me out.”

“Of course,” he insisted. “But don’t worry, ‘cause I can still pay for them.”

“I haven’t eaten anything since lunch, so I don’t mind having a heavier meal tonight.”

He feels his own heart anguish, even unnecessary guilt, hearing her admit those words. “You should really stop skipping your meals, Chaeyeon-ah.”

“Gwenchana,” she shrugged his worries off with a cheery tone. “I rarely skip meals. Today was just an exception to that. I'm okay, Honggi.”

They didn't have a label for whatever they were, but they began dating, albeit in secret. Yes, they used the term dating, even if they weren’t “anything” at first, and even though he didn’t realize that she was hiding a few secrets from him for a while. Yet despite this, Honggi didn’t blame her, or even held an ounce of spite, when she told him the truth of most of the hearsays and rumors his own friends were warning him about. It's her life, he tells himself… I don't have to know everything, unless she tells me about it.

Knowing Chaeyeon, she confided in him some of the things that others would talk about her. How she experienced catcalling by others, had her own credits and contributions at her projects stolen or undermined by certain executives, and how she dealt with them in her two years at this company. Of course, she has her own close friends whom she could tell her secrets to outside of work, but with Honggi, it’s something new compared to a lot of things she has been going through at work lately. To her, he was a new ingredient that started spicing up her life at their workplace. He was a friend whose shoulders she could lean on. One she can call text or late at night, whether they're working on a team project, or talking about anything else. One who she can exchange jokes with without getting too offended. One who doesn’t laugh whenever she loses her balance on a slippery floor and rather, goes his way to help her back up, just before they laugh it off together. One that coyly tells her that she looks beautiful whenever she enters the office with a new look. That’s Honggi to Chaeyeon. It is the balance of feeling comfortable and the yearning which they have for each other.

But that first date was also the first time Chaeyeon decided to come clean with him.

More than an hour had passed inside the pocha. Most of their plates and bowls were emptied, with the leftovers already wrapped up, most notably Chaeyeon’s tteokbokki. Fees have been paid. But they still remain here, having longer talks and banters about whatever they can bring up until the clock reaches nine.

Reasonably, she felt hesitant at first. “Do you believe what they're saying about me?”

Honggi saw it in her eyes. The sense of dread she was trying to hide. Not to mention her cheeks looking more pinkish. Why does she kind of look like a peach? A really cute one, he wonders, just as he brushed off such an honest observation. He inched his hand on her fingers, hoping it would alleviate her unease. She looked down, feeling his gentle, electric touch. It’s that spark again. “I only believe what you tell me, Chaeyeon-ssi.”

“Honggi-yah. You know, you've only known me for a year,” she faced him with eyes ridden with guilt while wearing a somber smile. “That pales in comparison to your buddies at your old team. They basically welcomed you into this company.”

“Sure, they’re my friends,” he acknowledged. “But they don't know you either. They can call me a simp all they want. Maybe I am. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve known you enough to know that—”

She left her seat and inched closer to his face, kissing him for the first time, sending sparks throughout both their bodies at this moment. In her mind, she took a big risk... Within seconds, they feel and taste each other’s lips, unavoidably exploring the flavors of their meals, yet they savor each, from tangy to savory. Their lips part, Honggi opens his eyes, frozen in disbelief. His breathing becomes a little heavier at first, yet a stream of relief and excitement follows from him.

“I guess that’s one thing they, or you, didn’t know about me.”

“They did tell me,” slipped from his mouth, but immediately covered himself with his hand. “Though I didn’t mean to ruin this moment. I tried to ignore them, but I couldn’t forget when they said that you’d be…”

“What?” she questioned, her monotone voice striking panic through him.

“Promiscuous?” he confessed in embarrassment. “Mianhae. That's what they told me.”

She let out a giggle. “Don’t be… I kinda expected just that,” her sultry tone and grin remained. Her fingers trailed up his sleeve, sending a chilling sensation down his spine. “But… Feeling is different from knowing, don’t you agree?”

He nodded with an embarrassed smile. Before the silence of the night breeze could have overtaken their moment, Honggi made the next move while Chaeyeon smiled and closed her eyes in anticipation of this moment.

In the months that followed, Honggi and Chaeyeon have gone on dates at either fancy or simple restaurants, watched movies at the theater, given each other gifts and bouquets on occasions, and taken walks to plenty of parks and museums, like most couples. For indoors, they hang out at each other’s places, where they cook, cuddle, wheedle, or watch TV and—for the most part—having stress relieving sex after work, which has pretty much become a tradition for the pair during weekends—if their limbs aren’t sore because of it, to say the least.

= = =

This Friday evening, they’re in Chaeyeon's apartment. Her bed is starting to reek of sex. Their mixed sweat and juices long splattered across the bed sheets, with their breathing bouncing across the room. Both their stamina and fuel to keep going have been drained, although their requited satisfaction is off the charts. Neither of them may be able to top their performance this week in the next few days. Although they have had wilder times, tonight’s one of their most passionate ones so far, but that doesn’t come as a surprise.

They suddenly hear a ringtone at the door, followed by a click, since they never closed the bedroom door. Honggi gets up from the bed, freezing on alert, but Chaeyeon’s lips only curve upwards with anticipation. Based on her face, he understands just who the person from the other side is. The only other resident of this astonishing abode. A tall woman in a grey blazer and black slacks.

“Jagiya," Chaeyeon, now in her blue robe, exits the bedroom with her usual sweet tone as she walks up to her girlfriend at the foyer. “You’re home!”

“Hi, unnie,” Jiwoo’s smile reciprocates her girlfriend’s, although the tone of her voice is a little weaker. “You may wanna get a hold of yourself a little longer. Imma shower for a bit. The train tonight was more crowded than usual.”

“I don’t care how smelly you are now,” she retorts, proving her words with a kiss to Jiwoo’s left cheek. “Plus, I don’t think our scents are that different now, hmm..?”

The woman smirks, slowly trailing her fingers up the collar of Chaeyeon’s robe to take a peek of her bare body. “If that’s the case, then why don’t you join me in the shower?”

“I much as I would love that,” she tells her, giving her another peck on her right cheek. “I think you should go ahead first, babe.”

“Oh, right,” her mouth slightly gapes, realizing what she meant. “Mianhae. We have a guest, after all. I didn’t even notice.”

“Don’t apologize,” Chaeyeon holds her hands. “You’re looking a little tired, Juju-yah. Better get some rest first, arachi?”

Honggi exits the room, now wearing his shirt and boxers. Sitting on the couch with his phone, he watches them kiss and embrace with passion. Even he can tell the warmth of their years of care and love for each other, acknowledging well that this pair predates whatever he and she has. Sure, he may come off as a third wheel, but it’s not the first time he’s entered this awkward situation whenever he’s with both of them.

Tossing her messenger bag on the couch, she slouches on the furniture herself to take a breather, the tall woman takes a look at the man with a polite smile yet insouciant eyes, Jiwoo makes a little effort by raising her right hand to wave at him once she has turned on the television. “Hey, Honggi-ssi.”

Honggi bows his head with a sheepish smile. “Hey, Jiwoo-ssi. How’s your day?”

“Oh, you know. Business as usual,” she pouts. “The studio was less occupied tonight… But, surprisingly enough, the bakery had more customers than usual. We even had to delay its closure by thirty minutes… How’s yours?”

For hours, he had almost forgotten. This is far from an ordinary relationship. A lot of couples have become more open-minded, mostly for the better, yet not every couple is open like Chaeyeon and Jiwoo. He recalls their third date, when she came clean about the thrilling and intriguing nature of his lover’s relationship with someone else.

= = =

Back to six months ago, right after the heat of the moment. It was their eighth kiss at the garden, located outside the restaurant they just dined at. It was a romantic memory for both of them, butterflies and all that. For Chaeyeon, it felt like she entered the Garden of Eden every time they locked lips, or felt each other’s tongue trying to slide in. However, as soon as their eyes meet again, she pulls the elephant back inside their room almost immediately to remind him of her pressing concern, at least for his sake.

“That was, wow... But, um, you clearly weren't paying attention to what I just told you, oppa, which, by the way, I've told you about seven times on separate occasions, yet it’s always like that’s no big deal to you.”

Even though it was her plan to come clean since their first date, Honggi’s reaction has somewhat bothered her often. He seems too chill about it, she described his behavior. She confessed to having a girlfriend during their second date, but he only took it well. Way too well. That’s why she keeps pressing him about her revelation whenever they spend time outside of work.

“That just means that I’ve listened to you loud and clear, Chaeyeon-ah,” he comforted her with a gentle caress to her cheek, making Chaeyeon look down out of meekness. Even if kissing or simply touching her should have felt like taking a lot of bites of the forbidden fruit, Honggi’s heart and mind are willing to submit to such a sweet sensation.

But, with his accepting words, she realized something. Just like how he waited for her and comforted her until she opened up, maybe she proved herself that she’d be just as willing to do the same for Honggi, if she wants to make him stay and make things work with the man she has fallen for.

“I don't care if you have a girlfriend, another boyfriend, or another lover,” he continued. “I don't mind if that's just how you live and love. I mean… If you do feel the same way for me—I don’t know, maybe that's enough for us, don’t you think? And it’s not like you’re cheating on your girlfriend, is it?”

“Of course, not,” she looked back at him. “I meant what I said. Jiwoo and I have been ‘open’ for a while now, and it’s been going well for both of us. For the most part.”

“For the most part?” he repeated, raising his eyebrow in confusion.

“We can’t always be lucky,” she shrugged. “But my point is, my girlfriend and I tell each other whoever we’re interested in… So you shouldn’t be worried about that, Honggi.”

“Well, I think any other person who could’ve been with you now, would’ve been lucky,” he contemplated. “I just happened to be that man this time.”

“Are you just saying that so you can finally get in my pants?” she cooed.

“Definitely not,” he inched away and crossed his arms, wanting to appear classier to her. “Unless you want that, I’m a patient man.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “What a gentleman you are.”

“I’m serious… I like what we have now, Chaeyeon-ah.” His speech reverted back to a serious one. “But if you don't want me to be in your life a little more often, then I can understand that. We can stay friends, if you’d like it—”

She put her index finger on his lips. He sees her alluring smile slowly forming.

“Of course, I'm serious too. It’s our third date, silly,” she took another step closer, triggering a sudden gulp in his throat. “You have no idea how much I want you, Honggi-yah.”

They rented a motel room, agreeing not to introduce each other’s places just yet. “It’s still a bit too messy,” Honggi defended his reasoning, though Chaeyeon’s reason was, “Jiwoo-yah will be surprised to see me taking someone home while she’s around and besides… I'm all yours tonight.”

Despite their previous dates becoming more and more intimate, they haven’t done anything beyond second base because of Chaeyeon’s hesitation. About how Honggi would react once she tells him about their open relationship, or finds that out from  some of the blabbermouths at work. Thankfully, she had chosen the former route.

As soon as they arrived inside their motel room, Chaeyeon hungrily jumped on Honggi, whom he caught with lustful enthusiasm. As they made out unrestrained, their tongues danced in harmony, tasting each other without delay while he held on to her hips and waist, as his fingers explored her curves with curiosity. The pair might have enjoyed each other’s mouth more than the expensive meals they had that night.

His right hand finds its way on her bottom, giving her right cheek a slow squeeze, which broke their kiss with a moan from the woman. He’s found more of her sensitive zones.

About ten minutes had passed of exploring each other's mouth and the curve of their body, and they slowed down and took off each other’s attire. From the bottom to top, Honggi slowly unbuttoned her sleeve, digging in his lips down her neck the more her skin was exposed, licking and tasting the woman as if she's producing nectar. “Hnghh…”

Condoms were located inside the nightstand. Thank God for love motels, Honggi sighed, but, as Chaeyeon unbuttons his pants, a thought still bothered him. And it bothered him if he didn’t tell her the truth about this information sooner.

“I… haven’t done this in a while,” the man stutters, instinctively scratching his head.

“It’s okay…. Let me,” she whispers. She unlocks her blue bra with an alluring smirk, revealing her voluminous breasts to her partner. Honggi becomes stunned, like a stun grenade was just dropped in front of his eyes, a pair that blinds him with lust and thirst.

The man looks at her with a veil of caution, suppressing his true excitement. “May I?”

She nodded, and he leaped in for the attack, nibbling and sucking her bosom. “Oh, fuck.” While Chaeyeon can only hum and whimper as Honggi pleasured her with his mouth. Despite her eyes closing in bliss, her hand creeped all the way down his erect crotch, but that didn't stop him from savoring each of her plump rack like it’s dessert. “Yes, that's it… You know your thing, baby,” she purred with her eyes closed.

But Honggi stopped for a second. A bulb lit up in his head. No need to rush this.

“Let me take the lead, if you don't mind,” he tells her. She nods, before he latches his lips onto hers. His left hand stays firm on her breast, massaging them with circular motions, with his right hand being deployed down her clit. Testing the waters, he puts one finger in her, suddenly triggering a whimper of surprise from her. The second finger followed inside, igniting the moan that he couldn’t get enough of. If that wasn’t enough for her, he deploys the third finger to do another trick. His right thumb latched beside the clit, making a limited up and down motion. “God… You devious son of a… gun!”

After giving her a deeper kiss, his lips trailed down her neck, collarbone, chest once again, curves, and belly button. He bowed on one knee until his gaze reached the level of his destination, her nether regions, in between her thick thighs. As Honggi start to eat Chaeyeon out, she couldn’t stop moaning while her hands kept fighting on whether to grip Honggi’s wavy hair or the cover of the mattress.

He stopped, giving Chaeyeon a sense of disappointment. He looked up to her. “Mianhae, but I just wanna say… Go ahead, Chae, pull my hair.”

The woman exhaled a smile, speechless and astonished by his openness to her much rougher habits.

After giving his permission to his lover, he went through his techniques, blowing into it with his warm breath before slowly licking her inner thighs to amplify her anticipation. With his tongue, he starts circling her clit from side to side, up and down, repeating the process through different variations. Each lick and swirl triggers a different note from the woman’s voice, increasing the intensity of her moans from minute to minute. Her right hand latched on to his hair.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, fuck!” she cried out in glee. The rush of feeling his mouth savoring her cunt only made her curse louder, not wanting for this sensation to stop, even if her juices begin to leak. Minutes went by as she howled in his efforts with little intervals of silence, and she could feel herself reaching her maximum capacity. Like a cup overflowing with liquid. “Baby, fuck! I'm getting close… I can't hold it—”

She looked up to the heavens and reached her orgasm, splashing her milky fluids on his face. And unsurprisingly, it would be far from the last on this night. Chaeyeon caught her breath, and opened her eyes to find Honggi’s creamed face. Realizing what she's done, she apologized to him. However, he licked whatever was left on his hand, much to her surprise, yet Chaeyeon didn’t have him to have the fun all by himself. She cupped his face and pulled him closer, sticking her tongue out and licking her own juice, starting down his chin up to his left cheek. “Holy,” Honggi could only mutter in awe, before she pulled him for a kiss. Moments have passed, the main show has now arrived. With the condom completely wrapped around his member, they both lie down on the bed.

Now, it’s her turn to make an effort to please Honggi, sitting on his lap with her legs wrapped around his waist. Fueled by excitement, she aligned her entrance with his shaft, while Honggi exhaled with anticipation at her initiative.

Clearing her throat at the sight of it, she inched her body until his tip faced her entrance. Oh, I'm not sure if I can handle this, she thinks at the spectacle of his own cock. It might not be the longest she has seen, but his girth made her speechless. Her reaction was split between intimidation and appetite. However, while Chaeyeon salivated at his cock with her stare, it was Honggi who continued the formalities amidst her hesitation. “Can I?”

“Do the honors,” she husked. Honggi received her blessing. With a deep breath, his manhood entered inside her slit. Chaeyeon felt hair stand up all over her body, yet she maintained her own composure while her hole welcomed his lover’s key. He slowly pushed his penis, deeper and deeper within.

Despite submitting to the woman's lead, his rod finally found more of her pleasurable zones inside her womb, the longer he inched himself more forward within Chaeyeon’s tightening embrace, who squealed right next to his ear just as his yonic expedition had reached the end.

“I never expected it to happen like this,” he confessed while easing on his grinding.

“Me… ngggnnneither.” Savoring his shaft, she leaned in and peppered a few kisses on his forehead, an action that made him chuckle. “But I'm glad… that it's like thisss.”

In search of something familiar and comforting in this intense session, their eyes ended up crossing paths again. Lust and love clashed through their body and mind, but Honggi feels conflicted about whether he should praise or eroticize her, in all of her naked glory. “You’re so cute. So hardworking. So smart… So fucking beautiful, Chaeyeon. You're so…” Regardless, he couldn't help but do both in such a crazed and stimulating moment. “Fuck!”

“What?” a grin crept on her face. His unorganized words were music to her ears, but she wanted more. “Go on, baby. Come on, say it to me.”

He found a new side of this woman. And she was right, about what she told him during their first date.

“You’ve imagined me naked before, haven’t you?”

Caught by her question, Honggi thought of those moments. He's only a man, after all. Even before they became more intimate, he had instances of finding her attractive. For starters, her face. To him, Chaeyeon is what they would call a visual. He once asked why she didn't become an idol or model for a living, though she shrugged him off. Her two memorable hairstyles. Her butt when she dropped her folder on the floor one time. Her cleavage, during their dates. Even her mannerisms often make him feel things. But even then, he would stop himself from entertaining any other thoughts. Now that their story is different, he only groaned with pleasure, coordinating his movement with her grinding. She tilted her head at his lack of words, sensing that he's become distracted by his thoughts while his body’s on autopilot. “Hmm… You’re not answering, baby.”

“It’s different… Feeling you is much more different,” he admitted his thoughts.

“How different?” She encouraged him, surprised he even remembered those same words from months back.

“You’re so…” his thrusts hardened. “Fucking hot. Hotter than I could… Imagine!”

She bit her lower lip. “Atta…boy.”

Their rhythm reaches synchronicity. He says his praises along with his powered plunges. The woman created a graceful and dynamic symphony with her moans, holding onto his back with eagerness, burying her fingernails on his trapezius whenever he reached more spots to stimulate as his cock moved in and out inside her.

She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Chaeyeon hasn't felt pleasure like this in years. Sure, she might have a girlfriend before him, but there's just something different with this sensation. Not better or worse. Just new. And she doesn't want to let it go, let him go, especially at this moment. Yet unlike most of the folks she has dated and slept with, there's action and power to his words. Even at this pace, she wanted to test his attention.

“Slap my ass,” she rasped, clasping her hands around his back a little tighter to maintain her motion.

“Huh?” his rhythm slowed down as he leaned his ear closer.

“Do it, baby!” she whined, feeling her insides getting stretched. “Just slap my—”

Honggi did what he’s told. He raised his right palm and tapped her right butt cheek while it kept bouncing on, along with its other half.

She's not too impressed. She barely felt it. “Harder,” she purred. “Was that a tickle?”

A nerve was struck there. Even if she was doing it to get him worked up, his ego took it as not being good enough. Failing to satisfy her. Like with his own exes. Thus, he only pushed himself to prove her wrong. He slapped her butt again, now with double the speed. Some impact was felt, and it amused her. “Heh… You're… getting there.”

Goaded and aroused by her taunts, he cranked up his strength level and tripled his speed, raising his hand for the third time, now spreading his fingers apart, and smack! Honggi’s slap sent a surge of stimulation throughout the rest of her body—from her skin to her most sensitive spots—and he followed it up with four more slaps in similar levels.

“Oooooooooohh, fuck!” she howled with delight, feeling the reverb down her buttocks. Pleased by his own results, he celebrated by licking her neck and nibbling on her right nipple, forcing the woman to muffle her continuous moans with a lip bite. “Don’t stop that... hmm? It feels… too good.”

“You deserve everything good, Chae-yah,” he returned to praising her. “You deserve the fucking best!”

“Then do I deserve… This big cock inside me?” she wailed. “Do I, Honggi-yah?”

“You deserve it, mommy,” he moaned, giving his best and hardest to please her with his member through rougher thrusts. “This cock is made… just for you. And a lot more!”

Those words were the final straw in the stacks of sensation she's feeling. “I’m… close!”

His ego prompted him to say the same thing and lie to her, but even his thrilled and exhilarated body answered otherwise, insisting that he kept on pounding the woman with all his might. “Do it, Chae,” he cheered on, choosing to listen to his body to keep going, while his partner was already nearing her completion.

And as Chaeyeon hit a high and long note at the top of her lungs, Honggi felt the warm stream of juices burst out her vagina, even from the veil of the latex barrier protecting his rod. Still moving his own hips forward inside her womb, Honggi was more than happy that she reached her climax for a second time, even if his ego was already disappointed that he couldn’t do it at the same time as hers, since he himself was now close to releasing. Another skill issue, his own inner ego mocked him, but he was rarely bothered, knowing that he's next.

“Fill me up, baby!” she commanded. “It's… your… reward, for being so good in me.”

He knows what she means, even if he really can't literally do what she asked this time. Not tonight, anyways. He also moaned the moment he busted all his semen inside the condom, though his volume paled in comparison to the woman's. Feeling his cum to be taking a little longer to unload, he pulled his cock out of her. As both slowed down along with their breathing, such an experience put a smile of fulfillment on both their faces.

“Maybe next time,” he gasped, falling on the bed beside her.

“Mianhae, baby,” she caressed his left cheek with a pout. “It’s our first time, and you did so well… But, I didn't even ask if you were close.”

He cupped her face and leaned closer to kiss her lips, reassuring her. “Don't be, Peachy… I'm just happy I even managed to please you.”

She raised an eyebrow, but his words and action put a beam of appreciation on her face. “You got a nickname for me now?”

His flight-or-fight response activated, more on the former. “You don't like it?”

“I do. And it's nice,” she hummed. “It’s, umm, similar to what my girlfriend calls me.”

Chaeyeon's words suddenly sent an unexpected reaction down Honggi's member. Her eyes darted at his erection with lustful interest. “What the hell?” he murmured, rising from the bed in surprise. The woman followed his movement until they're both seated.

“I know you're a bit disappointed… for not finishing with me,” she teased. Her hands stroke his cock up and down, slowly lowering her head to its level, mirroring his actions earlier. “But I'll make it up to you, oppa… The night's still young, hmm?”

Staring at his now erect cock, she licked the remains of his cum off his tip clean, sending tingles through his spine. She proved her point. Honggi could only watch and groan at her determined display, before answering her with, “Well… It's your call, mommy.”

That night was the first, second, third, and fourth times they’ve had sex. In retrospect, the first one was definitely far from their best one—but so are most first times, though admittedly, it can be said that it was better than most, especially since they had a few more rounds that exceeded the last. All in one night, Honggi had his balls deep inside Chaeyeon several times, and she savored every second, minute, and hour of it—even if they used protection the whole night. For starters, they ended up doing more than one position. The missionary, lotus, cowgirl, and some of which are mixed variations of the previous ones, along with a few more.

Half an hour has passed. They sprawl next to each other on the memory foam mattress. Their eyes lock in the silence, sensing the satisfaction, endearment, and warmth in each other’s smile, gaze, and touch, respectively, while they gasp for breath—in a similar way one would after partaking in track and field, gymnastics, swimming, and weightlifting, perhaps combined with other sports, all at the same time.

They've finally reached the remaining bases of physical intimacy in their relationship. In fact, they’ve hit the homerun, as some call it. In the afterglow of their vehement rounds, both players felt like winners on each one in this game, which felt both competitive and a team play, which is what it actually is.

“You… told me… you haven't done this… in a…” Chaeyeon huffed and puffed, holding on to his shoulder. “While.”

“And you said you’ve only known… A few positions,” he fired back, caressing her hand. “What was… all that?”

“That was a few,” she exhaled with a smug grin. Her hand moved to his chest, giving his pecs a few tickles.

His tiring eyes and smile widened at such a remark, sensing a tingle down there. “Does that mean there’s more?”

“Hmm…” she squinted her eyes at him, her breathing slowly back to normal. “I never expected for you to be such a perv, oppa. You’re gonna need a little more discipline.”

“Bring it on,” he goaded her, aroused and intimated by her playful warning. He and his member readied up to what she had to offer.

Driven by their untameable lust, their next few rounds came right after that minute.

After that night, the man would enter Chaeyeon's life a lot more often. In ways more than one. From restaurant dates to traveling, their romantic and sexual adventures began. Honggi would sometimes wonder how their relationship would have worked, considering the fact that they’ve only been meeting three and half times a week but he eventually understood and adapted, both on his own and from Chaeyeon’s comforting words. Meanwhile, the other half of the schedule would be dedicated to her girlfriend.

Every week, he would spend more time with her on the last three days of the week, with Jiwoo being her priority in the first half. However, nothing is ever final, as they tend to switch on the next one or even overlap at times. That’s when Chaeyeon mediated their introduction as both of her lovers. It is a rare situation for someone to introduce their girlfriend to their new boyfriend and vice versa, but it happened to the three of them. They were properly introduced on a Saturday morning—their third month of dating.

For this significant occasion, they met at a cafe that was nearest to their apartment.

“Jiwoo-yah, this is Honggi,” Chaeyeon gestured with her hands. “Honggi-yah, this is Jiwoo.”

Awkwardness was inevitable but as Chaeyeon recalls it, it was one of the most awkward she has ever felt from them, even reconsidering whether it was a good idea to introduce them in the first place, since their schedules were working with little to no problem. But she was impressed that he still pushed through with it like a champ, just like Jiwoo did.

Honggi finally met Chaeyeon’s woman for the first time since college. “Oh, it really is you…” Recognizing her at first glance, he straightened his posture and bowed to her. His cup of coffee remains untouched. “Annyeonghaseyo, Jiwoo-ssi.”

“Told you he’d recognize me,” she murmured next to her girlfriend. Jiwoo bowed to him seconds later, before taking a sip of her iced tea through the flexible silicone straw.

“That’s great!” Yet Chaeyeon still perseveres. As stubborn as she may seem, she wants this to work out. The man she has fallen for has been nothing but great to her, and she wants her beloved to see that in some capacity. “I hope you two will get along together, because we will be seeing each other more often. I know we have our own schedules on meeting each other, but since you two agreed with me on this...”

= = =

After ten minutes of small talk with the other woman in the living room, he returns back to his girlfriend’s room. His doubts and self-inadequacy mandates him to dress up in his outerwear and call it a night. Although he likes their company, he doesn't know what else to do.

But just as Honggi is facing the present with a few hints of doubt, he takes a deep sigh. Chaeyeon has read his mind and places her right hand on his cheek. “Look, oppa... I'm not asking you to simply shag her or whatever," she tells him casually. “She can do that with whoever she likes. She's a strong, independent woman.”

“I know she is,” her words throw him off guard. This is indeed a new territory for him, but he still went on because he knew he liked this woman in front of him. “But I'm not even considering that—And I don't.”

“Sure,” she laughs at his defensive reaction. “But you gotta admit, she’s gorgeous.”

Honggi takes a glance at Jiwoo from the dining table, laughing loudly and unabashedly at whatever she’s watching on her phone, something that contrasts his first impression of her. That’s one trait of hers that he hasn’t forgotten since all three of them started to hang out in this apartment. “She really is.”

“See?” her voice raises with enthusiasm. “Babe, you do find her attractive!”

“That was a test?” he scoffs in disbelief. “I mean that, from an objective standpoint.”

“Maybe, I'm just kidding.” She tilts her head to the side. “Maybe I’m not. We’ll see.”

“Yah…” he lowers his voice. “You’re scaring me for a bit.”

“Babe, loosen up a bit…” she tries to woo him with her kittenish voice. “Jiwoo doesn’t really hate you or anything. Far from it. It's okay for both of you to take things slow... Slower than we have, if you must.”

He can only ponder about his own decision while he listens to Chaeyeon, knowing well that she is still saying her piece. She's worth it, he realizes.

“But the truth is, she hasn’t seen anyone in a while,” she elaborates. “Her last ex didn’t bother calling her again because I said no to having a foursome with one of his friends. Pigs, that’s what they were.”

Immersed and touched by their experience, Honggi halts any considerations of leaving. With whatever they have now, he doesn't want to mess everything up, especially when she, nay, they need him around. “He didn't respect you enough, Chae. Both of you... That was his loss.”

“Thank you, babe,” she reaches both his cold hands, warming it up with her touch. “And with what I said about Jiwoo…”

“It's okay. Whatever happens, I promise I’m not gonna be like that asshat,” he assures her. “Or any other asshats you’ve dealt with in the past… Just because we're both your lovers, that doesn't mean we have to be selfish.”

“I know you won't,” her body sways with elation, charmingly swinging her arms with his. “But I also know you've been eyeing her for a while now. This is nothing new for us.”

“I…uhh… What do you mean? I thought we’ve gone through this.” He has nothing else to retort. His inner demon arises due to her teases, while he recalls the moments she might have brought back to him. Moments where he found something in common with Jiwoo.

And with that, he realizes: that's the thing about dating someone who's already in a committed relationship. It's not always easy. Even monogamous ones aren’t either.

From his eyes, Jiwoo isn't too fond of him being around when the three of them are together, even if their girlfriend doesn’t even want him to leave the apartment until he really has to go. At times, he may even be jealous of Jiwoo too, even if he doesn’t admit it to her. Maybe he’s just insecure, or that he is also falling for her. But he knows that’s not his right. Plus, he also suggested going through this complex relationship to begin with and even now, he doesn’t want to give up on her. On them. He’ll do whatever it takes.

“And besides,” she leans right in his left ear. “It's not the first time we've shared someone... I’m sure you’ve considered that.”

They hear Jiwoo slightly raising her voice from the living room. Having finished her quick shower, she’s now in a casual get-up: an oversized pink T-shirt and cargo pants. “Unnie, I’m heading out for a bit. Just gonna buy some groceries at the CVS. Is there anything you both need?”

“Wait here for a minute,” Chaeyeon advises Honggi—which he nods without any look of complaint—before heading to her girlfriend. “What’s the rush, Juju? Can’t we just order them online, like we used to?”

“I can, but… I wanna go outside,” she doubles down on her decision. “It’s more efficient that way, since we’re gonna be cooking dinner tonight.”

“It’s not about Honggi, is it?” she murmurs, even showing her puppy eyes at her.

She shakes her head. “No, no, unnie. I thought we'd talked about this. I like Honggi-ssi as your boyfriend. He’s probably the best one you’ve had since… Forever, actually.”

Chaeyeon inches closer, lovingly kissing her girlfriend. “You really think that, babe?”

“Of course. It’s been six months with no red flags, hasn’t it? Not to mention the fact that you were friends for a year before hitting it off. Besides, it’s my excuse to get some fresh air,” Jiwoo whispers to her beloved with a tempting smirk. “You two have fun, because time’s ticking, unnie.”

Meanwhile, Chaeyeon’s reminder triggers two opposing effects in Honggi, arousal down there and insecurity up in his ego. He knows that relationships don't always stay “lovey dovey” or remain in its honeymoon phase, especially with something like theirs. Way before Chaeyeon, he has never been the best at keeping his relationships very long, but considering the fact that they’re already six months strong, Honggi may as well keep on savoring this special and fascinating situation, even if Chaeyeon may not feel the same level as he does in his heart. He'll do it for her. He'll befriend Jiwoo and respect her in the same way he treats their girlfriend, perhaps just platonically… Only time will tell.

Chaeyeon returns inside the room, meeting Honggi with a more optimistic expression. “You look cheerful. Is there anything I should know?”

“I actually have thought about what you said, Chae,” he avows, slowly taking her hand. “I'll try and get to know Jiwoo. I’ll make a little more effort to say the least.”

“Thank you…” she pecks him on his cheek. “You won't regret it, oppa.”

Their lips touch. A little longer and a lot more tender this time. As they part steadily, Chaeyeon’s eyes hunger at the sight of his erect cock, and she wants to return the favor to his body’s involuntary action. “Oh, hello... Wanna go another round, baby?" she coos, untying the strings of her bathrobe, revealing her naked curves as it falls to the floor.

Honggi grins and attacks her lips, initiating another steamy makeout session. She takes off his shirt while he strips off his boxers, before walking each other on the bed. As he slowly lays her down, the hunger in their eyes match. He's on top this round, slowly inserting his cock inside her shaven cunt once more while she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs on his. Even though he’s feeling her walls tighten around his member a little stronger than before, he persists, maintaining a gentle yet fast pace, igniting a whimper of euphoria from Chaeyeon. An instance of déjà vu that always sends her to a higher plane of pleasure with his touches.

He leans down to peck his lover’s lips. “What level would you like from me, mommy?” he whispers in her right ear. More than half of his length is already inside her womb.

“Go all in, baby,” she pleads, instead of teasing and taunting him like she usually does.

Receiving the green light from her, the man begins his thrusts, inserting his final inches inside Chaeyeon. Accelerating in its speed with every second, motivated by the mindset of pleasing his woman more than himself. As he keeps pounding his girlfriend, she ups the ante by reaching to his chest and licking the sweat off his pecs and neck while her erroneous regions feel more than satisfied by the invasion of his throbbing member.

Watching her breasts bounce once again never fails to keep his cock alive, but nothing beats the act he’s about to do. He leans down once again, kissing her for the hundredth time. She reciprocates, doing the trick that always gets him up and going. Only this time, she lets him do it. As his tongue reaches inside her mouth, Honggi demonstrates his dominance by slowly creating circular motions, swaying her tongue in a sticky dance until a louder moan of submission can be heard from her.

Their lips part, though the trail of saliva breaks while his pounding of her continues. He looks at his beloved, feeling his increased heart rate. She opens her eyes a little wider; a smile forms on her face while feeling the surface beneath her tremble with their grinds.

“Daddy,” leaves her mouth, much to his surprise. “Mommy… is loving you inside her so… Much!”

This may be the first time he's heard that name from her, motivating him to amp up his pumps, regardless of his arms and legs getting sore. Her praise makes him flex his core muscles the longer he’s on top of her, realizing that this position was a plank exercise. A better experience than his usual reps, that is. “I’m glad… I'll do even better… Next time… Mommy!”

“You’re already… doing great… Thank you,” she applauded him, feeling his tip rub her cervix over and over again. “Just keep… doing that… next time. Dom… Dominate momma, please!”

“Ne,” he still submits, nodding rapidly with the rhythm of his hips.

Even while getting pounded, an inflamed idea pops in her mind. “Imagine if… Jiwoo gets to be here with us, oppa,” she sticks her tongue out. “How crazy is that, right? You, inside her… Just like you, inside me now. How… you’d do… us. On this same bed—”

“Whaa..? Hnnnggghh!” They both yelp at his persistent knob slightly growing inside her chambers. Closing his eyes, a part of his mind tries to stop himself from imagining what she stated, but his lust has beaten him to it. “Do you… Mean?”

“You… Know what I… mean,” she purrs, leaving kisses and nibbles on his left shoulder along the way to mutually stimulate her partner. “Clearly… your junior… does.” With it, she spread her legs wider, inciting a “Fuck!” from her while getting railed.

There’s no point in denying to Chaeyeon now, so Honggi simply keeps his mouth shut, giving his main focus on pleasuring her. They would continue grinding on for several more minutes, exchanging each other's moans, groans, teases, and quips like primitives who have only learned modern-day language through the act of sex, that is, until they eventually reach past their limit. Beyond what their bodies can handle on this bed.

“Imma… Gonna…” he grunts, hoping that she would get his unintelligible message.

“Me… tooooo!” she only rasps in agreement. “You.. know… where… to… do it!”

For the second time, Honggi has filled Chaeyeon up to the brim with his warm seed. They’ve reached a state beyond the garden, beyond cloud nine. One as ethereal as the heavens or as perverted as hell. The position reminds them with a reminder: simple is sometimes, if not a lot of times, better. Despite the out-of-world orgasms they just felt, they're brought back to their senses seconds later, in each other's arms. The last ounce of their juices continue leaking on the mattress pad. Should've put a protector in there, Chaeyeon ponders while she laughs by herself. She just had it washed six days ago, after three months of using it. A lesson is learned. She'll just have to keep in her urges a little longer next time they even plan on using the bed in the weeks to come.

Still, she doesn't regret doing it here, especially with the man that’s been making her heart flutter and her nethers tingle twenty-four-seven. Catching their breath for about the nth time, they’ve now agreed to stop for tonight.

“I–uuhh… I… Wanna…” she pants, unable to form her words during her state of awe, still recovering from a breathtaking last orgasm, seconds ago. “Babe… I wanna say…”

“I love… you,” Honggi mumbles. As he thought before, even if she doesn’t feel the same way. It’s better that he lets her know now. Wherever this will lead into. “I know that’s… too soon to say that, but—”

She shuts him up with a kiss, holding back a smile as their lips collided, cherishing this milestone in their relationship. As they part, she follows up two tender pecks, showing her reciprocation. “Dummy, you took my line… I love you too, Honggi-yah.”

His deepest self-doubts have just been proven wrong right there. Perhaps hers were too. Everything becomes clearer, as their heartbeat grows louder, singing in the same range. She gently strokes his hair, reminding him that they both have little left to worry about. Even if it'll be far from the last of his problems, he won't be alone to face a lot of them.

“I’m home!” Jiwoo exclaims from the living room. She walks to the kitchen and places her stacked bag of groceries on the counter. The portion of ingredients she has bought appears to be more than enough to feed them tonight. “Again, I mean,” she murmurs.

“We’ll be out in a moment!” Chaeyeon howls back, dressing up in her clothes alongside Honggi. They can't help but exchange smiles and giggles, hurrying their movement before Jiwoo’s patience can run out. “Don’t you dare start cooking without us!”

“Not a chance! I'm gonna need all the help I can get from you two. Otherwise, you’ll both be eating outside.”

= = =

hello again! if you've reached this ending, then I'll only say that this only the first part to this miniseries. on another note, I will create my masterlist soon, which I will be updating whenever a new work is out. thanks for the read and follow. have a wonderful day!

Link to Part 2, if you don't wanna scroll all the way too the top.

[arpicityandneed]

As someone who really adores balls (they're so darn cute, just chilling there all unassuming) I just know Bucky's are fucking huge 🤤 catch me trying to explain tea bagging to that old man so I can get an excuse to leave a lipstick stain on his sack

a/n: to be fucking fair Bucky just has breeder ball energy, so I completely understand the feeling.

18+ f!reader. teabagging. Avenger!Bucky. Civilian!reader.

"So, there's a few positions that could be used here. But the punchline is I get your balls in my mouth." You explained with a sultry smile, taking your shot of whiskey down without so much as a wince.

Bucky choked on his drink.

When you'd come up to him, your curves wrapped in skin tight jeans a ratty tshirt that stretched over your tits and a leather jacket, he'd been more than game to flirt. Try his hand to see if he could still be charming at 106. He expected you to fawn over him, ask him questions about his metal arm, or even ask about what it was like to be an Avenger.

What he did not expect was for you to come onto him like that, confident and nasty and hungry. It made his dick hard as steel and he floundered. Would he ever understand women of the future and their kinks?

"And you would... enjoy this?" He wheezed as he pounded his chest, wondering if he'd suddenly gained the ability to get drunk or if you really just said what he thought you said.

"Very much actually." You scooted closer, your tits brushing his arm enough that he could tell you weren't wearing a bra. "Foreplay is foreplay. Knowing that the same balls that were covered in my lipstick are gonna unload in me later? Yeah." Your voice was breathless, needy, like you were imagining it already in the middle of the bar.

Bucky slammed his beer down on the table with more force than was necessary and stood, fishing a handful of bills out of his wallet and shoving it at the bartender before grabbing your hand.

"Lets go." He grunted barely able to keep his head straight enough to get you onto his motorcycle before he was speeding through the streets to his apartment. Your soft body plastered against his back didn't help the way his body ached to be inside you.

But no, first you'd have to have your snack.

When you got to the apartment he threw you over his shoulder, taking the stairs three at a time at super soldier speed. The door had barely closed behind him before he was reaching for you. Ripping your flimsy shirt like tissue paper he groaned when your breasts bounced free, cupping them in his palms greedily.

"Fuck me. You're so soft," he murmured huskily as his grey eyes flicked up to meet yours. "Remind me to take my time with these beauties later okay?"

"Yeah, promise. Now will you take your clothes off?" You smirked as you tugged at his shirt. "I can't rip 'em off of you without a knife."

A full body shiver ran down Bucky's spine at that mental image and he nodded, shucking his jeans and boxers off with efficient grace before stripping off his shirt.

"Where- how-?" He started to ask before you dragged him to the bed. You laid down first with your head hanging over the edge. From that angle all he had to do was step forward and his balls would be inches from your mouth.

"Simple right?"

"Right." Bucky's voice was a hoarse croak, and he took that one step that put him at your mercy.

"Hello beautiful." You cooed at his leaking cock, tonguing the slit for a moment and moaning at the taste. "Next time." You murmured to yourself before focusing on his balls.

They were heavy, full, and sensitive if the way Bucky shivered just from feeling your lips brushing against them was anything to go by.

"You do this with all your guys?" Bucky found the idea pissed him off, and you chuckled- low and throaty.

"Just the special ones." You murmured before opening your mouth wide and sucking a wet kiss against his sack.

"Fuck," Bucky groaned and you felt your cunt throb at the timbre of his voice.

You said nothing, after all talking with your mouth full would've been rude.

You sucked, licked, and worshipped his balls until his legs started to tremble. All the while you gushed, daydreaming about leaking his cum until your panties were soaked.

Foreplay was only complete with the main course after all.

p.s. this is just smut writing, if all you want is foreplay that's okay too xoxo Mina

[dantent]

Day 2 of ARCANEWEEN

Prompt: FANGS AND CLAWS

Characters: Young Silco, Young Vander, Reader 

Relationship: Young Silco x Reader

Timeline: Pre-Arcane

Words: 3923

Warnings: None

Sharing an apartment with Silco and Vander was not the worst idea you’ve ever had. Silco usually cooked for the three of you, while Vander took care of most of the cleaning up. Not to mention the price of living with two others. It was always split and eventually you could save up some of your money to buy some things for yourself. That came at the cost of two of you working two jobs at the same time. Vander and you had both worked hard to keep up this state of living, while Silco handled the finances at home. 

But life wasn’t always easy with them either. They bickered like brothers on most days, and quite honestly it could truly get under your skin. Just this day you were lying on the couch, a book in your hand, and enjoying your leisure time before you had to get to your second job. The apartment wasn’t big, so the kitchen and the living room were opened into each other to give space to the two bedrooms and one bathroom. Which is why you heard Silco and Vander’s bickering loud and clear as they were making dinner. 

“Come on, it would be fun!” Vander nagged the boy for the one hundredth time.

“More like humiliating.” Silco scoffed at him. “I’m not dressing up to your stupid Halloween party.”

“I already bought your costume!” he whined.

You sighed to yourself before closing the book. With raised brows you turned your head to the boys. Silco waved a spatula in his hand while talking to Vander, who was wearing an apron. Sometimes they looked like an old married couple who couldn’t decide if they still loved each other or wanted to poison the other one’s drink. 

“What are you two arguing about again?” you yawned. “Some of us would like to rest, you know.”

“Tell that to Silco!” Vander turned around. 

“Why is this my fault?” Silco whipped around as well. “This knucklehead wants me to wear a cat costume to his boss’ Halloween party!”

You burst out laughing at the image of Silco wearing a tail and cat ears. The bar - The Last Drop - Vander worked at organized a whole party for tomorrow night and everyone attending must be wearing some sort of costume. You have been invited as well but sadly you couldn’t go, as you had to work that night. 

“No, no, I wanna see that.” you managed to say. 

“Well, I wanted to get three matching costumes but since you can’t come I can only match with Silco.” Vander crossed his arms. 

“So if he is a cat will you be… a mouse?” you smirked. 

Silco snickered under his nose, before turning back to the food they were making. The taller boy sent him a death stare before rushing to his room. You were left alone with Silco, who gently turned off the stove. Before you could go over to him to help with the food though, Vander burst from their shared bedroom with ears clipped to his hair and a short tail tucked into his pants. 

“Woof.” he said with the most serious tone ever. 

You and Silco stared at him for a moment before you both started to holler at how stupid he looked. Vander scoffed at your reaction, especially when you fell off the couch and continued to scream on the floor. Silco wasn’t in a much better position either, as he sat on the floor and each time he looked at the other boy, he just started laughing louder and louder. 

“This isn’t funny!” Vander finally screamed at the both of you. 

“Woof.” Silco wheezed. “He said woof!”

“I can’t… breathe.” you said while coughing from all the laughing. 

“I fucking hate you.” He walked back to his room. 

You and Silco were left alone again. After the laughing died down and you were able to stand up, you walked over to the stove and helped Silco make portions for you all. Vander soon joined you and the dinner began. After dinner, you helped Vander wash the dishes because Silco had gone to sleep early, as he had to go to the mines earlier tomorrow morning to be able to attend Vander’s party. 

“Are you sure you can’t come?” the boy next to you whispered as he washed another plate. 

“Nah, you know I can’t leave my job.” you sighed. 

“I wish you could come.” he shook his head. “Silco really wanted to drink with you too.”

“Did he say that or are you trying to make me feel bad?” you smiled at him. 

Vander chuckled. “Guilty.”

You shook your head at the boy. “I’ll see if I can get there before the party is over. But I won’t promise anything.” 

“If you manage to come, you could wear the cat costume.” he shrugged. 

“Vander.” you sighed. “Hell no.”

“It’s a good costume!” 

That morning, right after your night shift,  you went to sleep a little disappointed that you can’t spend the night with your favorite boys. As much as they could annoy you, they were the closest friends you ever made. Silco was your first friend ever, in fact. But your relationship with him was more complicated than that. You never missed the shared glances, the subtle but intimate touches and the flirty banter between you two. Alas, Silco wasn’t the type of person who wanted anything serious, and you weren’t going to ruin your friendship with your feelings, so everything between you two was left unsaid. Before you could overthink it more though, you drifted off to sleep. 

You woke up sometime in the afternoon, two hours before you had to go to work. A loud crash rang through the apartment and you jumped out of your bed. It only took half a second and you were already out the door with a pocket knife in your hand, only to see Silco hunched over a broken plate to gather the pieces. 

“Fuck’s sake Silco.” you sighed. 

His attention turned to you. “Morning.”

Silco’s greeting only made your eyes roll as you walked over to the kitchen counter to see what you could eat before going to work. Sadly there wasn’t much left, which meant you would have to get some groceries soon. With a sigh, you went to open more cabinets. That was until you felt Silco gently press against your back. From behind you, he reached for the cabinet and opened it with those long arms of his. 

“I can make some eggs for you.” he whispered against you. 

You could feel your face heat up from the pressure against your back. But it didn’t last long, as Silco already stepped away to prepare your breakfast on the stove. You cleared your throat before speaking. 

“Thanks.” you managed to say. 

“Best I can do after I broke the plate.” he just shrugged without looking at you. “Should’ve been more careful.”

“It’s fine.” you shook your head. “I appreciate the compensation, though.”

He huffed a laugh as he broke the eggs into the pan. You all have been eating eggs for breakfast for two weeks now. It was better than nothing but you were slowly getting sick of it. Still, the memories of going to sleep without food in your childhood made you push those negative feelings away. At least you had food everyday. That’s nice. 

“It's nothing.” Silco hummed. 

You fell into silence as you watched him cook. His hair was put in a bun, as it so often was after work. There were still some smears of coal on his cheek that just emphasized his sunken face. No matter how much you have fed that boy, he stayed just as lean. Sometimes you wondered what he looked like under all that clothing. You have seen him naked before, but you were children back then. Since you both have reached puberty though, only the people Silco seeked out in the brothel have seen him naked. Speaking of which, that reminded you of a topic you wanted to discuss with Silco. 

“I wanna find a partner.” you started. “Long term.”

Silco only looked at you from the corner of his eye. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“It’s just… stability, I guess.” you shrugged. “I know I have other things to worry about, but having a partner I could rely on sounds good, you know.”

“I don't think you should do it.” Silco looked away, his attention on the eggs again. “You have me and Vander anyway.”

You sighed. Of course Silco didn’t get it. In a better life, a better world, you would’ve chosen Silco. But finding truly romantic partners in Zaun was rare, which made it all the more intriguing. You also would’ve lied if you said the piltie romance books you’ve been reading lately didn’t have anything to do with your opinion. 

“I know.” you nodded. “But it’s not the same! I want to go to sleep with someone on my side.”

“Pfff, I can go over to your room if you want that so much.” the boy shrugged. 

“Silco, you’re not hearing me!” you groaned. 

“All I’m saying is,” he fully turned to you, “that you can do all that shit with me and Vander.”

“Like kissing and sex?” you raised a brow sarcastically.

Silco’s face darkened with a hue of red before turning away from you. He just stared at the stove with furrowed brows, no doubt thinking what he could say next to change your mind. But you were faster than him. 

“Maybe I could have my own place with my partner, and you could get your own room instead of sharing one with Vander.” you shrugged.

“And how do you think we would pay for this apartment without you?” Silco turned to you with anger in his eyes. 

“Right, I didn’t think about that.” you nodded. “Well, I could bring them here.”

“Absolutely not.” he sounded offended. “I won’t live with someone I don’t know.”

“Well, you could meet them.” you raised a brow at his reaction. 

He slammed his hands down on the counter. “Just why aren’t I enough for you? Or Vander?”

Your eyes widened at the desperation in his eyes. Silco never acted like this before. Even in the worst scenarios, he was the one with the brains who got your little group out of trouble. Were it not for his calmness in risky situations, all of you would be behind bars by now. 

“It’s not that you aren’t enough for me, Silco.” you reached for his hand to calm him down. “You are the best thing that happened to me, and I will always cherish us.”

He squeezed your hand at those words. You felt like you finally understood what the problem was. Silco must’ve felt like you were replacing him with someone new, just because he couldn’t give you the romance you wished for.  

“No one can come between us.” you shook your head. “If I had to choose between finding someone, or keeping you, I’ll always choose you, Silco.”

You offered him a smile and before you could react, he pulled you into a hug. As much as he tried to deny it, he was a sucker for physical affection. You hugged him back with a huff, rubbing his back. 

“I know you want to have that perfect romance like in your books,” he whispered against your ear, “but it’s rare here. I’m saying all of this for your own sake.”

“I know, Sil.” you nodded. 

After a few seconds passed, you broke the hug. With a smile, you reached for his face and gently caressed him. Silco softly sighed and closed his eyes while enjoying your affection. A thought crossed your mind - to kiss him. But that was quickly discarded when you remembered the eggs still left on the stove. 

“The eggs will-” you started but couldn’t finish.

Silco’s eyes opened wide and he quickly turned around. “Shit!”

Thankfully he got the eggs off the stove just in time. Silco grabbed a plate and served you the eggs. You both sat down in the living room and Silco took his notebook out to calculate all that the household needed to spend in the upcoming weeks. He always tried to minimize the amount spent, so you and Vander just left this to him. That reminded you…

“Where’s Vander?” you asked between two bites. 

Silco answered without looking up. “At the Drop.”

“Already?” you sighed. “He’s working too hard.”

He just hummed. Just from that, you knew he had something on his mind. Silco didn’t make eye contact, was playing with the pen in his hand and slowly bit away his lips. All of these were things he did when keeping a secret from you. 

“Spit it out, Sil.” you groaned. 

He finally looked up at you. “I’m quitting.”

You almost spit the eggs out. “What?”

“I got offered a job at The Last Drop to cover all the financial stuff.” he shrugged. “Payment is better and it’s less exhausting.”

You smiled at him. “I’m happy for you. Sounds like a way better job.”

“It is.” he nodded. “Thanks.”

After you ate your breakfast you got ready to leave the house. Silco wished you a good shift before you left, then went on to get ready for the Halloween party. Whereas you imagined the boys had a blast at the party tonight, you were stuck in a shop selling scraps and tools to all the lonely bastards who weren’t able to attend any parties. The customers had a way to make their bitterness known to you by all but spitting on you. So to put things simply, your shift was going horribly. 

You were sitting behind the counter, playing with the lone coins in your hand. No one had stepped into the shop for about an hour now. And all your thoughts were on the Halloween party where all of your friends were currently. Vander, Silco, Benzo and all the others. You wished you could simply just leave, alas it wasn’t much of an option. Your shift still lasted for hours. If you ran fast enough though, you might be able to catch the end of the party. 

After about another half hour went by, your boss appeared in the shop. His graying hair all but glowed under the neon lights of the Undercity. With a cough, he walked inside and closed the door behind him. The old man greeted you with a wave, as he walked over to the counter. You raised a brow at him, surprised to see him in the shop so late. Usually he would leave the keys with you and leave at the beginning of the shift. 

“Did you forget something?” you asked on instinct. 

“Just because I’m old my memory isn’t shit.” he waved his hand dismissively. 

“Then what-”

“One of your friends was practically begging on his knees in front of my door to let you go tonight.” he huffed a laugh. “Slim boy he was, yes.”

“Silco?” you wondered out loud. 

He shrugged. “Didn’t catch his name. He asked for you to go to a party, though.”

“Oh, yeah.” you nodded. “My roommate's boss is making one and I was invited.”

“Well, go then!” he tried to push you away from the counter. 

“Really?” your eyes widened, standing up to leave. 

“Before I change my mind!” 

“Thank you so much!”

You all but ran out of the shop. The old man grumbled something under his nose but you were in too much of a rush to catch any of his words. Not many people were on the streets that night, but you still managed to bump into a few as you rushed to your apartment. It didn’t take a lot of time to get home, as the shop was pretty close to it, but you still coughed like crazy after all that running - a byproduct of living in constant toxic air. You dropped your keys before you could open the door so you cursed under your breath before you practically broke into your apartment. 

No one was inside, just as you expected. What surprised you however, was the little note placed on the cat costume. In Silco’s handwriting you read “For tonight”. You sighed, shaking your head at the boy. Clearly he had been planning this, and you wondered whether or not Vander was in on it too. Though, their argument seemed genuine so you supposed he was just a victim of Silco’s scheming as well. 

Without a spare costume, you had to comply with Silco's wishes, and put on the cat ears and tail. It looked utterly ridiculous on you, probably because it was made out of very cheap material. But there was no other thing you could wear, so you left the house in this. The Drop wasn’t too far away from the apartment either, albeit it was in the other direction. It took about the same amount of time to get to it like it took to walk to the shop. 

Once there, you opened the heavy doors of the bar, only to be met with unusual neon lighting inside. Usually it was warm and welcoming, but now mostly younger folks partied to loud music. You walked inside trying to find a familiar face. Vander was behind the counter, serving drinks to everyone. He looked comical with the dog ears on, but he seemed to enjoy it so you weren’t going to judge him. 

“I wasn’t aware the bar accepted strays.” a familiar voice came from behind you. 

You turned around with a smile, only to be met with Silco dressed fancily, with ruffles on his shirt and a swept back hair. As he smirked at you, fake fangs became visible, that were attached to his teeth. 

“And what are you dressed as?” you laughed at him. “A leech?” 

He rolled his eyes. “So your boss really let you go.”

“Well, after someone begged him for it.” you walked over to him and booped his nose. “Thank you, Sil.”

Silco smiled, before he looked down on what you were wearing. That’s when he noticed you were wearing his oversized sweater. 

“And wouldn’t you see.” he groaned. “I believe that’s mine, sweetheart.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” you quipped back. 

“Oh, you absolutely-”

Before he could finish it, you made a run for it. There were enough people around you to blend into the crowd, and Silco’s voice started to fade. You giggled to yourself as you turned to a corridor just behind the stairs. Most people didn’t know how to navigate through this place, but you, Silco and Vander did. That’s why you knew you would have some alone time with him. 

It didn’t take long for Silco to catch up to you and when he did, he pinned you against the wall. His grip was loose and if you wanted to, you could easily escape. Silco wanted to seem serious but he simply couldn’t help but smile when he heard you giggle at his antics. 

“You got me.” you grinned. 

“Fantastic observation.” he whispered. 

“If I were you, I would look out for my claws.” with delicate movement, you scratched Silco’s hand. 

“Oh no, I’m so scared.” Silco huffed a laugh. “All I wanted was to talk, and you attacked me like this.”

“Oopsie.” you shrugged. “Tell me what ails your heart, my dear vampire.”

He shook his head at your dramatic tone. “I’ve been thinking about what you said to me earlier. About a partner.”

Silco looked at you with half lidded eyes, his face inching closer as he spoke. You could feel the heat rise to your face but you didn’t let your emotions show. 

“Really?” you asked. 

“Mhm,” he nodded, “and I came to realize I also feel like such.”

Your heart sank for a moment. “And you have your eyes set on someone?”

It wouldn’t be too far of a stretch, after all Silco was dressed especially nicely. You weren’t even sure where he got these clothes from. The most likely answer was that he stole it from a piltie’s closet, but you still couldn’t imagine how he would’ve possibly come to know of such clothing. And it definitely wasn’t in his closet before either, you would know since you always go through both his and Vander’s stuff when your clothes aren’t clean and you don’t feel like washing them. 

“I have, in fact.” he looked deeply into your eyes. “And I don’t plan to share that person with anyone else.”

“Aren’t they just the luckiest?” you chuckled. 

Silco hummed as his gaze slowly traveled to your lips. All signs pointed to you. The way he acted, how he spoke, the fact that he dressed up nice; it all seemed like he wanted you. And this closeness just proved even further. You wanted him just as much.

“Well, why don’t you take your first bite then, fangs?” you whispered.

Silco’s eyes widened for just a second before leaning in. He stopped just before he could reach your lips and traveled down to your jaw. You could feel his lips press against it for a moment. Then you felt him fully at your neck. He started biting and sucking it greedily, like anyone would steal you from him. You ripped one of your hands from his grasp and grabbed his hair to hold into as Silco pressed against you. He groaned when your hand pulled on his hair and started sucking on your neck even stronger. You gulped at the sensation. 

Before he could draw blood, he left your neck and came face to face with you again. His breath softly hitched as you firmly pressed your lips against his. Then he made a noise you could die for - he moaned into the kiss. That alone sent a shiver down your spine. However, this wasn’t the place for anything more than a kiss, so you soon broke it. You two were panting against each other as he planted a gentle kiss on your lips once more before fully pulling away. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” he sighed. 

“So have I.” you gently caressed his face. “I never want to leave your side again.”

He grinned at that. “That’s something I could definitely get used to.” 

Silco grabbed your hand and started dragging you upstairs. You yelped at the sudden force but went with him anyway.

“Come on, I have to show you off to everyone.” he looked back at you with a grin. 

“Wait.” you stopped him for just a moment.

His enthusiasm broke for a second, but he still listened to what you had to say. 

“I love you, Sil.” you finally confessed what you’ve been holding in. 

Silco’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say something back. But no words came. It was okay, you knew how hard admitting his feelings were to him, and you weren’t going to push him past his limits. 

“You don’t have to say it back.” you smiled. “Just being with you is enough.” 

He sighed and pulled you in for a kiss. It was much more gentle than the previous one, and once he pulled away, he inched to your ear. 

“I love you too.” 

It was a whisper so quiet not one person could ever hear it besides you. Silco’s love wasn’t meant for anyone but you, and that made you the happiest person in the world.