#and everyones getting points of exhaustion from the cold

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 18

MASTERLIST

Delilah leaned against the locker room bench, utterly drained. Her body ached in places she didn’t even know could hurt, and the weight of exhaustion pressed on her chest like a boulder. Last night had been… intense, to say the least. Between the altercation with Yandi, the stress of competition, and her “training” session in her room with Josh, she’d barely managed to scrape together two hours of sleep. Now, the morning tournament loomed over her like a cruel taskmaster, demanding strength she wasn’t sure she had left.

The locker room buzzed with quiet conversation as a few girls chatted in the corner. Their laughter felt distant and foreign, like it came from another world where people weren’t suffocating under the weight of expectations. Delilah couldn’t bring herself to join in—or even to care. If she could just survive this day without anyone bothering her, she’d consider it a victory.

She had just finished lacing up her boots when a voice cut through her solitude.

“You hear that Yandi got kicked out of the tournament?”

Delilah glanced up to see a young, dark-skinned woman, bright-eyed and confident, plop down beside her. The girl grinned, clearly expecting some kind of response, but Delilah’s exhaustion wouldn’t let her muster more than a faint shrug.

“Thanks, by the way,” the girl continued, undeterred. “That’s one less bitch to worry about.”

Delilah raised an eyebrow, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Right,” she replied coolly, returning to her bag for a roll of tape. The news should have brought her some relief—Yandi had been an absolute menace to her—but right now, even relief felt like too much effort.

“I’m Temi,” the girl introduced herself, extending a hand into Delilah’s line of sight. When Delilah didn’t reciprocate, Temi simply cracked her knuckles and leaned back against the lockers. “Brrr, cold. Everyone knows she started the fight, so you can chill. You don’t gotta worry about that bitch no more.”

Before Delilah could respond, Temi stood and gave her a friendly pat on the back. “She was just jealous. She’s about the only girl in this locker room that hasn’t fucked a famous wrestler at some point.”

Delilah froze mid-wrap, her head snapping up to meet Temi’s smirking gaze. “Excuse me?”

Temi shrugged, completely unfazed. “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret, is it? You’ve been hanging out with Jey, right? People talk.”

Delilah’s stomach churned. “How do they even know that?”

Temi chuckled as two other girls sauntered over, joining the conversation. “You train with, what? Five, six other girls?” she asked. Delilah held up five fingers, her expression guarded. “And you’re the only one with a WWE contract? Bitches talk, babe, mostly out of jealousy. Then Jey shows up at your gym a couple of times? Somebody sees him around town? They've probably seen y'all together, too. People notice things.”

“And they connect the dots,” one of the other girls chimed in. “Or, you know, they make up their own dots. Doesn’t matter. Somebody’s always watching you now.”

That realization hit Delilah like a freight train. She’d known the spotlight would come with scrutiny, but this was different. It wasn’t just trainers and scouts evaluating her potential; it was everyone. Every move she made, every interaction, every whisper—it was all under a microscope.

“How long you been doing this?” Delilah asked, trying to steady her voice.

Temi smirked, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. “Six years. And yeah, I’ve been through it. We all have.” She gestured to the girls behind her. “Cassie over there? She’s been hooking up with Damian Priest.”

Cassie beamed. “He’s flying me to New York after the tournament. We’re spending the week together.”

“Lauryn?” Temi nodded at the other girl. “She had a thing with Montez and Bianca. At the same time.”

Delilah’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

Lauryn shrugged. “It was fun. They’re premiere athletes for a good reason.”

It was getting more and more difficult to keep her jaw from dropping. “And you?” Delilah pressed, crossing her arms. “What’s your story?” When the girls behind her giggled, Delilah's eyebrow shot up. "Who?"

Lauryn put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Temi here has seduced no less than three world champions," she winked, counting off on her fingers. "Rollins, Punk, and Drew. She was all their first dark meat." 

Shaking her head, Delilah’s mouth finally fell open. "Bullshit," she spat. "There is no fucking way."

Temi just nodded confidently. "Oh, there's a way," she assured. "Actually, with Rollins, there's a lotta ways," she smirked, reaching out to pat Delilah's shoulder in reassurance. "Listen, Yandi's a bitch. Nobody likes her, and now she's gone. Let that shit go," she advised with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Do your thing. Go as far as you can in this tournament. Boost your profile. You’ll need it when you start training properly at the Performance Center."

As the girls filed out, Delilah couldn’t shake the conversation. Their blasé attitudes, their stories, their warnings—it was all too much. She turned to the mirror, adjusting her gear when another voice, low and cool, cut through her thoughts again.

“So you’re the one he left me for.”

Delilah spun around, her eyes narrowing at the woman who stepped out of the shadows, immediately put Delilah on edge. She’d seen her wrestle several times through this tournament. Chloe. A striking presence both in and out of the ring, her athletic build and confident demeanor commanding attention wherever she went. With a rich brown complexion that seemed to glow under the spotlight and expressive hazel eyes, her curls, often styled in bold, intricate looks, were as dynamic as her wrestling persona—a combination of grace and grit that made her memorable. Offstage, she didn’t interact much with the others, a guarded side to her, shaped by the challenges she had faced in a male-dominated industry.

“I come in peace,” Chloe said with a faint smirk. “I was listening in on all the bragging. Quite the stellar lineup of superstars, huh? If only most of them weren’t recycled. Like yours, sorry to say.”

“What are you talking about?” Delilah asked, her voice sharp.

She extended a hand. “I’m Chloe.” When Delilah didn’t shake it, Chloe shrugged. “You’re not the only one Josh has had a fling with.”

Delilah frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Chloe smirked as she leaned against the lockers, her tone casual but tinged with a deliberate edge. “It was about two years ago, back in Atlanta. I was out with some girlfriends celebrating a birthday—looking fine, if I do say so myself—when Josh and his crew strolled into the club after SmackDown. His presence was impossible to ignore; he had that swagger, you know? I caught him looking at me from across the room, and let’s just say, he wasn’t subtle. He sent over a drink, then another, and before I knew it, I was in the VIP section with him. He had this way of making you feel like you were the only woman in the room. Smooth, charming, with that cocky little smirk that told you he thought he had you wrapped around his finger. And yeah, I guess he did—at least for a while.”

Delilah was speechless. Sounds about right.

She paused, brushing imaginary lint off her sleeve, as if the memory wasn’t worth more than a moment’s thought. “But, you know, it fizzled out. He wasn’t exactly available, if you catch my drift.” Her eyes flick to Delilah meaningfully. “Married men have a way of forgetting their wedding rings when they’re on the road. And sure, it was fun at first, but it got old fast. Sneaking around, his half-assed excuses, him dodging my calls when he was in town sometimes? Not my style. I don’t chase nobody, so I ended it. Of course, he didn’t take it too hard—men like Josh always find someone else to keep them entertained.” She flashed a smug smile. “Looks like you’re the lucky rebound.”

Delilah’s stomach churned as the words sank in. For nearly a year she’d been seeing Josh, and not once had he mentioned anything like this. The idea that she could be just another notch on his belt—the way Chloe clearly saw her—made her heart twist. Her hands tightened into fists at her sides, but she forced her face to remain neutral, unwilling to give Chloe the satisfaction of seeing her rattle. Still, the revelation gnawed at her, a sour taste rising in her throat as she wondered if everything she thought she had with Josh was just another game to him.

But just as she feared, Chloe could see right through her thoughts. She flashed Delilah a kind smile. “Don’t worry, sweetie, that’s all said and done. It’s all in the past. Besides, I think I’ve more than upgraded.”

Delilah’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

Chloe leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. “I woulda said his name out loud, but the NDA I signed means I can’t say much.” Her smirk widened. “I could show you though, if you’d like.”

Delilah couldn’t help but nod, curiosity getting the best of her. She watched as Chloe pulled out her phone. She handed Delilah an AirPod. “You’re the only one I’m showing this to, so if this gets out, it's you, and I'll fuck you up.”

Delilah hesitated, but eventually placed the AirPod in her ear. The video on Chloe’s phone played, showing a man with long, dark hair between Chloe’s legs, his hands gripping her thighs as her moans rang through Delilah’s ears. Her breath hitched as the man lifted his head, revealing Roman Reigns’ unmistakable face. He licked his lips, smirked at the camera, and growled, “Turn that shit off.”

The video cut, and Delilah stared at Chloe in complete shock.

“Hot, right?” Chloe teased, fanning herself dramatically. “That family’s got top-tier pussy eaters.” She shrugged. “But here’s the thing: to them, we’re not special. Just another warm body. Don’t take it personal. Use them for what they’re worth—get your rent paid, get a contract, whatever. But don’t give them your heart. That’s the game, sweetheart. If you wanna survive this business, you need to learn how to play it.”

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

Thankfully, the remainder of the tournament unfolded without a hitch. Delilah advanced to the semi-finals, where her journey came to an end. Though she didn’t take home the win, she left with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude for the experience. By the time she was heading back to Pensacola, she was content with how far she had come. True to his word, Josh had upgraded her seat to first class so they could sit together on the flight back. It wasn’t just a plane ride; it felt like their own private six-hour date in the sky.

They made the most of every moment. Between sharing a few tequila shots, stealing sweet kisses, and watching movies, they fell into an easy rhythm that felt both playful and intimate. As the hours passed, they curled up together, their seats reclined into makeshift beds. Delilah found comfort in the warmth of Josh’s embrace, and before she knew it, she had drifted off to sleep with his arm draped protectively around her. For those fleeting hours, it was as if the outside world didn’t exist—just the two of them savoring what little time they had left.

But as the plane began its descent into Pensacola, reality crept back in. Delilah’s chest tightened with the weight of what was coming next. When the wheels touched down, she felt a sharp pang in her heart, knowing this was the moment they’d part ways for good. The knowledge made her throat ache, and she wished, just for a second, that they had a little more time.

The private wing of the airport felt colder than it should have, the early morning silence pressing heavily on Delilah’s chest. Josh stood in front of her, his duffel slung casually over his shoulder, but his eyes told a different story—there was a heaviness in them that mirrored the ache in her heart. They had shared so many moments, stolen kisses, and whispered secrets over the past year, but this felt like the end of something neither of them was truly ready to let go of.

Josh rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled slowly, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of their unspoken goodbye. “So this is it, huh,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, as though speaking louder would shatter the fragile connection still lingering between them.

Delilah bit her lip, willing herself not to cry, but it was a losing battle. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “This is it.” Her words trembled under the weight of her emotions. She knew this was the right decision—for her career, for her sanity—but it didn’t make it any easier to let go of someone who had become so much a part of her world.

Josh stepped closer, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip, a touch so gentle it made her knees weak. “You gon’ miss me?” he asked, his tone teasing but laced with an undeniable sadness.

Delilah’s lip trembled despite her best efforts, and her eyes filled with tears. “More than you’ll ever know,” she admitted, her voice cracking. The truth of it burned in her throat. She would miss the way he made her laugh, the way he looked at her like she was the only woman in the room, the way he always knew just what to say to calm her nerves. She would miss everything about him, and the thought of not having him in her life felt unbearable.

Josh didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear the moment she let go, her tears soaking into his shirt. 

“I don’t wanna let you go,” she whispered, her voice breaking with raw emotion.

He pressed his lips to her hair, his own voice thick with longing. “Then don’t.” The words hung in the air between them—a plea, a promise, and a goodbye all at once.

Delilah pulled back just enough to look up at him, her hand resting on his cheek. “We have to,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears clogging it. “I can’t do this right now, Josh. I need to focus on my career, and you—” She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. “You need to figure out what you want.”

Josh’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might argue, might ask her to stay, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. It wasn’t the kind of kiss meant to ignite a fire; it was the kind meant to say everything he couldn’t put into words. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “Take care, Delilah,” he murmured, his voice so soft she almost didn’t hear it.

“You too,” she whispered, her voice trembling. She forced a weak smile, though her heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. “And thank you… for everything.”

Josh just nodded, his dark eyes searching hers for a moment longer before he stepped back, creating a distance that felt insurmountable. For a split second, Delilah considered running after him, begging him to stay, but she knew it wouldn’t change anything. She had to let him go.

As she watched him walk away, her chest tightened, the reality of their parting sinking in. Tank, standing a few feet away, awkwardly cleared his throat and gestured toward the waiting car. Delilah wiped at her tears, slipping on her sunglasses to hide the evidence of her heartbreak. Tank nudged her shoulder gently as they walked to the car. “You did the right thing, kid,” he said, his voice kind but firm. “He gets that.”

Delilah nodded, but the words offered little comfort. As the car pulled away, she stared out the window, replaying every moment with Josh in her mind—the laughter, the fights, the stolen moments that had made the past several months unforgettable. She knew she’d made the right choice, but the ache in her chest told her it was going to be a long time before she stopped missing him.

She was pulling up to her sister Simone’s front door when her phone rang. The area code wasn’t from here, and she didn't recognize the number. Still, something pushed at her to answer the call. "Hello?"

"May I speak to Delilah Parrish, please?" the sweet voice on the other end asked.

Delilah leaned her hip against her suitcase. "Yes, this is Delilah," she responded, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Hi Delilah, my name is Emilia, and I'm with Dr. Gonzalez's office in Orlando," she said, "You came in for a physical last week?" she questioned.

Nodding and exhaling a sigh of relief, Delilah cleared her throat. "Yes, I did," she assured the nurse. As part of the recruitment process, WWE had requested she take a physical with their recommended medical facility. Delilah had done it with zero issues. She was determined that nothing was going to hinder her commencing training at the PC, and though she knew she was in good health, she would jump through any other hoop they asked to prove it.

"Well," Emilia spoke with a cheerful smile that for some reason was grating Delilah's nerves in her current state of mind. "Everything looks great. You're healthy as a horse, and we just sent the results to you via email," she said. "However, there’s just one thing that we want to make sure you are aware of, considering the degree of physicality you regularly engage in." Emilia cleared her throat. "You’re pregnant, Miss Parrish. Congratulations."

—————–

😬😬😬😬

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[just-some-random-blogger]

If I'm Going Too Fast

3 times Bill Weasley offered to help you with your wallpaper and the 1 time he didn't.

Bill Weasley x Reader | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, fluff, angst, jealousy, irrationality, typos, etc.

A/N: the dividers + title are from the song reptilia by the stokes. also im using the Sweets & Sweeties cafe I thought up for my george (& fred) fics but its not necessarily the same universe.

@agreeeeeeeeeee tagging you because you said you wanted to see a 'i hate everyone but you' fic sksksks.

♦♦♦ Now every time that I look at myself ♦♦♦

"Hi!"

Bill lifts his eyes up from the papers he was reading and does a double take before coming to a stand. He wipes his lips, "hi! Hi... Sorry-"

You walk inside, surveying his office. You immediately spot the open window and the curtains billowing with the cold breeze. You sigh.

Bill notices the paper bag you held and scrambles to tidy his desk. Just as he's about to walk over to you, you walk over to the window.

"It's cold, Bill," you mutter, reaching for the window.

In a few wide strides, he manages to take your wrist. You turn; he takes the bag from your hand and closes the window himself, "I know."

His red hair blows into his face, the last thing the wind does before it is forbidden entry by the glass pane. Bill turns back to you, then inspects the paper bag, though he already knew it was something you got him for lunch.

"Cake," you mutter, stepping forward, to brush his locks to the side.

He lifts his gaze and nods, "thank you, darling."

You raise and knit your brows simultaneously. His cerulean eyes were pinkish from exhaustion. The freckles littered across his cheeks were weighed down by the same pressure weighing his gaze. Still, his dry lips curve into a smile for you. You press your hand to his cheek, "is something wrong?"

His reaction is immediate. He sighs and leans into your touch. He moves the bag away and snakes an arm around your waist, "none more than yesterday," he leans his forehead on your temple, "business as usual."

You would have enjoyed the kiss he pressed on your cheek more if his words actually brought you comfort instead of concern. Business as usual to him was working himself to the bone. Your hand comes to his chest, rubbing up his collar to straighten it, "William."

His shoulders tense. He slowly pulls away.

You share a look and a sigh falls from his lips. He rubs your back, "I'm-"

"Bill, there's another-"

Both your gazes shoot to the door. The man who opened it immediately goes silent at the sight of the two of you.

Bill clenches his jaw, "did you not see her walk into my office?"

"Bill," you turn to him, "he didn't."

"I didn't," the man mutters softly, raising papers, "I was intructed to-"

"I don't care," Bill points, "get out."

The man lowers his gaze and leaves without a single word.

"Bill," you repeat.

He releases his hold on you, unwanting to hear a lecture. He walks back to his desk and waves a hand, "they know better than to disturb me when you're here."

"But you shouldn't have-"

"He should have knocked," he places the bag on his desk, pulling the boxed cake out of the bag. He stares at it for a moment, realizing that it was only one slice. He turns to you with knit brows.

You sigh, "I'm not staying for lunch."

His lips part, "but-"

"I have to go pick up some wallpaper for the store."

"Oh?" he puts the cake down, "what's happened to the walls?"

You shake your head, "nothing. Just want to put new wallpaper."

He nods and walks over, taking your hand, "I can try to leave work early today to help you pick some out."

You let him pull you in again. You smile and prop your hand on his shoulders, momentarily kneading out the strain on his firm muscles, "you know if you have to try, that means you can't, right?"

A line instantly forms between his brows, "I-"

You smother his answer with your lips and wet the dryness of his mouth with your affection. Bill melts, immediately succumbing to your warmth. His arms loop around you, pulling you closer to him, as if eager to fuse your bodies together. Your own arms slink their way around his neck, bringing him closer to your height.

You pull away to catch a breath. He chases after you with a whimper, silently pleading to meld his tongue with yours. You rub your noses together, "don't work too hard, Mr. Weasley."

He furrows his brows as his nostrils flare. He brushes his knuckles against your cheeks, "I promise to try lea-"

"Bill," another man interrupts, "about the— bloody hell-"

Bill snaps over his shoulder, "get the f-"

"Sorry! I'll go-"

"No, wait!" you raise a hand, "I was just leaving." You pull away and kiss his cheek.

"You are?"

You smile sweetly at him before jogging to the door. You smile at the man, who clearly had something important to tell him. You mutter, "good luck."

He clenches his jaw as he turns to Bill.

♦♦♦ "I thought I told you, this world is not for you" ♦♦♦

"There you are."

You turn, finding Bill jogging up to you.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, love," he sighs the moment he is beside you, "why'd you run off?"

You raise a brow at him, feeling a chill run down your spine when his hot hand comes to your bare back, "wearing this dress was a mistake."

Bill pulls his head back, examining your form fitting, drop-back dress, "what? Why would you say that?" he glides his nails up and down your spine, "you look stunning."

Goosebumps form on your arms, "look at what everyone else is wearing."

He doesn't. He tilts his head instead, "what does it matter what everyone else is wearing?"

"Because!" you quip under a whisper, taking a step closer, "this is a work gathering."

"It's a soiree," he squeezes your arms, brows knitting at the feel of your pricked skin. He rubs both of your biceps.

"Yeah," you huff, "with all your co-workers and bosses present."

"You look incredible, baby. Better than anyone here—"

"Bill-"

"I promise you, you wore the perfect dress for the occasion."

"That is not what they're saying."

His smile crumples into a weighted frown, "what?"

You lean your head into your hand.

"Who says?"

"It doesn't matt-"

"No, it does matter," he tilts his head, "did someone give you a hard time over your dress?"

You huff, taking his arm, "it wasn't like that. I just... I overheard a someone mutter something about 'Mr. Weasley's flaunty plus one'."

His jaw slacks.

"I didn't think my back would cause such a scene."

"It shouldn't," he snaps, looking around the room with narrows eyes, "how dare they speak of you like this when I only agreed to attend at your encouragement."

"Hey," you pout at him, "this is a big night for Gringotts."

He turns back to you, "so?"

You tilt your head and take his cheek, "Bill..." you smooth the crease between his brows, "you're one of the reasons why they're celebrating."

"It feels rather opposite right now," he turns to you, "I'd much rather help you pick out wallpaper for your shop."

You chuckle, tucking hair behind his ear, "your brothers already helped me pick out wallpaper, sweetheart."

His lips part, "... they did?"

You nod, "it's bright and floral," you rub his chin, "you'd hate it."

He purses his lips, leaning into you with a disagreeing headshake, "I could never hate something you like."

You chuckle, causing his lips to curl upward. Your eyes widen when he pulls you in for a kiss, feeling his tongue dart out to your lips. You and immediately pull away, "William Arthur Weasley."

"What?" he secures a hand on your hip.

"As if it's not bad enough—"

"Darling, they're already talking," he cuts you off, "might as well give them someone interesting to talk about."

♦♦♦ The room is on fire as she's fixing her hair ♦♦♦

Bill stops in his tracks upon seeing you in the lobby. The suitcase in his hand felt so suddenly like it weighed a tonne. The wand in his coat jacket silently screamed to be drawn and that a hex from its master's lips be drawn with it.

You laugh. It makes his eye twitch.

He calls out your name; it echoes in the large expanse of the room and time stops for a moment.

You turn and only then is your attention averted from the two men who also looked out to see who was calling for you.

"Ah, Weasley," one says, raising a hand to him.

Bill's jaw sets as he strides over.

The other man beside you whispers in your ear. Bill's body tenses at how you cover your mouth as you laugh, only to use the same hand to slap the man's arm.

Bill calls out to you again. You smile, "hello, darling. Ready to go?"

"Oh, no, don't take her away," one slaps a hand on Bill's shoulder, "we've only just started.

"Donovan," the other slap's the hand off Bill, "watch your hand. Lest you get the curse-breaker to curse you."

"Oh," Donovan pulls his hand away, "right, Bartholomew."

You look between the two men and chortle, covering your mouth with your fingers. Donovan, Bartholomew, and Bill look at you. The latter is deeply unimpressed by how you smiled at the two.

"What's got your knickers in a twist now, smarty pants?" Donovan asks.

Bill tenses at the mention of your knickers.

You punch Donovan's shoulder, "it's just so silly that you go by your first names!"

Donovan rubs his arms, feigning injury. Bartholomew tilts his head, "that we go by our first names?" He chuckles, "what should we ought to go by?"

You scoff and stare at them like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Don and Bart."

Don and Bart? Bill's jaw clenches. Who were these ninnyhammers?

They groan at your words where you snigger, reaching out for Bill. When you take his arm and finally come to his side, his irritation is partially tempered, but Don and Bart are still at it.

Bart mutters, "horrendous."

"Agreed," Don shakes his head, "we're not 14 anymore."

"Says the not-14-year-old who still the expression knickers in a twist—" you point, "when I was laughing too!"

Don raises his hands in surrender, "you know what I meant. You're easy to get a reaction out of."

"Yeah," Bart says, "were-"

"How do you know each other?" Bill snaps, patience worn to inexistence.

You recognize his tone and squeeze his arm.

Bill does not turn to you, eyes too busy skimming the two.

You respond gently, "we were batchmates in Hogwarts, love."

"Ah," Bill says through a glare, "you work for the bank now?"

"Yeah," they say in unison, "we-"

Bill doesn't wait; he turns around and starts walking off, bringing you along with him. You whimper, looking over your shoulder as you try to keep up with his long strides, "Bi-"

"How long have they been talking you up?!" he mutters, eyes fixed upon the exit.

"Talking me up?" you mutter as you jog beside him, squeezing his arm as you did, "they weren't-" you gesture with two fingers, "talking me u—"

Bill's dry laughter cuts you off.

You huff, trying to slow him down by pulling him back. He's too strong to stop.

You both reach the door, and the moment you're outside, you yank your arm away from him and pull back, "that wasn't what w-"

"I recognize them," he snaps, hand tightening on the handle of his suitcase, "they were eyeing you in the soiree."

You huff and wrap your arms around yourself when a cold breeze whips between the two of you. Your hair is blown into your face, but you make no move to comb it back, "yeah... they said they saw me at the soiree but couldn't believe that it was me, which was why they didn't appro-"

"They didn't approach because-" he slaps a hand to his chest, "- I was with you."

Your face tenses. You rub your arms.

You watch him pace for a moment. You draw in a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for how he'll react to what you'll say next, "Don and Bart are my friends. I happen to be glad that they came up and talked to me."

Bill's freezes, his jaw feathering at your admission.

"We were just chatting, Bill," you mutter, finally tucking your hair behind your ear, "I promise you, it was nothing more."

"To you," he motions, "I bet they feel so high and mighty now that they're bankers."

You step forward, "I don't think that. I used to help them with their homework, for Godric's sake. They'll never b-"

"Why didn't you just go to my office?" a line forms between his brows as he shakes his head, "you know you're more than welcome to do so."

You lower your head and shrug, "I don't want you to become mean to-"

"I told you, they know better to—"

"Would you stop cutting me off?" you blurt, face tightening as you look back at him, "had I waited in your office, I would have just stared into space, but a while ago, at least, I got to talk with someone I hadn't in a while."

Bill's shoulder's slump. His face hardens, "what did you even talk about?"

You stare at him for a moment. Irritation rises up your neck, pulling a scoff from your lips, "work. Life."

"Wallpaper?"

You pull your head back, "what?"

"Did you tell them about the wallpaper I was going to help you put up over the weekend?"

You watch his face go red from the cold and his anger. You shake your head in disbelief, "do... do you think I made it look like we aren't together?"

"Well, you might have forgotten that-"

"Everyone in Gringott's knows we're together Bill," you feel your throat tighten, "everyone except you I think."

You both stare at each other for a moment. Bill feels a shiver run down his spine as you brush your hair back, revealing how your eyes sparkled with tears. He huffs and mutters your name.

"Go home by yourself tomorrow," you dismiss, walking off with not a care if he followed or not.

♦♦♦ "You sound so angry, just calm down, you found me" ♦♦♦

The bell at the front door jingles.

"Welcome to Weasley's Wizard Wh-" Fred emerges, "Bill!

Bill looks around, tightening his hold on the flowers he had.

"Aww," Fred places a hand on his chest, "you didn't have to."

Bill pulls the flowers away before his brother can get it. He raises his brows, "they're obviously not for you."

"I beg to differ," he smirks and crosses his arms, "if they weren't, you'd be next door at Sweets & Sweeties havin' a cuppa with your sweetie."

He merely stares at Fred.

"And George," the younger Weasley motions with his head.

"George?" Bill frowns.

Fred nods, "George."

"What's he doing there?" the elder Weasley turns to the wall, as if he could see through it.

"I hate to break it to you, brother, but brother's gone off to steal your girl," Fred walks off, leaving Bill to follow. He knew better than to believe George would ever do such a thing, but it still got him high-strung, just as Fred intended. The latter continues, "he's helping your sweetheart with the wallpaper you were supposed to be helping with while you're too busy being jealous."

"Why'd you think I brought flowers?" Bill snaps.

Fred turns, "for me!" and tries to snatch the flowers.

Bill dodges and pushes him back with a glare.

The younger recoils then clears his throat, "right. So..." he shrugs looking back at Bill, "why are you here then?"

"Because she's not there, Fred!"

"I just told you she's there!"

"WHY WOULD I BE HERE IF I SAW HER-"

"YOU OBVIOUSLY NEED GLASSES, OLD MAN!"

For a moment, the Weasley brothers stare at each other. He gives Fred a searing gaze, but his resolve remains. He knows then he's not lying.

"Unbelievable!" Bill huffs, storming out.

Fred presses his lips together then waves, "come back soon!"

The bell rings again as Bill leaves. He walks over to the shop next door, finding the store to be, indeed, empty. He debates going back in, but he didn't want to be blindsided if in case the twins were in fact playing a trick on him.

He quickly realizes there were no tricks upon hearing the sound of laughter coming from the end of the street.

You and George each had a paper bag clutched to your chest as you walked with your arms linked. He thinks of Fred's words: George was going to steal you. He clenches his jaw, feeling irrational at what was clearly an offhanded teasing remark from his idiot brother.

And yet... there it was, the same impatience he felt just yesterday with Don and Bart. He turns to his feet, crushing the stems of his flowers with how frequently he squeezed them.

"Bill!" he hears his brother call.

He looks up, finding George grinning at him. You merely stared.

"We were just talking about you- aw!" George winces, turning to you, "what? It's true."

Bill stays put as you both walk over. You avoid his gaze, even going as far as hiding behind George. His brother is quick to shimmy out of the way though, "interested in the back of my jumper much?"

You don't have a moment to respond as George takes the paper bag from you, lurching forward in faux struggle, "wow," he exaggeratedly grunts, "this is heavy! I'll go put them inside."

Neither of you speak as George walks into your shop. The bell rings as the door opens and closes. You lick your lips and turn to your feet.

"For you," he offers the flowers.

You slowly look up. You can see he looks like he didn't sleep very well and yet you can't help the words itching inside your mouth, "aren't you worried George is talking me up?"

Bill's nostrils flare.

You clench your teeth.

"I don't like it when we fight," he mutters.

"I'm not fighting," you shrug, "I'm telling you what you told me."

He lowers the flowers. A line forms between his brows, "what do you want me to say?"

Your lips part and your heart drops. Your brows furrow, "wh-" you shake your head, "what did you come here to say?"

"I came here to make peace."

"Oh, but you're not going to apologize?"

He scratches his nose, that was the thing, "I can't help the way I feel."

"What? You shake your head, "what about how I feel?" you quip, "how you made me feel?"

Bill lowers his gaze.

"No, you can't help the way you feel, but you can help the way you react. It's not my fault you think Don and Bart like me."

"I know it isn't but I-" he cuts himself off with a laugh. He brushes his hair back, frustrated by what was happening. He speaks slowly, as if it would help you understand, "I can't help the way I feel."

You look at him in silence.

Bill looks everywhere else but at you.

You cross your arms, feeling your eyes water, "fine," you huff through your nostrils, "I'm sorry talking to my old friends made you feel a way you can't help."

He drops his head then finally turns to you. His stomach drops to see your eyes were now pink and glassy. He speaks your name and steps forward. You pull away when he tries to touch you.

"I-" he whispers, "please don't cry."

You furrow your brows, "that's all you have to say to me?"

"APOLOGIZE YOU IDIOT!" two separate voices call in unison behind two different windows.

You both flinch, then Bill glares at his brothers, pointing the bouquet of flowers at them, "shut it. This is none of your business!"

"Only it is though!" Fred blurts from the inside of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Bill is about to respond, but then he notices you're about to walk away. He grabs your shoulders, "No— I'm sorry."

You look at him, tears now streaming your cheeks.

"Merlin, I-"

It was too late now. It took him too long to say it. He releases you and you immediately retreat into your shop.

George calls out to you as you go to the back of your store. He then turns to his brother and motions with his head, "what are you waiting for?!"

Guilt bites at Bill, and it's why he figures he shouldn't push you anymore than he already has, "I shouldn't."

"Shouldn't?!" George runs out your shop, "you should be the one helping her with her wallpaper, you absolute buff-"

Bill cuts him off by shoving the flowers into his chest.

He bristles as he watches his older brother walk away, "coward!"

Fred marches to his twin, joining in, "yellow-belly!"

"Ugly!"

"Red head!"

George slaps the flowers on Fred's chest, "we're red heads, idiot."

"No, I'm not," Fred takes the flowers, combing through his bangs, "I've always had an orange undertone in my mane."

George rolls his eyes.

"What? You're just jealous."

[stupidlittlespirit]

Ford getting sick and you have to take care of him. hes so stubborn, I bet he refuses to accept that he's sick and even once he does he thinks it won't interfere with his work or anything anyways. minutes later he's passed out at his desk. poor thing. drag him to bed and help him through the fever dreams and unsavory symptoms. doctor, he needs cuddles, stat!

I like to think that once he's returned from the portal, he's got an exceptionally developed immune system. I mention it in Spores (with the death cap thing) and I do think he'd have picked up so many foreign germs that he just kind of becomes super resilient to bugs and stuff in his home dimension, to a certain extent.

BUT, there's nothing funnier to me than imagining him believing this 1000% and never taking precautions, then catching the most regular ass flu and being devastated by it. Like, picture War of the Worlds: all these crazy aliens who are super developed end up dying out because they catch fucking H1N1 LMAOOOOOO

He gets the first twinges of the flu (headaches, soreness etc) and assumes it's just being old/typical chronic pain/because he's been overworking, and so he just ignores it. It's no big deal.

Except, the next day, he wakes up feeling absolutely rotten. Head throbbing, body aching, feeling like he's moving through molasses, sweaty, snotty, just generally disgusting.

Everyone can see that he's poorly, except for Ford. He starts losing his voice because he refuses to shut up and rest his throat, and if he takes the advice then he has to acknowledge that he's unwell. So he refuses. He just goes on in the way he usually does, over explaining things and lecturing until it goes completely. Nothing more than a squeak.

He'll keep working, though. He's just got to power through it, he won't back down! He's in the lab wondering why he's got double vision when he tries to concentrate on his samples and he ends up getting mad at himself for not being able to focus, so he retires to his study in the hopes that maybe he can get some shitty paperwork done.

Which is where, as you say, you find him a few hours later, slumped over his desk, passed the fuck out and drooling on his papers.

You're loathe to move him because he never sleeps this soundly, but he's going to totally fuck up his back if he stays hunched over like that, so you have to very carefully wake him up and gently (but firmly) convince him that he has to go to bed for his own good. I expect his willpower to resist at that point would be very low and so it wouldn't take much.

So you guide him into his bed and fetch him tea and soup and cold medicine, and tend to his needs like the perfect nurse. Maybe he asks you to bring some books to bed because he thinks he'll be bored, but because he's too exhausted to even sit upright, you offer to read them to him until he passes out again.

And I definitely think he'd end up falling asleep on you. He won't outright be vulnerable and ask for a cuddle but he'll allude to it heavily, and you'll pick up what he's putting down because at this point, you've gotten used to his weird communication issues. So you prop yourself up next to him in bed and he snuggles up close.

I do think Ford's a big guy, though, so he'd pin you with his dead weight and you wouldn't be able to move without disturbing him.

Thankfully, he doesn't have any nightmares. I think usually he would but instead of the typical fever dreams most people get when they're suffering a bad flu, Ford gets the reverse: just a dead, black sleep. It ends up being quite pleasant for him and he conks out each night for like 14 hours straight for the first time in like 30 years.

He'd be soooo utterly pathetic and needy; can't do anything for himself and even needs help to be bathed when the flu peaks because he's so weak..... He totally groans and complains non stop, bless him.

When he gets back to normal though, he's totally revitalised and energetic from all the rest and TLC. It's like he's a young man again, raring to go and bouncing off the walls ("I should get sick more often, this is wonderful!").

And then a few days later, when you start sneezing and aching, Ford has to do all the same things for you.... In between several fruitless attempts to synthesize a cure for the common cold just for you. (He fails every time, of course, but he tries his best).

[cravinganotherworld]

Amorous - Chapter 3 - Frontman x Fem! reader

WARNINGS: 18+, Implied smut, swearing, death, guns shooting, angst, slight harassment from thanos

Chapter 1: https://www.tumblr.com/cravinganotherworld/772151896142233600/amorous-squid-games-frontman-x-fem-reader?source=share

Chapter 2, part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/cravinganotherworld/772200596177666048/amorous-chapter-2-part-1-frontman-x-fem?source=share

Chapter 2, part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/cravinganotherworld/772230442224173056/amorous-chapter-2-part-2-frontman-fem-reader?source=share

NOTE: Let me know what you think!

Wordcount : 2,6k

Leave or stay…leave or stay. The only words floating through your mind as you stare at the buttons underneath your fingertips. You wanted to see your grandfather, you really did but as always, your heart wanted to win, it yearned for the soft touches and the gentle smile of Young Il, but you couldn’t let it win this time. Your hand quickly pressed ‘X’ and that side of the room cheered. You handed your badge over to the guards taking the new one presented to you. As everyone took their turn the numbers started to go up and you held a little spark of hope that you could go home. Until the end that is. You look up at the scoreboard seeing the ‘O’s were in the lead and your heart dropped as Gi-Hun took the final vote, of course voting to leave. It made barely any difference to the score.

“Dear players, lights out will be in 30 minutes, please prepare yourself for lights out”

You let out a small sigh and begin to walk over to your bed when someone grabs your hand. As you turn to look your heart drops. Thanos.

“Ay seniorita, I think you should stay with US tonight” pointing between him and his friend.

“No thank you” you whisper and turn to walk away but he runs infront of you, grabbing your shoulder as he does so.

“C’mon pretty girl, nothings gonna happen” he leans down so his lips are almost brushing over yours. You stand still in fear. “not unless you beg for it” he whispers, his breath fanning on your lips.

“She’s with us” butterflies erupt in your stomach as Young Il comes up behind you. Thanos looks up, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lick the side of his lips as he lets out a defeated chuckle. He puts his hands up in Défense walking backwards away from you. Before he turns away he shoots a dark smile in your direction and makes a love heart with his hands. You shudder at the thought of him and turn to Young Il.

“Thank you” he nods in response.

“Stay with us tonight” he spoke, his voice firm and cold, nothing like he had been earlier. Your heart drops slightly at his tone and you glance over his shoulder seeing Dae-Ho wave you over excitedly. Smiling at him you make your way past Young Il, stopping when you feel his grip on your wrist. You turn and look at him, watching as he takes in a deep breath before letting you go. Confused you shake your head and continue walking towards Dae-Ho and the rest of the team. Young Il didn’t speak to you for the rest of the night, your heart aching at the thought that you had done something to upset him. You tossed and turned unable to sleep as thoughts once again plagued your mind, huffing lightly you sit up in bed and run your hands down your face in frustration.

“Can’t sleep?” you jump at the sudden noise beside you. You look up to see none other than Young Il.

“no…I can’t get a decent night sleep in here…I’m exhausted” you confess,

“May i?” he gestures to the space infront of you on the bed and you nod lightly. He sits and turns to face you. “I understand, I can’t seem to sleep either, it’s almost like a waiting game…” your lips frown in confusion.

“waiting game?” you ask quietly. He looks around the room.

“To see when they’ll attack” your heart jumps into your throat, what does he mean attack? Why would they attack?. Young Il looks at you noticing the fear spreading across your face. “it won’t be tonight, you don’t have to worry” he reassures you.

“How do you know?”

“They would’ve done it by now” he confidently replies. “You really should try and rest, you’ll need your strength for tomorrows game” he speaks as he stands up. Before he walks away you grab his hand, you feel him tense under your touch.

“Thank you”

“What for?”

“Earlier…saving me from Thanos and his minion” He laughs lightly and squeezes your hand.

“You don’t need to thank me” You stand up, your stature small compared to his, but nonetheless you look up at him. He tilts his head down looking back at you.

“Yes I do…nobody else helped me, they would’ve let him continue” you look into his eyes seeing a hint of anger flash through them. “Why did you help me Young Il?” you whisper placing your hand on his chest

“A gentleman never leaves a lady in distress” he replies, his jaw clenching as you begin to remove your hand from his chest. He catches your wrist, ensuring it stays in its place, his eyes not meeting yours.

“Oh” you whisper, disappointment evident in your tone as you look down at your shoes. Young Il notices and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He reaches for your chin but you pull away from his grip shattering his heart. You step back and look up at him. “I really should try to get some sleep now” your voice filled with sadness. As you turn to return to your bed you feel Young Ils hand wrap around your waist and pull you into him, your back hitting his chest. You gasp lightly and his other hand comes up to cover your mouth. You feel his breath tickle your ear as he leans down.

“You want to know why I saved you huh? You do something to me y/n, the way you walk, the way your hips move so perfectly” He places a tender kiss at the top of your ear. “The way you talk, so well spoken and polite” his lips trace down to your ear lobe. “Oh the nights I’ve spent imagining how polite your words would be as I fuck your pretty little brains out” Your eyes widen at his confession and your breathing begins to pick up, your heart beat now erratic. You feel his hand loosen around your waist as he turns you towards him, walking you backwards until your back hits the wall. He leans forward pressing his forehead to yours, removing his hand from your mouth as he inches closer. “The nights I’ve spent imagining the feel of your lips on mine” he moves to kiss your cheek “to feel the warmth of you as I hold you” he kisses your other cheek, leaning back to look into your eyes. “to feel every inch of you close to me” he kisses your nose and pulls back once more, his hand coming to rest on your cheek. He leans forward, nearly closing the gap between you “to have all of you”.

“Players, please awaken and prepare for the fourth game, please follow instructions and make your way to the games hall, I will now repeat” You take a deep breath as Young Il removes himself from you, walking backwards but still looking into your eyes until he met Gi-Hun. As the players make their way down from their beds and into the centre of the room you stand still trying to reorganize your thoughts. What the fuck just happened. All you could think about was the coldness that crept into you at the absence of Young Ils hands. Soon enough you made your way down the steps, following the guards to the game hall. As the doors open you’re met with a room full of doors and a large carousel in the centre. You hear murmurs of the other players trying to decipher the game.

“Dear players, the game you will be playing is ‘Mingle’, the carousel will spin in time with the music, when it stops a number will be called, you must then form a group of this number and enter a room before the time is up. You will have 30 seconds per round. Players, please make your way onto the podium” You begin to make your way to the podium, standing between two players you don’t recognise and prepare yourself for what’s to come. The carousel starts to move and the music begins to blare through the speakers. The lights flickered and your breath caught in your throat. In the dark? Surely not. Before you could think the lights flickered back on and the carousel stops.

“10” everybody scrambles around looking for a team and you hear your name being called from the chaos. You look around trying to find who the voice belongs to, your eyes settling on Gi-Hun frantically waving you over to them. You rush over, smiling at Jun-Hee as she takes your hand.

“We have 10, Over there” Gi-Hun shouts, pointing towards a room in the distance. You all rush towards the room falling in as the timer counts down to zero. As the last second ticks Gi-Hun slams the door shut, the lock locking automatically. You look around the room at everyone breathing heavily, your eyes landing on Young Il only for a second as shots begin to be fired. The screams outside died down and the door unlocked signalling for the players to return to the podium. You follow your team and find your place between Gi-Hu and Young Il. The events that conspired earlier in the day now no longer a thought in your mind as you fought to say alive. As the carousel begins to move again you feel Young Il take your hand in his, holding it tightly. You say nothing as the music stops.

“3” Once again everyone begins to scramble. Jun-Hee rushes over to you taking your hand and you look between Young Il and Gi-Hun.

“You three go, I’ll find two more” Young Il shouts letting your hand go. Your eyes widen in fear

“No!” you reach out to grab his hand but are dragged away by Gi-Hun. Young Il watches as he drags you away despite your struggle, his eyes never leaving yours.  “Young Il!” you cry, fear now rushing through you. What if he couldn’t find anyone. You struggle against Gi-Huns grip on you, and he pushes you forcefully into the room closing the door as the timer hits Zero once again. As gun shots fill the air you rush to the door and look out amongst the remaining players praying you didn’t see his face. Soon enough the door unlocked, and you rushed out as if your life depended on it. You stood as the crowd moved towards the podium once more, searching for his all to familiar eyes, your heart breaking more with each second you couldn’t find him. Losing faith you begin to move through the crowd, ignoring the calls of Gi-Hun and Jun- Hee. You have to find him. As you move through the crowd your vision starts to become blurry as tears pool in your eyes.

“Y/n!” your head whips around at the sound of your name being called and relief washes over you. He’s alive. You rush over to him jumping into his arms, nuzzling your face into his neck. You feel his arms wrap around you with one hand holding the back of your head as you let your emotions come out.

“Shh it’s okay I’m okay” he soothed you as he stroked your hair calming you down. As you calm down you step back to look at him. Placing both hands on his cheeks you look into his eyes seeing tears on his cheek too.

“I thought I lost you” you whispered. He laughs lightly and presses his forehead to yours.

“Never”

“Players please return to the podium” As you return to the podium with Young Il it begins to move again. You look up at him smiling gently and he returns the gesture. The podium came to an abrupt stop.

“6” You hurriedly find you your group of six and move towards the closest door you could find. You all rushed through the door and slammed it shut with seconds to spare. As the round ended you all cautiously stepped out of the room, the floor now decorated with blood and silence filling the air.

“Please prepare for the final round” Once again you all stepped onto the podium awaiting the final round.

“How many do you think it’ll be this time?” Gi-Hun asks looking around.

“Two” Young Il speaks without hesitation. You look at him confused by his confidence

“How do you know?”

“Look around, there are 126 players left and only 50 rooms, if it’s two people there will only be enough for 100 to survive, if you don’t get to a room quickly…you’re done for” you nod your head in understanding and the podium came to a stop.

“2” Without thinking Young il grabs your hand and rushes towards the closest room he could find. As you get closer to the door he lets go of your hand to pull it open and you run faster now time running out. Suddenly you are pulled back by your hair and thrown to the floor by another player pain radiating through you as your head connects with the floor. Young Il hears your scream and looks out to see you on the floor and the man who pulled you down rushing towards him. In one swift movement he grabs the man and shouts at you to run into the room once you had gotten back on your feet. Your heart was beating fast and sweat began to drip down your forehead as you rush into the room, your blood running cold when you see another player already in there. Shit. Young Il runs in behind you and closes the door looking up at your face noticing the fear and followed your eyes.

“Out” he ordered the man in the corner

“That’s not fair we were here first” he objected. Young Il looked up at the timer and quickly rushed at the man wrapping his arm around his throat. You watch as Young Il tightens his grip around the man’s throat, his eyes emotionless as they look into your soul. Suddenly you hear a crack and the man falls limp in Young Ils arms. The door locks and shots fill the air. Young Il pushes the body off of him and stands up walking towards you. He pushes your body against the wall and caresses your cheek. You should be scared, he had just killed a man infront of you with no mercy…no remorse but yet…you feel even more drawn to him, the way his eyes grew dark ignited something within you, something you had never felt before. Looking into his eyes now your heart feels as though it could burst,

“do not hate me for what I have done” he whispers placing his forehead on yours. Without thinking you reply.

“I could never hate you” He pulls back searching your eyes for anything to tell him it was a cruel trick, but he found nothing but love. Without a second thought he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so desperate neither one of you wanted to pull away. You feel him gently bite down on your bottom lip as your hands travel up into his hair pulling lightly drawing a soft moan from his lips as he pulls away causing you to let out a small whine at the loss of contact. He smirks and presses a shorter kiss to your lips parting when the door unlocked. You admire him as he steps back from you, his messy hair and lips glistening had your stomach reaching for him. He looks towards you once more offering you his hand. You take it without a second thought and watch him as he brings it to his lips whispering,

“You have no idea what you do to me”

[backseatsoldier]

No Mercy - Prolog

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x OC (Bex)

CW: mental & emotional abuse committed by family members; toxic family members; military inaccuracies (though I am asking those I know who have been in the military about their experiences-)

Author's Note: Welcome to the story of my only military OC! If you'd like to be on the tag list, drop a comment and I'll get one started for the first chapter <3

18 years old/Two Days After Graduation...

"You're such a selfish bitch, Becca."

"Go suck Darian's cock so I don't have to listen to you whine, Hannah," Bex sighs as she zips up her suitcase.

The tension in the air thickens with Bex's comment, but she pays no mind to it. Instead she simply lifts her suitcase from her the bed and turns to face her twin. Hannah's face is twisted in anger and offense.

"I would never-"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. I'm sure you won't have problems with pathological lying later in life, sis," Bex tells her flatly. "Now move so I can leave. My ride will be here soon."

"You're really doing this? You're really abandoning us all for... for what? To play soldier?" Hannah's face twists into an expression of hurt.

But Bex sees right through it, as she always has.

"I'm leaving to start my own life. Move," she says more firmly this time.

Hannah's expression goes cold, but she steps to the side of the doorway. As Bex passes her, she grabs Bex's arm to stop her.

"Don't expect Mom and Daddy to welcome you back with open arms when you fail, Rebecca," Hannah hisses in her twin's ear. Then her grip on Bex's arm is gone. "And neither will I."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Bex returns with a bright smile then makes her way out of the room, head held high, prepared for a new life.

First Month of Basic...

Basic training is hell, as expected. It's nothing Bex will allow to drag her down, though.

"What's your plans after basic?" Private Burran asks from her bunk, sweet but exhausted smile on her face as she looks around at the other women in the room.

"Die in a world over," someone scoffs to Bex's left and Private Burran frowns in response.

"Don't you have like... different military jobs you'd like to pursue? I, for example, am getting into Microwave Communications!" Private Burran announces proudly.

"Ah, so you're a tech nerd," Private Charles chuckles as she leans against her and Private Burran's bunk with her arms crossed.

Their conversation continues but Bex tunes them out. She's not here to make friends; she's here to learn to do her damn job.

"What about you, Private Morgan?"

Bex sits up to look at the others. They each look at her expectantly and Bex sighs.

"Active duty, wherever I fit best. Would prefer to do something undercover, honestly," she admits.

There's a ripple of whispers through the other women and Bex raises and eyebrow at them.

"Don't you like... come from some rich, old money family?" Private Irens asks hesitantly, toying with the edge of her jacket sleeve.

"Why does that matter?" Bex asks, tone defensive as she sits up on her elbows.

"We're all on the same page. You'll have an advantage with getting through to anything you want because of your connections," Private Charles clarifies and shifts her weight to stand up straight.

"If you must know," Bex addresses them all with a stunning smile and everyone's shoulders stiffen. "I cut off all of my family," Bex hisses as her smile fades to a scowl. "Fuck off, all of you," she grumbles as she pushes out of her bunk and storms out of the barracks.

26 Years Old/Five Months ago...

In a small, noisy cafe in who-knows-where, two people sit together at a table. The woman has a laptop bag at her feet, strap wrapped around her ankle. The man stares out the open window next to them, cigar in hand.

"Top of her squad in basic training," the woman praises.

"What does she specialize in?" the man asks while puffing on a cigar.

"You asked for an undercover operative, Price," she points out flatly.

"Was she top of her platoon, though? I need the best, Laswell," Price counters.

"Second best."

"Why not bring me the number one then?" Price takes a drag from his cigar. Laswell waits for him to exhale before responding.

"Died on a recent mission. So, technically, she is number one."

Laswell slides a manila folder onto the table and holds eye contact with Price as he takes another puff. With a sigh, cigar smoke swirling in the air between them, he reaches for the folder and opens it.

"Sergeant First Class Rebecca Morgan, hm? The hell kind of callsign is 'BSS'?" he mumbles as he scans the first paper inside the folder.

"You'll have to ask her yourself, sir," Laswell says with a smirk. "She's waiting for you on base."

No Mercy Masterlist | CoD Masterlist

[c-kiddo]

was worried parts of cr2 would not hold up on rewatch (especially seeing people hate the aeor arc so much) but ngl so far its either been good and fun as hell (travellercon, pirate arc) or just straight up banger after banger. like the xhorhas to angel of irons through to refjorged arc and then the cathedral.................. unrelenting slay

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

[hausofwoo]

swallow | park seonghwa

pairing: park seonghwa x afab!reader

word count: 5.6K

this is part 2 of open wide! if you have not yet read part 1, i highly suggest reading it first.

summary: ever since that night, seonghwa has been avoiding you. but when new guy yunho starts at the restaurant, tensions rise until it reaches a breaking point.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, restaurant!au, bartender!seonghwa, server!reader, enemies to lovers trope, smoking (cigarette), alcohol consumption, sex under the influence of alcohol (but both consenting), fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up y'all), dick slapping, biting, cumplay, oral (f receiving), face sitting, creampie, degrading, use of petnames (princess, baby), the passion is T H E R E, woosan allegations once again, feat. new guy!yunho, server/work bestie!ryujin, servers!wooyoung and san, restaurant manager!hongjoong.

author's note: i already intended on making a part 2 of open wide, and everyone's feedback was so sweet and helpful on part 1! thank u again to @hausofmingi and T for being my beta-readers as always :-) plz enjoy ♡ ✧*

your eyes flutter open to the birds chirping outside. it’s way too fucking early to be awake right now. you feel yourself in a half-dream half-awake state, mind fuzzy and floaty. you turn your head to the side to see the man you spent the night with; the man who made you feel so good.

you rub your eyes a bit, attempting to wipe away the sleepiness. your vision adjusts, and you take a deeper look at him. seonghwa.

he really is beautiful. perfectly plump lips, long eyelashes, and there’s something about the way his nose is just a liiiiittle bit bumped at the bridge. even in his flaws you find beauty. you can’t resist gazing at him while he sleeps, his hair all messy in his face. why is it that he is so beautiful, yet the way he treats you is so far from that?

he shifts a bit, letting out a gentle sigh. your eyes begin to droop again, and you feel yourself drift off to the sound of his soft breathing.

when you wake, your bed feels cold. he left. you sit up slowly, stretching your arms up to ring out the exhaustion from your body. you look back at the empty spot next you.

it’s interesting that he left without a word, but you don’t know what to make out of it. before last night, you clearly couldn’t stand each other. you thought he was conceited and condescending. he was rude. and even during last night, his ego pooled over. but was the mere thought of missing him childish? you can’t help but to feel like there was something more to it. there was something on a deeper level that made you curious, therefore you wanted it back even more so. you started to feel like those girls from the movies; the ones where the girl becomes clingy after a one night stand. a cliché.

so what if he didn’t stay? it’s not like he actually felt anything for you. it was just a quick fuck. you probably were just another girl that he decided to throw a bone to. that’s what cocky men like him enjoy; just someone to string along and play with until he’s bored with them. you figured that time came sooner than you expected. well fuck him.

he hasn’t made eye contact with you once since you came in to work. you have the section right in front of the bar (thanks for nothing, hongjoong) so you have to just bear through it every time you pass him by. you prep your tables for service, wiping them down mindlessly.

you suppose there isn’t really a right way to go about this. sleeping with a coworker is a no-no, especially in restaurants. it gets messy (but it happens nonetheless). it’s not like you can go up to him and talk to him as if nothing happened. he didn’t exactly set you up for success either. he left without a word, and now you’re forced into the same space as him, clueless as to what to do. you decide to just ignore him unless absolutely necessary.

ryujin hops over next to you, a little too peppy for how you’re feeling.

“are you ready for a great service tonight?” ryujin says sarcastically, but with a grin.

“i want it to be over already,” you force out a dry chuckle, still half-assing the prep for your tables.

“the hell is wrong with you?” ryujin snorts.

“i’ll just—“ you start, but then realize you felt eyes burning into you. you look up the moment seonghwa’s gaze shifts, going back to wiping down the bar. “um, i’ll tell you later.”

“okay…” ryujin says, puzzled. she walks back to her section to prep.

your eyes are compelled to shift back up to seonghwa. at this point it just feels embarrassing to be wondering what he’s thinking, wondering if he felt what you felt sunday night. your thoughts are interrupted by hongjoong approaching you with a tall man, someone new.

“this is yunho,” hongjoong says, almost presenting the man to you. “he’s going to be trailing you tonight. just show him the ropes and i’ll grab him once dinner service slows down.”

yunho steps forward, extending a hand to you. “it’s so nice to meet you!” he gives you a warm smile as you shake his hand.

“it’s nice to meet you too, yunho,” you say, surprised by the immediate kindness. this feels a lot nicer than how you’ve been treated before.

tuesday nights are usually slow, even during dinner service. you had a decent amount of tables, but nothing you couldn’t handle. and fortunately the new guy caught on really quickly, grabbing the drinks for your tables, clearing empty plates when needed… working with him was making your shift a breeze.

“you’ve worked in restaurants before, haven’t you?” you ask yunho. you refill a water jug for your table with him in the back.

“yeah, i have,” he says meekly, rubbing the back of his neck. “you can tell?”

“definitely,” you nod with a smile. “what happened at the last place?”

“the management,” he chuckles, and you knew exactly what he meant without any explanation. “don’t tell anyone, but i quit without notice.”

you fake a gasp, pretending to clutch your pearls. you let out a light-hearted laugh. “don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

yunho gives a sweet smile to you, eye contact lingering a bit. you look down and realize the jug of water started overflowing and quickly move it away, letting out a humored yelp.

“oops,” he whispers, and you both giggle quietly to each other while wiping down the mess.

little did you know, seonghwa was entering the back to switch kegs for the beer on tap, and he walked in on your giggle-fest. he looks between the two of you momentarily as he continues to the back. you don’t even notice him until he passes. in a strange way, you can almost see annoyance radiating off of him. but maybe you’re making things up?

at the end of service, you finish closing all your tabs and count your tips at the bar with ryujin and wooyoung. yunho was in the back with hongjoong, debriefing the shift. you assumed seonghwa was in the back too, but you pushed away the curiosity.

“what a slow night,” ryujin sighs. she holds up her measly few bills and fakes a cry.

“how was training the new guy?” wooyoung inquires, packing his things.

“it was really good,” you can’t help but smile a little too big. your face drops when seonghwa walks back out to the bar, carrying a pack of beer to restock. you swear he steals a glance at you before kneeling down to refill the low-boys.

“speak of the devil!” ryujin grins, with all of you shifting your view to see yunho walking to the bar with an apron in hand.

“i think you guys might be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, fake-cockily. the three of you congratulate him, all while seonghwa minds to himself.

“when’s your next shift then?” you ask.

“hongjoong said i’ll train the rest of the week, and then my first day live is sunday,” he says, throwing his bag on his shoulder.

“you know what that means…” wooyoung voices mischievously.

“uhhh, what does that mean?” yunho utters, a curious expression on his face.

“sunday celebration!” ryujin throws her hands up in excitement.

“what the hell is sunday celebration?” yunho laughs.

“basically,” ryujin starts, “it’s where we all go out after our shift to a dive bar nearby and drink away our sorrows. but this time we can drink in ACTUAL celebration!”

“i could be down for that,” yunho says. he looks directly to you. “will i see you there?”

your lips part to answer, but your ears are punctured by glass shattering, and the sound of beer fizzing on the floor. your head snaps over to see seonghwa grumbling and picking up the pieces.

“party foul!” wooyoung says jokingly, but then was met with seonghwa’s glare. “kidding…”

you stand from the bar stool and gather your things, taking the cue to leave. “i’m gonna head out. yunho, see you tomorrow?”

“yup,” he says, holding back a smile. “i’ll see you then.”

you turn to walk to the door, feeling eyes like daggers piercing your back.

seonghwa is messing up a lot lately. which is very unlike him, being that he’s a perfectionist. you rang up an order of drinks for your tables, and yeah it was quite a few drinks, but you had never seen him mistake a gin martini for a vodka martini. you approach the drink pass with the misfired drink, setting it down.

“seonghwa,” you call to him, pointing at the drink. “i need a gin martini.”

“that IS a gin martini,” he says flatly, filling a beer from the tap. so sure of himself.

“no,” you insist. “this is vodka.”

he approaches the pass, setting down the beer with its appropriate ticket. he plucks a cocktail straw to do a straw taste of the drink. but with the sip, he wasn’t remotely shaken. he just tosses the liquid in the sink, remaking it without a word.

“you just gonna stand there and watch?” he says while stirring the beverage.

“are you gonna make it right this time?” you snap.

he places the drink on the pass, clearly pissed off. he slams the ticket next to the drink and glares at you, almost too close. you feel the huffs of his irritated breaths fanning your face, and for the first time since that night, you really look at each other. but all that was tangible in the air was anger.

“run your drink, princess.” he enunciates your nickname, packing a punch.

after finishing your closing duties, you’re ready to leave and put this shift behind you. you wave goodbye to your coworkers and start heading out the back door, it being held open by a loose brick. just as your feet hit the pavement of the alley, you hear your name being called behind you.

“wait!” you turn to yunho calling after you, and stopping in the doorway. “you leaving?”

“oh, uh, yeah,” you say, adjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “i got all my side work done so i’m heading home.”

“oh, okay,” he says shyly, obviously with a second thought on his mind.

you look at each other for a moment, but not out of awkwardness, just with a peculiar feeling of enticement.

“so um, how was training with wooyoung today?” you ask.

“oh yeah,” yunho laughs. “it was good. he’s really funny with his tables.”

“yeah, that guy’s definitely a yapper,” you both giggle to each other in amusement.

“sooo… you’re walking home?” he asks, leaning on the frame of the door.

“i usually walk home, i don’t live that far,” you explain.

“me too! maybe i can walk you—“ yunho gets cut off by seonghwa barging into the doorway.

“can i borrow her for a sec?” seonghwa says, barely making it a question.

yunho hesitantly nods, “yeah, um, i guess i’ll see you later?” he says to you, giving you a small wave.

“yeah, i’ll see you tomorrow yunho,” you force a smile, with a pleading HELP ME written behind your eyes.

seonghwa leads you to the walk in, slamming the door behind him. he hovers over you and you can literally see the heat fuming off of him.

“what do you want, seonghwa?” you ask bluntly, trying your best not to sound intimidated.

“we need to talk,” he growls at you, stepping forward, forcing you to press up against the wall behind you.

“about what?” you quip with a begging tone. is this really the time to talk about it?

your eyes bore into each other, faces inches apart. his snarl nearly dissipates when he rips his eyes away from yours for a moment to glance at your lips. you blink up at him in temptation. you can feel the tension in the air, wondering if it was contempt or all encompassing desire. perhaps it was both.

“th–that shit you pulled earlier, don’t do it again,” seonghwa hesitantly lets out, nearly losing his composure.

“what, when you fucked up my drink order?” you ask.

“when you grilled me in the middle of service,” he defends.

“for fucking up, yeah,” you say, crossing your arms. “doesn’t feel nice to be scolded for your mistakes, does it?”

he glares at you for a beat, clearly unsure how to dig himself out of this hole. a hole that he dug. as if he snapped out of a trance, he steps back slightly. he clenches his jaw, and in a swift motion, withdraws from the walk-in. you’re left alone, still pressed up against the icy wall. a rolling cloud escapes your lips, making you realize you had been holding your breath.

it felt like sunday night didn’t come soon enough. this weekend was busier than usual, so all the running around on top of the rigidity of seonghwa was making you go mad. it’s difficult to avoid someone you hate when you have to retrieve drink orders from him all day. luckily, he just reserved to himself and you followed suit.

throwing your bag onto the bar, you slump into the bar seat at the end of the night.

“here,” hongjoong passes a shift beer to each of the servers at the bar, including you. “you guys need these after this weekend.”

you give a thank you while cracking it open, taking a big gulp. you let out a big sigh of relief.

“you’re right, hongjoong,” you say blissfully. “i did need this.”

ryujin snickers next to you, nudging your shoulder. “there will be plenty more at sunday celebration, don’t you worry.”

“speaking of,” san says, grabbing the shoulders of yunho. “congrats on your first live shift, yunho!”

“yeah, how was it?” you ask. you can’t help but smile at the beaming man.

“it went…” yunho starts, pausing for effect. “swimmingly.”

“sounds like a cause for celebration!” ryujin sing-songs, raising her beer in salute.

you all raise your glasses, short one person of course: seonghwa, who was mopping down the bar floor. after a hefty drink, wooyoung crushes his can first and tosses it in the trash.

“let’s start celebrating, sannie,” wooyoung says, throwing his arm over san’s shoulder. (seriously, what the hell is going on there?)

san and wooyoung book it out the door and ryujin follows soon after, finishing her beer and beckoning you to join.

“almost done, you go ahead!” you encourage, packing up your things hap-hazardly with one hand and chugging your beer with the other.

“shit, you guys drink fast,” yunho says, swishing his beer around to hear how much he has left. with a laugh he says, “wish i could just take this to go.”

“i won’t tell,” you whisper to him, grabbing him to join you. “walk with me?”

“okay,” yunho smiles, almost looking like he had stars in his eyes.

you two waltz out the door, leaving seonghwa at the bar cleaning alone. and with your eyes finally averted away, he can finally have no shame in watching you intently out the window. he is so fucked.

“here’s to yunho!” mingi hosts the cheers, with everyone raising their glasses, clinking them together and collectively taking a drink.

“guys,” yunho says with his face still contorted from the liquor. “thank you so much. you’ve all been so welcoming!”

“of course, you’re part of the fam now!” san smiles, wrapping his arm around the man’s shoulders.

everyone takes their respective seats and mingle amongst each other, all while taking more shots and drinking more beer. you, of course, were sat with ryujin and wooyoung talking about the latest work drama.

“have you guys noticed something different about seonghwa lately?” wooyoung asks. “like when he broke that beer the other night? i swear, the whole year i’ve worked here i’ve never seen him break a thing.”

“dude, yes,” ryujin says, leaning in. “he fucked up a couple of my drink orders today. so weird.”

“he’s definitely been in a bad mood lately,” you mumble, holding back from telling your secret.

“yeah, more than usual,” ryujin rolls her eyes. “he probably just needs to get laid.”

you choke back a bit on your drink, taken off guard by the comment. you realize the problem is not that he needs to get laid, but that he did get laid. and now he’s being tortured by seeing the poor girl at work every day. why did he have to sleep with you when you know he feels nothing but disdain for you? are you just a toy to him? you begin to feel dizzy, partly from the alcohol, but also from the thoughts spinning in your head.

“you okay?” wooyoung asks you, handing you a water. you nod and take the drink from him, but his eyes are quickly diverted to the bar. “oh shit, seonghwa is here.”

“what?” ryujin tries her best to look subtly. “do you think our shit-talking manifested him?”

“i don’t know,” you huff, trying to figure out a way to avoid him. “but i’m gonna go sit on the patio.”

“there’s a patio?” yunho chimes in, hearing the last bit. “can i join?”

you smile and nod, leading him back. this will be a good distraction.

“so…” you start, leaning against the wooden patio covering. “how do you like it here? at the restaurant, i mean.”

“it’s definitely different,” yunho laughs. he leans on the covering next to you. “everyone is super nice, the food is good… and it’s nice to work for a local business. the management seems to really care about the employees.”

“definitely, hongjoong is great manager.” you nod to him.

“it’s actually crazy,” yunho starts. “i’ve never seen so many attractive people all working in one place before.”

“what, like ryujin? or wooyoung? or san?” you giggle, realizing he was right. you do have a LOT of hot coworkers.

“well, sure,” yunho says shyly. “but no, i meant you.”

“oh,” you say, caught off guard. you suddenly feel a lot more drunk. you look up at him momentarily, him leaning closer to you.

if someone else saw this body language from an outside perspective, they’d think that he looks like he wants to kiss you. and so what if he did? would it be the worst thing in the world to entertain this, even after your mess with seonghwa?

yunho leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips, quick but sweet. when he pulls away, you’re left looking at him with an unreadable expression, but in your mind, you were reeling.

there was something… missing. and it irritated the fuck out of you. yunho did give you butterflies, but you wonder if it’s just because it feels nice to have attention on you. especially from someone that’s actually kind and seems like he actually wants to get to know you. but in your crazy toxic head, you realize what was missing. passion.

“i-i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have done that,” yunho says, touching his fingertips on his lips.

“no, no,” you say, grabbing his arm. “it’s okay.”

before yunho can get out a word, the back door shuts with seonghwa walking out, witnessing the scene. you can’t resist stepping back slightly from yunho, as if it’s not too late to be caught. he looks between you and seonghwa, adding two and two together just from the tension alone.

“i think i’m gonna head back inside,” yunho says, rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry, again.”

“yunho, wait,” you call after him, but he already shuts the door behind him.

“let him leave,” seonghwa commands, leaning against the wall.

“what are you even doing here, seonghwa?” you ask, already putting your guard up.

“the fuck are you doing with the new guy?” he says, placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting it with a match. of course he’s one of those pretentious dudes that uses a fucking match to light a cig.

“since when do you smoke?” you say, desperately trying to change the subject.

“i don’t,” he says casually, blowing a cloud into the air. “just been stressed lately.”

“i can tell,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “it’s like you forgot how to bartend.”

“it’s not just work,” he says, brushing off the insult you threw at him. “it’s also you.”

“what about me?” you basically refuse, shaking your head. “i’ve been doing exactly what you want me to do. i don’t talk to you, i don’t look at you. i pretty much avoid you at all costs. you’re off the hook, seonghwa. you don’t have to worry about me bothering you.”

“who says that’s what i wanted?” seonghwa says, finally looking directly to you.

“you didn’t have to say it,” you spit at him, forcing him silent.

the air feels heavy. seonghwa struggles to find words for what he wanted to say. he looks down again, ashing his half-smoked cigarette. the back door opens to wooyoung and san following after him, both opting to sit in the patio chairs in the corner. they continue their conversation, and seonghwa looks to you.

“we should talk somewhere more private,” he says, motioning to your coworkers. he’s already grabbing his keys from his pocket.

“why, so you can keep being an asshole to me without an audience?” you say.

“because i want to finish what we started,” he mumbles, walking out of the patio and to the back parking lot.

you try your best to resist, but curiosity overcame you as you follow.

after a short but tense drive, you arrive at what seems to be seonghwa’s apartment. he shuts the engine off and jumps out of his car. you slowly try to register what the hell is happening, unbuckling and hopping out. seonghwa doesn’t look back you, he just continues walking, knowing you’re trailing after him. he unlocks his front door, letting both of you in. he closes the door behind you, watching you examine your surroundings.

“this is exactly how i imagined your place,” you say, almost to yourself.

“you’ve been imagining my apartment?” he smirks.

“yeah,” you scoff. “it’s just as cold and rigid as you.”

“thanks,” he mutters sarcastically.

“so now what?” you say expectantly. “you bring me back here yell at me? make me cry?”

“there’s only one scenario i want of you crying,” he says, stepping closer to where he’s leaning over you. you suddenly feel stone-cold sober.

“and what’s that?” you say, tongue in your cheek, pretending not to know exactly what’s about to happen. and pretending you don’t want it so bad.

seonghwa grabs your cheek, beckoning your face closer to his. his eyes bore into yours, before landing down to your lips. not holding back anymore, he presses his lips onto yours with purpose. your lips meld into his, placing your hands on his chest. your kiss deepens in fervor, as if the hunger completely took over both of you. soon enough, you’re moving together towards his bedroom, clothes and inhibitions shedding along the way.

you fall back onto the bed with seonghwa standing over you. he takes off his belt while looking down at you with a look that can only be described as burning desire. once he discards his pants, he slowly runs his fingers across your panty-clad core. you’re embarrassed by how fucking wet you are already, slightly closing your legs around him.

“no no, princess,” he smirks down at you, licking his lips. “keep them open for me.”

you do as your told, letting him push your underwear to the side and feeling the wetness between your folds. he gathers some of your slick and brings his fingers to his mouth, savoring it.

“fuck,” he tilts his head up as he groans, unintentionally bucking his hips against the edge of the bed. “you taste so fucking good.”

with one hand gripping your thigh, the other hand dips back to your heat to slowly insert his middle finger in you. he lets you adjust momentarily before sliding in his ring finger, curling them both. he thrusts in and out, all while watching you squirm under his touch. he just watches in awe, mouth hanging open as he fixates on your pussy enveloping his digits, coating them with your essence. he releases the hand on your thigh to palm himself at the sight. he twitches in his underwear, precum soaking through at the tip.

as if he couldn’t take it anymore, he withdraws his fingers from inside you and rips your underwear, completely tearing the fabric to have more access to you. he tugs his bottoms down to release his aching cockhead, the tip leaking in a long drip onto you. he guides his member down the length of your core to gather your juices and stimulating your clit all the while.

with an elongated hiss, he enters you slowly. you’re taking every inch of him, pulsating around him. you moan with him as he starts rolling his hips into you. you can feel his head hitting every inch of your walls, the pressure making you moan in sweet agony. your sounds ring in his ears, savoring the whimpers you let out just for him. this quickens his pace, still driving into you with cadence.

he’s literally fucking you into the mattress, splitting you open with vigor. you find it impossible to keep from tightening around him in pleasure, and he loses a bit of his rhythm. he pulls out of you completely.

“you’re gonna make me cum if you keep squeezing me like that,” he says between exasperated breaths. he holds his length above you, slapping it onto your core. he bites his lip to hold back a groan before grabbing your waist to switch positions.

he sits up on the bed and places you on top of him. he holds your waist as he guides you down onto his cock. he examines every inch of your face, reveling at the way it contorts at the feeling of him entering you. once you adjust to him again, you start moving. you ride him, throwing your head back. seonghwa takes the opportunity to kiss and bite at the expanse of your neck. he moans as he begins thrusting upwards in tandem with you. he’s hitting all the right spots, and your bodies move together like a dance.

the moans you let out are uncontrollable, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. it feels like no one’s ever made you feel this way, feel this good. and maybe it’s true; maybe no one has ever awakened this primal, animalistic desire within you. it feels addictive, and you could not get enough. you pull him closer, yearning to feel every inch of his glistening body against yours, desperate for your forms to meld together in an all-encompassing embrace.

he crashes his lips to yours in a fervent kiss, a surge of passion pouring through and intensifying with every passing second. he reaches his hand down to toy with your clit, forcing you off his lips to let out a wanton moan. you core clenches around his length and a wave of stimulation transcends your body.

“cum with me, baby,” seonghwa lets out softly, continuing to thrust into you and toying with your clit.

you throw your head back in ecstasy, all while seonghwa’s eyes devour every inch of you, mesmerized by the sounds of your moans, the sweat trickling down your neck. each movement and touch sends shivers down his spine, solidifying his obsession with you. he wishes with every fiber of his being he could immortalize this sight in his mind forever. he is absolutely captivated by you.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs before resting his hand just below the side of your face.

his jaw goes slack when your core clenches erratically around him, drinking up this view as you completely come undone on his cock. he continues to piston into you until he follows immediately after, no longer holding back his moans of euphoria.

as your hips both begin to slow to a stop, seonghwa pulls you off of him, eyes still full of unrelenting lust.

“get on top of me,” he says, pulling you to straddle his face. “i want to taste myself in you.”

his hands grip your thighs as he guides your folds to his eager mouth. as soon as your core meets his tongue, a moan escapes his lips. his seed is still spilling out of you, and he licks up every drop with determination. your hips are still above him, hesitant to put your full weight on him.

“i need you sit on my face,” he says between licks. “i want you to fucking suffocate me.”

his hands on your thighs urge you down, letting you become fully seated on his mouth. he devours you, exploring every inch of you. you rock your hips against his tongue, each motion intensifying your pleasure. his hands encourage you to move faster, to take what you want from him. he separates from your core briefly to groan.

“baby, fuck my tongue,” he commands, attaching back onto you, granting you full access to his mouth.

you let his tongue slide into you and thrust onto it, all while his nose bumps at your clit. you feel the tension building in your stomach once again. the overstimulation sends you spiraling, hips continuing to grind onto his hungry tongue. you see his eyebrows knitting together in bliss, the vibrations of his insistent moans sending a pang throughout your body.

“seonghwa, p-please,” you beg, as if you weren’t the one on top of him, fucking his mouth. his dominance overtook you in every way, no matter what position. “i’m going to cum.”

he nods as if he’s saying, ‘yes, please cum on my face, please let me feel you,’ but is stifled by the grinding of your hips. he flattens his tongue so you can thrust your folds on him, and he’s smirking with lust behind his eyes. you let out a cry in pure bliss, your core contracting and spilling your essence onto his lips. he swallows every drop before latching his mouth back onto your clit, prolonging your orgasm. your movements slow down, and you let out a satisfied moan.

you fall off of him, positioning to rest your head on his chest. the waves of pleasure start to subside, and the only thing that can be heard in the silent air was the synchronization of your heartbeats. then reality hits you.

“seonghwa,” you say quietly. “what are we doing? why are we doing this?”

“i don’t know,” he sighs, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through your hair. he struggles to find the right words. “i just… i don’t think i want this to stop.”

you lift your head up, almost thinking it’s a joke. but when you look into his eyes, you can tell he’s being genuine.

“but… but you hate me,” you say.

“i could never hate you,” he urges. he places his hand on your cheek, stroking softly.

you want so badly to believe him, to trust the softness in his eyes. but a voice in the back of your head reminds you that this is temporary, this isn’t real for him, and urges you to not fall for this trap. your mind plays over the past few weeks of turmoil between you. you recall every harsh word, every cold stare, and wonder if this moment of tenderness can truly outweigh all of that pain. is it worth risking your heart again?

“then i need you to explain yourself,” you say, pushing his hand away. “tell me why you’ve been like this with me.”

he sits up, taking a deep breath. “i’ve been so fucking stupid,” he shakes his head. “i think all these years of working at a restaurant kind of roughed me up. i think i built these walls to try and prove myself in the industry, to prove something to myself. and it made me become someone i don’t even like.”

he meets your gaze, seeing your anticipation for him to continue.

“and then i met you, and i still had these walls. i walked all over you and made you feel like shit. and what’s so fucked up about it is that despite that, i actually started to like you,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “i was scared. i’m still scared.”

you never expected him to be this vulnerable with you, let alone confess his feelings for you. you sit up and kiss him softly, intimately.

in that moment, the barriers between you begin to crumble. it’s not going to be easy, but for the first time, you find yourself on the same page.

“i don’t know what comes next,” you say softly. “but we can be scared together.”

a/n: guys i am so proud of this one! i hope i successfully portrayed the intensity between them. shit got my heart racing personally. again, im new to writing fics so plz leave feedback and reblog to support me! thank u sooooo much ♡

edit: sadly there will be no part 3, but i will be releasing something new within the next week or so, so stay tuned 🫶🏻

✰taglist✰ @trinityhasjams @mxnsxngie @sooberryworld @mingtinysworld @spenceatiny18

[moonstruckme]

hi, loveyy. if you'd like, would you write for reader x dr!remus where she's really sick and tries to hide it from him so he doesn't worry?

Thanks for requesting!

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Remus keeps your apartment torturously cold. Normally you don’t mind it, but today you’re achy enough without the chill. The first thing you do when you get home is crank up the thermostat, then take a steamy shower and start warming the kettle. Proactive measures. 

You’re taking better care of yourself than you possibly ever have, all to the end of eluding your boyfriend. 

When Remus comes home, you’re sitting on the couch in your cozies waiting for your thoroughly honeyed tea to cool. You’re quick to remove the warm cloth from your sinuses before he can see. You make sure your throat is clear before you speak. 

“Hi, how was work?” 

“Swamped.” Remus bends over the back of the couch to kiss your hair. “Everyone has the flu, strep, or both. Every year, no one gets their flu jabs, and every year they’re shocked when they catch it.” He comes to sit by you, smiling tiredly. “I’d want to throttle all of them if they weren’t already so miserable.” 

It’s an effort to keep your shame from showing as you return his smile. Remus starts to lean toward you, but you back away, keeping your mouth a safe distance from his. 

At his questioning look, you say feebly, “You smell like your office.” 

He lets out a breath of laughter but moves away. “Alright. I’ll change.” 

You send him a guilty look as he goes that he doesn’t know the half of, but Remus only smiles indulgently back at you. 

From down the hall, you hear, “Dovey, did you change the thermostat?” 

Shit, you forgot to switch it back. 

“Yeah, sorry. I was chilly when I got home.” 

“It’s fine. Do you…want me to leave it like this? It’s set fairly high.” 

“Um…” Honestly, yes. “That’s okay. I’m good now, you can set it back.” 

“Alright.” 

You hear the ticks of the thermostat being turned down, and you grab a throw from across the back of the couch, wrapping it tightly around your shoulders. 

“Do you want some tea?” you ask him after a minute. “I’ve just made myself a cup.” 

“That’s okay, sweetheart, stay where you are.” Remus emerges from the bedroom in his own house clothes, looking painfully snuggly. He heads for the kitchen. “You left the honey out. Do you still need it?” 

You wince. “No, I’m alright.” 

When Remus rejoins you in the sitting room, you pretend to be busy with your book. He sits back in his spot, and you cozy up to him before he can try to kiss you again, your head on his shoulder. 

“Are you still cold?” he asks, adjusting the throw over you. 

You hum a lie. 

Remus seems satisfied with that. He tucks you under an arm and picks up his own book. 

You’re a few pages in when your nose starts to tickle. You try to breathe through it, hoping it will go away, but it’s no use. You’re hardly able to pinch your nose shut before a sneeze pitches out of you, violent and head-throbbing. 

“Bless you.” Remus rubs your back. “You okay?” 

You sniffle. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“No reason to be sorry, lovely girl,” he chides gently. You feel his lips touch down on your head. 

You soak up the comfort like warmth on a wintry day. Miraculously, Remus doesn’t question you any further, and eventually you lay your head back on his shoulder. You flip pages without truly reading them, your mind fuzzy and your body exhausted, until your eyes grow heavy and you forget to flip them at all. At some point, Remus’ head tilts so it’s resting atop yours. When he starts massaging the back of your neck, it feels so nice you don’t even really register it. 

“Dove,” he murmurs. 

You hum in pleased, half-asleep acknowledgement. 

“You need to stay home from work tomorrow, sweet girl.” 

You blink your eyes open slowly. Pick your head up off Remus’ shoulder, and look at him in confusion. “What?”

He looks back at you patiently. “Your fever’s gotten worse, and you’re contagious. It’s not good for you or anyone if you go in.” 

“But…” Your brow furrows. You feel like you’ve missed a chapter. “How did you know?” 

Remus gives you an amused look. “I see sick people all day long. You thought I wouldn’t notice?” You frown. He chuckles and cups your face in his hand, thumbing over your cheek consolingly. “You were clearing your throat all evening yesterday. But it didn’t seem bad yet, and you didn’t seem to want to tell me, so…” He shrugs. “But now it’s time to let me take care of you, okay?” 

You rub your lips together. You think you’re waiting for him to be angry with you, but your boyfriend seems only sympathetic. And a bit smug. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t wanna be another thing for you to deal with.” 

“Oh, hush.” Remus tsks, shifting so he can wrap his arms around you. “I like dealing with you, have I not been clear about that?” 

“You don’t want to throttle me because I’m another idiot who didn’t get the flu jab?” 

You feel the reverberations of his quiet chuckle in his chest. “First of all, I said I would want to throttle them. I’m a doctor, I can’t just be contemplating throttling my patients. And no, sweetheart.” He slips his hand from your shoulder down the length of your back, rubbing through your blanket. “I don’t think that about you. I wish you’d gotten it, but there’s nothing to be done now. You’re sick, and I only want to look after you.” 

The onslaught of tenderness melts you. You let your face slip down to his shoulder, nose pushing into his neck. “My head hurts,” you mumble. 

“Awe, dovey.” Remus brings his other hand to your nape, massaging the achy muscles there again. “Have you had paracetamol since you’ve been home?” 

You shake your head mutely. 

“I’ll get you some in a minute, then. And we can have soup for dinner, yeah?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You feel frighteningly teary. “Will you stay here for a while with me first, though? Please?”

Remus’ lips press softly to your forehead. “Sure, of course.” 

[escelia]

New Sibling Just Dropped

Or Danny gets willingly isekai'd into the DCU and gets a twin out of it.

I know I disappeared from the face of the earth for a bit there, and there's stuff I should probably be updating, but I come baring different stuff this time :D

Just started this for fun, and I have at least one other chapter of it done, but idk how long this bout of inspiration will last, so I'm just rolling with it for now.

@flamingpudding look! i pulled a jason todd and rose from the grave!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny was tired. The kind of tired you felt behind your eyes and in your bones, and weighed heavy with achievement. He was perched on the edge of a building in his ghost form looking over Amity Park with a soft smile as he watched Youngblood run through the park with human children, Cujo playfully on their heels. His galaxy cloak (which had been a coronation gift) billowed around his lap like a gas with stars twinkling inside. 

It had been a few years now since he took up the Crown of Fire and became High King of the Infinite Realms, and while he had accomplished many things since then, graduating from high school wasn't something on that list. It sucked that he wouldn't get to walk across the stage with Sam and Tucker, but in the face of all he'd been able to do for both Amity and the Infinite Realms, it was worth it. They coexisted now. There was still trouble every now and then, but Danny had helped the ghosts who insisted on staying in Amity Park find a place in their city where they could thrive.

Youngblood watched over the children of the city, Box Ghost started a box recycling center, Lunch Lady started a program to get food to families that couldn't afford it, and Pointdexter started reporting bullying at the school since he was already there. 

On the Realms' side, Danny shut down Walker's prison. Since it was his lair, he couldn't take it away from him completely, but it no longer housed the many ghosts the warden had considered "rule breakers." He'd given Walker a new set of rules to enforce and essentially took him under his wing as a royal soldier, kept under the close watch of Fight Knight, who'd defected from Pariah Dark so fast after his defeat that it was laughable. 

He'd done something similar with Skulker, though he was a harder case to crack. Unlike Walker, who was happy as long as he had a set of rules to enforce, Skulker wanted to keep hunting. He'd been recruited forcefully by Walker and Fright Knight after they caught him on his way to fight Danny again.

All in all, everything had begun to run smoothly now. The fatigue weighing on him reminded him that it had been hard to accomplish, and continuing to lead his double life hadn't made it any less exhausting. A cold breath rushed through his chest as he felt a familiar presence slide up next to him. 

"You didn't time out," Danny pointed out without looking to face the ghost beside him. Clockwork hummed in acknowledgment.

"Sometimes it's pleasant to watch time flow in person." It was Danny's turn to hum at him. 

"How are you feeling?" The Ancient asked thoughtfully. The younger ghost tilted his head pensively. 

"It's hard to say. I'm tired, but I'm happy. And also sad..." he paused to gather his thoughts. "I feel like I've done everything I needed to."

But not everything he wanted to do. 

"Go on," Clockwork pressed. The teenager did turn his head now to make a face at his mentor. If the guy knew how he felt and what he was going to say, why would he say it out loud? But the other just arched a brow at him and waited.

"Fine," he pouted. "I've spent so much time and energy finding places for everyone here. The GIW are gone, my parents stopped hunting ghosts, Jazz got into the psychology program at Stanford, Sam and Tucker are graduating today... I helped make that happen, I know I did! But they're moving on without me. They're growing up and I don't feel like I am."  

'I don't feel like I'm ready.'

Danny stopped to take a breath and wipe away the icy tears gathering in his eyes. He felt stupid for crying over it. He was 17 for Ancients' sake! Jazz would have told him he grew up too fast, but he still felt like a child. He had no idea what he was doing! And yet! And yet... he felt...

"But you also feel ancient, right? Like you've been around too long and seen too much?" Clockwork said as though he were reading from a script. Danny sulked. Stupid time ghost with his dumb Time Stream TV or whatever. 

"Yeah..."

"All Ancients feel that way. Though you may be feeling unbalanced in more ways than one because of how young you died and the fact you are half human."

"What do you mean?" Danny turned his whole body to face him now, tucking his knees under his chin and circling his arms around them. His cloak moved with him in inky black wisps and settled around him again like clouds of galaxies. 

Clockworks form shifted to that of a child.

"You feel young because you died young. However, it is the nature of humans to grow and change. While you may have died at 14, your childhood died before that. You yearn to grow and learn, while also being an incredibly powerful Ancient."

He supposed that made sense. He recalled all the years cleaning the lab before the portal had even been built, and the fighting and neglect (Jazz's words, not his) that spawned his disdain of Christmas even longer before. He wanted to go back to school. He wanted a reason to love Christmas. He wanted pets and family dinners that didn't come alive. He wanted to grow up properly.

"But you still want to help people," the ghost said as though Danny had been talking out loud or having his mind read. 

"I hate it when you do that," Danny complained. Clockwork just smiled smugly.

"I know." He laughed at the glare Danny threw him. 

"I have a proposition for you," the older ghost began. Danny perked up in intrigue. "I know of another earth dimension with some problems that need to be addressed. Your role as High King puts you in a position to be helpful."

"Their problem has to do with the Realms?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Ectoplasm from the Realms is pooling into what are referred to on their planet as Lazarus Pits. They are both helpful and harmful as they do not dissipate into the air so they continually collect and concentrate emotion, but they do sometimes revive the dead."

Danny grimaced in disgust at the thought of dunking a person into a stagnant pool of contaminated ectoplasm. "That sounds disgusting."

"Quite," Clockwork agreed. 

"So what's your proposition?"

"Well, if it is agreeable to you, I would like to de-age your physical form and place you with a family that's had dealings with the Pits firsthand. I've found them to be quite charming." 

"Ah, so you want me to go in undercover?" Danny couldn't help but roll his eyes a little. It wasn't a half bad idea. He could try his hand at childhood again and still get to handle his duties as King Phantom. Leading a double life again would be easy enough, it was just stepping from one role into another. 

"Not at all." Clockwork smiled knowingly. Danny was officially suspicious of his ghost guardian. "This planet has had all kinds of dealings with the occult, and even humans with superpowers isn't that unusual. While I would advise against telling anyone you are a king right away, you are in fact just that: a king. You may do what you wish." 

For an ancient and wise time ghost, Danny thought Clockwork was really shit at hiding his expressions. Though he tried to keep the grin off his face, Danny could clearly see the twitching of his lips and gleam in his eyes that promised the old man was scheming. 

But to get his childhood back. Or, at least a semblance of one... it deserved consideration. Danny looked back out at the cityscape again. Sam and Tucker... they were down there graduating from high school without him. He'd been the one to encourage them to pull away from Team Phantom activities to zero in on their studies, but he didn't regret it. Sam wanted to major in environmental science and Tucker wanted to go to MIT and he just didn't fit into those plans. After Jazz left for Stanford, his parents often forgot he was still there. He'd managed to convince them to study ghosts properly instead of hunting them, and with a little help from the "friendly ghost King Phantom" they were given a place to start. They dove into their research with the same excitement and fervor they'd had all their lives. Which of course meant he went days, sometimes weeks, without seeing them emerge from the lab. It was easy enough to slip past them to the portal while they were distracted. 

The point was that he'd started to feel his anchor to this city, to this realm, start to dissipate as the people who kept him there started to break away from him. He still loved them, wanted to protect them, but they were safe and happy now. He felt fulfilled in his task of protecting them, but there was a buzzing beneath his skin to do more. 

Danny took a deep and controlled breath. He didn't need it in his ghost form, but it felt good to feel his lungs stretch to fullness. 

"When would I start?" He asked finally. The straight face Clockwork had been trying to keep, and he really was so bad at it, finally broke into a wide grin. 

"Right now. Everything is already in place and your duties in the Realms will be taken care of in your absence." 

Danny smiled softly at his guardian. Clockwork sure had a funny way of showing it, but he cared so deeply for the boy next to him that when Danny responded with a bad pun, he couldn't even be annoyed. 

"Well, no time like the present!" He winked.

Clockwork chuckled, and with a flash of light, he sent Danny on his way. 

The more time the older ghost spent with his young ward, the more he appreciated him. The Danny he’d come to know was nothing like the Danny’s from other worlds he’d encountered while trying to prevent Dan from existing. His Danny was now truly one of a kind. None of the others, not even the ones that eventually turned into Dan, had been Ancients. There would never be another Danny like him, and every universe was adjusting to include him should he ever decide to visit them. He had a place in any world, should he choose, but Clockwork knew he was needed most in the one he’d sent him to. It would be truly entertaining to watch the young Ancient settle into his role there, and Clockwork was actually finding himself looking forward to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dark and quiet a long while before Danny opened his eyes. And when he did open them it got really loud and really bright really fast. It belatedly occurred to him that he should have asked like a billion more questions before agreeing to be iseaki’d into a different dimension to join a family he knew literally nothing about. 

There was shouting before someone in what looked like a ninja cult uniform shoved a knife into his hand and pushed him in the path of a person in a different uniform. The man in front of him was dressed in blue and black and wearing a mask that covered his eyes, but Danny could see the surprised shape of his mouth before it morphed into something like anger. And then he was being lunged at.

He shrieked as he dodged out of the way. Not his most graceful save, but whatever. His voice was a bit shrill and his center of gravity felt way off. He must have actually been de-aged! He wondered how old he was now. He still felt light on his feet thanks to his ghost half which felt blessedly intact. But the other guy was fast and he ducked into a roll just in time to dodge whatever weapon he was holding. This guy meant business, but he had no idea why he was trying to kill him. 

‘Great, thanks Grandfather Clock for throwing me right back into the good ol’ days,’ he thought sarcastically. Nobody had attacked him for no good reason like that since Walker and Fright caught Skulker mid hunt for the very last time. 

What he now saw was a baton swung down from overhead and Danny knew he wouldn't dodge it in time, so he caught it with the flat of the blade that had been shoved into his hands.

“Wait! Why are we fighting?” Danny yelled, panicked as the guy pushed more force into it. The man's face twisted into something like confusion for a moment and he backed off just the tiniest bit before the scuffing of shoes to his right had him looking over just in time to see another guy in a mask, this time in red, rushing at him. He threw his hands up in surrender. 

“Wait!” He shrieked before he was absolutely bodied sideways into the ground. 

Why was he doing this? He was half ghost, he could have just gone intangible and disappeared. He didn't have to be body slammed into the ground. Wasn't he a child now? Did that guy in red actually just slam a whole child into the ground? 

“Red, hold on! This one's different!” 

“What do you mean?” The guy Red asked. He was still pinning Danny to the ground.

“Yeah, what do you mean?” Danny asked breathlessly, then whimpered, “Someone please tell me what's going on!” 

The one hovering over him must have seen something on his face that convinced him to not try and kill him anymore, because he grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him along. 

“We'll take him in for questioning. Don't let Robin see him.”

“Who's Robin?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long, arduous, and confusing journey from wherever they were to… well, wherever they were now. They'd blindfolded him for the transport so he still had no idea what was going on. He had learned that the guy with batons was Nightwing, and Red was actually Red Robin. The one they called Robin was a feral looking thing with swords, he was very small and stabby. Then there was Batman, and he totally threw off the whole bird theme but was easily the most intimidating. And that was all he knew so far. He'd been restrained at an interrogation table. 

Danny groaned and knocked his forehead onto the table. He really, really wished he'd asked Clockwork more questions. He'd at least been able to catch a glimpse of himself in the glass behind Batman. He looked like he was eleven or twelve again, which was not as young as he'd been expecting, but much more preferable than being a literal toddler. The group of people he’d been brought in by seemed to be heroes. They were all incredibly weary of him, but hadn’t gone out of their way to harm him since his capture. Though it was hard to call it a capture when there wasn’t a chase involved. 

“How old are you?” Batman asked suddenly. His voice was low and rough and somehow Danny could tell it didn't sound like that naturally. 

“Um, maybe eleven or twelve?” Danny replied carefully, picking up his head from the table and having the decency to look a little embarrassed. 

“And what's your name?” He looked like he was expecting something.

“My name is Danny, sir.” 

“Hmm…” 

It was quiet and awkward for a long moment.

“Why are you different from the other clones?” 

“Yeeeaaah, I'm not a clone.” Danny absolutely did not jump when the brute slammed the file folder shut in front of him. 

“We'll see what your DNA results have to say about that,” he said confidently before turning to leave, his cape dramatically flaring out behind him.

Sheesh, and he thought he’d had a flair for the dramatics.

‘Okay, time for some assessment,’ Danny thought to himself as he looked around the small closed room. It was soundproofed incredibly well. While he didn’t have super crazy hearing, it was enhanced by his ghost half, and combined with his other sharp senses, it tended to help him gather more information than others could. The most he could hear outside the room was a quiet hum of activity and nothing discernible. Still, he needed to decide how much he would say to these people. How much truth did he want to weave into his tale? These people clearly already had their own assumptions about him in mind, and while there was absolutely nothing wrong with being a clone, he knew he didn’t have what it took to keep up an act like that for long, which would just end up being awkward for everyone. 

He also would not be telling them about his status as Ghost King, per Clockwork’s suggestion. His captors seemed like the uptight sort, and revealing that he was a big, scary ghost monarch didn’t seem like it’d go over well. Telling them he was a halfa would probably get them off his back over the clone thing, at least. He went over the list in his head.

He was a halfa from another dimension, so he couldn’t be a clone.

He had no plans of fighting with anyone unless absolutely necessary. 

He did not have a way back to his other dimension. 

His name was Danny, and he didn’t have a family anymore.

He did not know why he was in the middle of whatever fight he woke up in. 

No, he didn’t know those people.

Danny must’ve been lost in thought for quite a while because his thoughts were interrupted by Batman bursting back through the door. The man’s demeanor had changed completely and he whipped off his cowl to reveal disheveled dark hair, blue eyes, and an expression of absolute heartbreak that accompanied his shuddering breaths. With the mask off, he reminded Danny a lot of his father. 

Batman searched his face and, much like Red Robin had before, seemed to notice something there. 

“She did it twice,” he muttered to himself. “Two of them this whole time and she didn’t tell me about either of them,” he said through gritted teeth. His frown deepened. Danny copied his frown. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

He still had no idea what was going on.

[vxnuslogy]

𐙚 my love, mine all mine.

— some headcanons about certain things the hsr men would do while in a relationship.

— warnings: none

— author's notes: self-indulgent, once again credits to @.cafekitsune for the banners. this is lowkey dedicated to the stellaronhvnters <3

𐙚  AVENTURINE 

would always accompany you on your spontaneous night drives around pier point. before you can even leave your room to drag aventurine to his car, he’s already leaning on your doorframe, his car keys in hand as he flashes you a smile; not the gambler like smile he shows to his enemies but a child-like one filled with uncontained excitement and wonder. 

its half past midnight and your both in your pajamas (he insisted that you both wear matching ones) as he rolls down the roof of his very expensive car to let the wind flow with your hair. your phone connected to the speakers as you blasted your shared playlist. loud enough to satisfy your needs to have a mini carpool karaoke session but quiet enough you won’t disturb any civilians trying to sleep the night away.

aventurine shakes his head in fondness and amusement when you scold him as he skipped a song he didn’t particularly like. the pout on your lips would soon fade as he reached to pull you by the chin and give you a peck on the lips. your nagging turned into panic as you hit him in the arms for not keeping his eyes on the road.

𐙚 VERITAS RATIO

always comes home exhausted. even in his tired and slightly dazed state, he always comes home at exactly 7 pm and each time his arms wouldn’t fail to snake around your waist and his lips press a soft kiss on your neck in greeting.

when you ask about his day, the doctor just grumbles and complains about his students. but you knew deep down he was proud of them after they finally managed to solve this one particular problem he gave them without his help. they’ve been making fast progress, he once stated, making a smile bloom on your face when he checks their papers.

you chuckle under your breath as ratio continues to chatter away about his students' progress. your back flushed into his sturdy chest while arms kept a steady hold of you – tight enough that you could feel his muscles but still be able to move around the kitchen. a melody starts to fall from your lips as you hummed and swayed, and ratio follows with his own humming as you both start a pseudo dance in the middle of making dinner.

𐙚 BOOTHILL

date nights with boothill usually consisted of going bar hopping and hiding away in a dark alley as the IPC passed by. you’ve grown fond of the excitement as your lover drags you out the bar with officers high on your tails. it never fails to rip out an uncharacteristic laugh from you and cherry grin from him.

tonight was a lot tamer than other nights. sitting in a bar counter, a cup of whiskey boothill had asked you to hold while he gets another bounty for the both of you. he knows you wouldn’t take a single sip of his drink, your alcohol tolerance was nonexistent he says making you roll your eyes. your peaceful night was disturbed when a new face popped out from seemingly nowhere, taking the seat your lover once occupied as the man tried to buy you a drink

boothill always had impeccable timing. just as the man was about to take a hold of your – his – glass, a cold arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into a firm chest. you try to look up but a familiar hat was instead placed over your eyes as the glass in your hand was taken. the liquid disappeared in a flash as boothill downs it in one go. just to prove his point, he gingerly lifts his hat over your face and press a kiss at the corner of your lips, making it known to the man that you were with him.

𐙚 SUNDAY

not many would believe you if you told them the stories of how easily flustered the head of the oak family. everyone would picture him as a full package gentleman – opening doors for you, pulling back your seat, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, etc. – but what they don’t know is that, in your relationship, the one being worshiped wasn’t you.

without a doubt, you were the one who always opened the door to his office for him, offering to carry his things even if he protested, even going to one knee to tie the laces of his shoes. sunday was always in competition when it came to being a gentleman and he always loses to you every time. and he doesn’t make any effort to make you stop despite his embarrassment; one drag of your knuckles under his eyes when he’s overworked and tired and he’s putty in your hands.

how could he resist your pampering when you always take off his gloves when it's just you two in his office, pressing a delicate kiss to his knuckles and whispering sweet nothings to him. admiring the writing calluses on his right hand as you talk about your day. 

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[amirasainz]

Can you do reader is the youngest of the drivers and practically everyone’s baby

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

F1's Darling

The paddock was alive with the hum of cameras, the chatter of mechanics, and the occasional roar of engines. At the center of it all stood Y/n Y/l/n, the 18-year-old phenomenon who had taken Formula 1 by storm. As Red Bull's youngest ever female driver, she wasn’t just talented—she was adored. A natural behind the wheel, witty in interviews, and effortlessly charming, Y/n had an uncanny ability to bring out a protective streak in everyone around her.

"Y/n!" A familiar voice called out as she stepped out of her garage after a gruelling practice session. She turned to see Carlos walking toward her, a warm smile on his face and a sandwich in hand.

"You need to eat," he said in his accented English, offering her the snack.

Y/n chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Carlos, you know I have a team that feeds me, right?"

"Yes, but they don’t feed you properly," he countered, waving the sandwich in front of her. "Eat. Now."

Laughing, she accepted it. "Thanks, dad."

Carlos grinned. "Don’t let Fernando hear that."

---

Later that evening, Y/n found herself wandering through a shopping district with Charles. The Monegasque driver had insisted on treating her after seeing how exhausted she looked post-qualifying.

"Y/n, this will look amazing on you," Charles said, holding up a sleek leather jacket.

"Charles, I can’t afford half the stuff you’re picking," she protested, though she couldn’t help but admire the jacket.

He gave her a mock-serious look. "Did I ask if you could afford it? You’re not paying. That’s the rule."

"You spoil me too much," she said, blushing as he led her to the counter.

---

Race day arrived with its usual chaos. As Y/n climbed out of her car after a gruelling 60 laps, Lewis was already waiting by her garage. He had a towel in hand, which he draped over her shoulders before handing her a bottle of water.

"You okay, kid?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Y/n nodded, her breathing still heavy. "Yeah, just... tired."

Lewis crouched slightly so they were eye level. "You did good out there. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise."

Her lips quirked into a small smile. "Thanks, Lewis. That means a lot."

"Of course," he said, patting her shoulder. "Now go rest."

---

The post-race press conference was brutal, as always. A journalist attempted to insinuate that Y/n's lack of experience cost Red Bull the race. Before she could respond, Max cut in sharply.

"Excuse me, but that’s completely out of line," Max said, his voice cold. "Y/n drove exceptionally today. She doesn’t deserve this kind of question."

Y/n glanced at Max gratefully, her nerves easing. After the conference, he pulled her aside.

"Don’t let them get to you," he said, his blue eyes serious. "You’re one of the best drivers here. Don’t forget that."

---

One afternoon, while sitting in the paddock, Y/n struggled with a stubborn bottle of water. She twisted and twisted, her frustration growing by the second.

Before she could ask for help, Fernando appeared out of nowhere, took the bottle from her hands, opened it effortlessly, and handed it back without a word.

"Thanks, Fernando," she said, startled but grateful.

He gave her a small nod before walking off, leaving her to chuckle at his understated kindness.

---

Lando was the team's unofficial mood-maker, and Y/n was often his favorite target.

"Knock, knock," he said one morning, leaning into her motorhome.

"Who’s there?" she asked, already grinning.

"Orange," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Orange who?"

"Orange you glad you have me to brighten your day?" he said, bursting into laughter.

Y/n groaned. "That’s terrible, even for you."

"But you’re smiling," he pointed out, grinning.

---

During a rare off weekend, George invited Y/n over to his place in Monaco. Over tea, he patiently explained racing lines and strategies that could help her in the upcoming season.

"You’ve got the speed," he said, gesturing at a diagram on his tablet. "Now it’s just about perfecting your consistency."

"Thanks, George," she said, scribbling notes in her notebook. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"Learn slower," he teased, earning a laugh from her.

---

The camaraderie wasn’t lost on the fans or the media. They loved seeing how the drivers rallied around Y/n, treating her like their collective little sister. It wasn’t unusual to see clips of Lewis helping her out of a car, Carlos feeding her snacks, or Max standing up for her during interviews.

Y/n adored her team, but it was the broader F1 family that truly made her journey special. They didn’t just see her as a driver; they saw her as their driver.

"Y/n," Max called one evening as they were leaving the track. "You coming to dinner with us?"

"Depends," she said with a playful smile. "Is Carlos bringing food?"

"Always," Carlos replied from nearby, making her laugh.

As they walked off together, Y/n couldn’t help but feel grateful. F1 was a tough world, but with her self-appointed paddock family by her side, she knew she could handle anything.

[ultimate-shipper-blog]

I'll Send an SOS to Your Heart

-------

"Ok, I'm imagining things."

Steve is laying on his bed watching his lights flicker.

He plugged in one of those space projectors that's supposed to make your ceiling look like the night sky.

It's not weird that they're flickering, the light was a dollar at Melvads he wasn't expecting it to work long.

The weird part is that the stars keep making a heart shape.

He sees the heart flash a couple of times before he flips over and hides deeper into his pillow.

"No." He groans. "No more upside down shit."

If some upside-down monster was flirting with him he quits.

All the lights in his room surge to maximum brightness.

"Fuck off."

The lights draw a middle finger.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" He jumps out of bed and points at the orbs.

It draws a winky face. (;P)

"Who are you?"

His blood runs cold. An upside down monster can't flirt with him. They don't know English. He has an idea but it can't be true.

They left him there. He's dead.

...isn't he?

'SOS' the lights read.

"Fuck." Tears spring to his eyes. "Eddie?"

'Hiya'

-----

He spends a while talking to Eddie.

It's tough.

It takes a while to write everything out and Steve is still trying not to hyperventilate or cry or pass out so it's taking a lot of energy to keep up the conversation.

'Sleep?'

"No."

'?'

"Nothing I'm just...not tired."

'Liar'

"WHAT! I'm not I just-"

'-_-'

"Fine."

':)'

"I'm scared."

'Me?'

"No, I'm scared this is a dream. That I fell asleep hours ago and I made you out of my guilty conscious. I just don't want to lose you...again."

'Back'

"Back?"

'Bring back'

"Bring...you back?"

'YES'

"You think we can bring you back?"

'Plan'

"Yes! I'll call everyone we can figure it out. Oh! We have El to help us this time! You're gonna love her Eds she's just like the kids you look out for and she's magic! I'll call them right-"

'NO'

"No?"

'tom- sleep now'

"I think this is a little more important than-"

'Sleep <3'

Steve looks over at the clock, 4 am.

Shit.

"Ok. I'm going to sleep. Will you...will you be here in the morning?"

'W STEVIE'

"Ok. Goodnight Eddie."

'GN <3'

----

The plan goes off without a hitch.

It takes them about two weeks to formulate and execute the plan.

Steve spends his days and nights talking to Eddie, keeping him updated. Keeping him in his life.

He speed runs a crisis or two when he realizes he wants to spend the remainder of his days speaking to Eddie.

He can't wait until he's here with him.

Alive.

-----

So it's more complicated than he thought.

Maybe there's a hoard or bats blocking them from Eddie.

Maybe Steve throws himself in front of the kids and fights off the creatures long enough for them to find Eddie and get him back home.

Maybe Steve bleeds a little too much and collapsed as soon as they reach the other side.

----

He wakes in the hospital to nine pairs of eyes staring at him.

They're all arguing with each other. Their voices low as if they're trying not to wake them.

He wants to talk he wants to reach out.

Eddie is standing by the door in a baseball cap and sunglasses as if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

As if Eddie could ever hide from Steve. Steve would find him anywhere he is.

God, he's here! He's in the room! All this time apart and he's so close!

"Mphahhpsh" he can't form words but it doesn't matter.

Everyone stops and Eddie's eyes meet his. His eyes look wet and he looks skinny and exhausted.

He's never looked more beautiful.

Eddie's eyes turn down into a determined glare. He pushes past everyone until he's inches away from Steve.

He takes a deep breath and then leans down and kisses him.

Flat on the mouth. In front of everyone.

The shocked noises are what pulls them apart.

"I'm so happy to see you, I really like you," Steve says.

"That's my line." Eddie smiles and kisses him again.

"Don't ever try to save me again I can't ever see you in a hospital again," Eddie presses their noses together.

"That's my line."

Eddie chuckles and pushes his nose into Steve's cheek. "Dork."

"Yes, yes, you're both terrible. Now what the fuck is happening."

They break apart to see the crews shocked faces. Mike's face is pale and Dustin is an interesting shade of red.

Robin is staring at him a little proud.

He sends a wink her way and pulls Eddie in closer.

They'll figure it all out later. They have time.

----

This started with once sentence in my brain and grew into three different plot points I put together in a rush. :P

Please comment I love to read em!

[trashytracktales]

I absolutely love your writing!!!!!! I have a bit of a longer request, you don’t have to write it if you don’t want to.

Lando and y/n meet through a mutual friend, and they both feel an immediate attraction. A few months later, they’re on a group trip—maybe at a beach villa or a mountain house for skiing. One day during the trip, they both decide to stay in, each thinking they’re alone.

Lando, believing he has the place to himself, starts masturbating on the sofa in the living room. Around the same time, y/n comes into the living room, planning to watch TV. She spots Lando on the sofa but doesn’t immediately realize what he’s doing as she was behind the sofa and a few steps away —until he moans her name. She kind of hides herself and spies on him until she gets enough courage and goes to him and asks him if she can help him and basically she goes on her knees right in front of him and starts sucking him off and he’s so surprised and turned on that he doesn’t know what to say or do other than moan her name and praise her

Deep in the Alps | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Sorry for keeping you waiting, I had a few works in progress + another request that came in before this one. Enjoy 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── What begins as a private moment turns into something unexpected and, with a few days of vacation left, Lando is determined to make every moment count, setting the stage for an unforgettable getaway that blurs the lines between friendship and something far more... exciting.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, slight fluff & smut, teasing, explicit language, horny thoughts, masturbation, blow job & oral sex ─ (m)receiving, low-key whiney Lando.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.1k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 2, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── The amount of Lando requests I get is stupid. Keep 'em coming 🤞🏻

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

OF ALL THE people in his friend group, Lando looked forward to winter break the most. He loves summer, but nothing compares to a holiday deep in the Alps, away from cameras and prying eyes.

Their cabin is covered in a generous layer of snow that glimmers like a sea of diamonds under the pale winter sun. The air is crisp and cold, and everyone is excited for today, considering how much it snowed last night.

The group dynamic is diverse, having friendships that have been inseparable for years, while others are still navigating the early stages of familiarity.

She met them through Pietra a few months ago, but this is the first time she joined the entire group for a holiday. As expected, Lando is the central piece who draws attention through his bad jokes and easygoing charm, being a constant source of amusement for everybody. She, on the other hand, is content to sit back and observe, though she’s found herself smiling at his antics more often than she’d care to admit.

Their days so far have been a blur of early mornings spent carving down snowy trails, afternoons in crowded lodges sipping hot chocolate or mulled wine, and evenings around the fireplace, sharing stories and making more plans to hangout in the future. It was easy for her to fit in because everyone seemed — at least at first — to go out of their way to make her feel welcome and included.

Today, however, a dull headache throbs at her temples, forcing her to opt out of skiing, retreating to her room for a nap and leaving them to bundle up and head out to the slopes.

Lando also stays behind, claiming he’s exhausted from the previous night’s gaming sessions with Max and Morgan. But in reality, he’s just craving a moment of quiet, which is a rarity for him.

Outside, the snow glistens with an almost blinding brightness, reflecting the sunlight in too sharply. Lando had made a point to pull the curtains earlier, and now, the dimly lit living room is perfect for lounging on the couch with a blanket draped over his lap. The movie playing on the TV is a vague blur of sound and color in the background, abandoned halfway through in favor of his phone, which is much more interesting at the moment.

He scrolls through his Instagram feed, pausing on a group photo they took when they first arrived at the location. The image lingers on the screen, and his focus sharpens, studying everybody's face until he gets to her. She’s in the center, barely noticeable because of how small she looks like next to the others, bundled up in her pink jacket, her knit beanie perched perfectly atop her head, with loose strands of hair curling around her face. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and her smile is soft but radiant.

Lando exhales sharply, the pressure building low in his stomach catching him off guard. He tries to shake it off, tries to remind himself that she’s just a girl that hangs out with them from time to time.

Just a girl. That's all.

However, he can't explain how she managed to get under his skin so quickly. They are polar opposites of each other, and Lando noticed that. She's so quiet and reserved, yet somehow captivating in a way he can’t quite understand — it’s frustrating, really. Maybe that's exactly what gets him, making him wonder what it would take to make her lose that composure.

No. He can't go there.

Although…

He lets his thumb brush against the screen, zooming in on her face. A low groan escapes his throat as he recalls the way she looked last night, perched on the arm of a chair while everyone chatted around her, her lips quirking up at his dumb joke; she was the only one that understood it, and he caught that. Such a stupid joke, it wasn't even funny. But she laughed.

Why does she have to laugh at his jokes? More importantly, why does he want to make jokes all the time, just so he can hear her laugh?

“Get a grip, mate,” he whispers to himself under his breath, his free hand shifting lower, sliding under the waistband of his sweats. It’s instinctive, his body reacting to thoughts he’s been suppressing for a while now. “Not that kind of grip, fuck’s sake.”

He can't stop but think of how she would've laughed at that, too.

Lando closes his eyes, his strokes slow at first as he lets the thoughts flood in — it’s a good thing no one can read his mind at the moment. He thinks of her lips and how they part slightly when she’s surprised, and the way her teeth graze her bottom lip when she’s lost in thought. He can't help but imagine those lips closing around his cock, and what her voice would sound like if he fucked her pretty mouth.

“Come on,” he gasps, frustration tugging at the edge of his patience.

His pace quickens as his mind wanders further, seeing her with his mind's eye lying delicately beneath him, small and innocent, breathing in short spasms, and asking him for more. Her softness and the way she carries herself makes him want to see her like that — in a different light, flushed and undone. The image of her laughing at one of his ridiculous attempts to impress her spurs him on, and his hand tightens, his strokes becoming rougher as his breathing grows heavier.

That's when she realizes what she's walked in on.

All this time, she thought she was all alone and, judging by the scene in front of her, he thinks that, too. Her heart thuds wildly as she tries to process it, too stunned to move another muscle. His breaths are ragged, and she feels the tension radiating off him even from where she stands, frozen in place — at the base of the stairs, behind the couch. She knows she should leave and spare them both from an embarrassing encounter, but something keeps her there.

Closing her eyes, she squeezes the railing nervously. She barely got rid of her headache, but now her head's all dizzy from Lando's rough grunts that are echoing throughout the room.

He sounds as if he ran a marathon, barefoot, in the rain.

He sounds tired, but he's aggressive, like it's making him mad — the rhythmic slap of his fist against skin making her mouth water and stomach tighten.

He sounds... delicious.

And then, her eyes snap open.

She blinks rapidly as if that will help her hear better. His voice, low and needy, whispers her name like a prayer, again and again, a desperate sound that escapes his mouth deliberately. It echoes in the room and within the walls of her skull, pulling Lando deeper into the fantasy that he’s helpless to resist — and her, towards him.

Heat floods her cheeks, a mix of surprise, shock, and something deeper spreading through her as she tries to control her breathing.

How can she simply leave, when her name hangs on the corner of his mouth, so drenched in want? It's too late now. She doesn’t think anymore, doesn’t stop to analyze what she’s about to do; she simply trusts her instincts, as she always did.

Lando doesn’t hear her approach, lost in the haze of his own thoughts, his hand moving rhythmically under the blanket. His moans get increasingly louder, so obscene in her ears. It's like they call for her, alluring and profound, and she can’t say no.

Quietly stepping closer, she leans over the back of the couch, her hand reaching out as if it has a mind of its own. When her fingers slide over his, Lando's body stiffens, his breath catching in his throat.

“Relax,” she whispers, her voice soft and filled with anticipation, causing him to drop the phone somewhere on the couch.

He tilts his head back, wide eyes meeting hers, his face flushed and disbelieving. Her sweet perfume takes over his senses, getting him high on it.

He's surely dreaming, because there is no way in hell that she is real.

“What—”

“It's okay,” she assures him, her hand gently guiding his to resume its movement. “Let me help.”

Lando yelps, his head dropping back against the couch, their faces so close to each other as her grip steadies him, matching the pace he had before. The light weight of her hand over his sends a jolt through his body, his brain so close to shutting down for good, while his chest is rising and falling rapidly as she coaxes him closer to the edge.

What in the fuck is happening?

“Does that feel good, pretty boy?” she asks, her lips dangerously close to his.

Lando nods as his hips jerk involuntarily. He refuses to believe it's because of the pet name she just gave him; he is way too strong to fall for that.

Still, he closes his eyes again, biting at his lower lip to stop his whimpers from cascading out of his mouth. There is a small trace of cold sweat pooling on his forehead as her hand moves with his until his entire body tenses, and he finally lets out a deep, guttural moan, her name falling from his lips again, more like a warning this time. He knows he's close, so he tries to push her hand away to avoid the mess that he's about to make. But she stays ferm, using her free palm to push his head in the crook of her neck and caress his cheek softly. His breath falls hot on her skin, and when she starts encouraging him, it's enough for Lando to let go, thick splashes covering his lower abdomen before he can even think. The rest spills over their their joined hands, managing to get another grunt of pleasure out of him.

“There you go,” she says, tracing her thumb over his cum-soaked head, feeling him throbbing beneath her touch. “Such a hot view.”

For a litte while, the room falls silent except for Lando's labored breathing. She moves to sit beside him on the couch, giving him a moment to recover; his eyes are still closed, because how the fuck is he supposed to look at her now?

After that, she throws the tissue box at him, letting out a soft chuckle at his pathetic attempt to catch it.

Exhaling sharply, Lando drags his hands down his face, still avoiding the eye contact. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

She chuckles again, studying him closely, while he squeezes his eyes shut as if he can erase the last few minutes from existence. Except he doesn't really want to.

They sit in silence for another moment before she shifts, crossing her legs and facing him fully. “Did it happen before?” she asks curiously.

His eyes widen slightly, finally looking at her, “What? Of course not.”

Her brow lifts, amused. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he insists, his voice pitching higher.

Her lips curl into a knowing smile. “You always glance around when you’re lying, like you’re checking to see if anyone buys it. You just did it,” she points out.

Lando sighs, dragging a hand through his curls. “Right. That obvious?”

She leans in, nodding, all the amusement gone. “When?”

He hesitates, clearly debating how much to say, but her expectant gaze leaves him no choice. “It started after the Singapore weekend,” he admits, his voice low.

Her mouth goes dry. That was the weekend Pietra first introduced them. Lando had won that Sunday, and the after party was the craziest she'd been to yet.

“You wore that top, and—”

She frowns. “That top?”

“You know the one,” he says, gesturing vaguely at his chest. “It was black, low-cut, and — look, you just looked really good, okay? I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“My top?” she grins, leaning her elbow on the back of the couch as she watches him squirm.

Your tits, he wants to say, but stops before he embarrasses himself even more.

“You've never said anything,” the girl continues, “Why?”

Lando breaths in slowly, running a hand through his tousled curls again, the tips of his ears burning. “Because of P,” he admits. “She told me how much she liked having you around, and I didn’t want to mess that up. She’d kill me if she thought I scared you off or made things weird.”

Her brow lifts, amusement flickering in her expression once again. “You’re scared of Pietra?”

“A little,” he jokes, though his crooked smile falters under her probing stare. “But mostly, I didn’t want to ruin anything for you. I figured it was better to keep my mouth shut. You seem to enjoy your time with us, and I want you around, too.”

She tilts her head, studying his face in the dim light. His piercing eyes are framed by soft, dark brows, and she can’t help but imagine tracing her fingers through his soft curls. The faint facial hair adds a maturity to his otherwise boyish features, making her swallowing hard.

Bottom line, she is attracted to him, even more so now that she knows the feeling is mutual.

“Well, that’s… considerate,” she replies, her lips curving slightly.

Lando chuckles nervously, though the sound dies quickly when her hand moves, her fingertips brushing over his bicep. The contact is featherlight, but it sets his skin ablaze, his breath hitching as she lets her hand glide down his arm, tracing the curve of his muscle with an idle curiosity that feels anything but innocent.

“And now?” she comes back to her initial curiosity, her voice dipping, almost teasing. “What’s stopping you now?”

His throat tightens, words tangling in his mind as she looks at him, her eyes glittering with something that makes his cock throb against his thigh. Lando was sure that he had her figured out. But now, as she leans closer, her lips parting slightly as if to taste the tension hanging between them, he realizes how wrong he was.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” states Lando, ignoring her question, “The ones who seem all shy and innocent, hm?”

“I am shy and innocent,” she agrees with a nod, which makes him scoff. “Alright, maybe not that shy. Or innocent.”

Recognizing that doesn't make Lando's job any easier. Quite the opposite. He's more intrigued as to what secrets she may be hiding beneath her deceptive surface.

“So… since we agreed on that. Is there something else I can help you with?” she murmurs, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she gazes at him expectantly.

Lando brings his hand to rest on hers, his restraint hanging by a thread. “You don’t—have to.”

“But I want to,” she rushes to say, her tone decisive.

With that, she shifts slowly, lowering herself to her knees in front of him with an ease that makes his chest burn. Her hands rest lightly on his thighs, her gaze lifting to meet his, and in her eyes, he finds no hesitation, no doubt. Only intent, want, and excitement.

Stil, he needs to ask, “Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely audible.

Instead of answering using her words, her fingers grasp the edge of the blanket, freeing him from under it. She has to muffle a groan of surprise when she sees all of him in its entirety, still half-hard, resting heavily on his thigh.

“See, I knew you had a pretty cock,” she says matter-of-factly, mostly to herself. “I mean, it makes sense. So is your face.”

Lando’s hands flex at his sides, “You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, but he doesn’t stop her as her fingers curl around his length, her movements deliberate and sure.

“Oh no,” she teases sarcastically, her grin widening as she leans forward, her touch igniting a fire that spreads through him like wildfire. “I kind of hoped it would be the other way around.”

“That can be arranged,” he assures her, hissing at her movements.

She needs both of her hands to take him properly: one wrapped around the base to hold him steady, while the other pumps him a few times to get him hard, before dragging her mouth down the sides. And, because she's the literal devil, she makes sure she holds his gaze while she takes the head in her mouth — warm, inviting, and so wet.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his hand fisting the blanket at his side.

She starts slowly, testing her movements first. It's a good thing she's already imagined this before, and now her mouth water on its own when she takes him in, inch by inch. Until she gets to her hand that stokes his base lightly. It makes her feel so full, which is ridiculous considering that he's about to fuck her mouth, and not her pussy. Still, her walls clench hard on nothing as she pulls him all the way out.

“Fuck,” he repeats, “Your mouth is so—fucking hell. You feel so good.”

The cold air after she pulls him out is enveloping his needy cock from every direction, forcing a string of whimpers out of Lando’s throat. It only make her smile as she keeps his eye on him, turning back to licking from the base all the way to his tip, where he started leaking in the meantime, as if she didn't help him jerk off only a few minutes ago.

It's hard to stay focused on her when her tongue seems like it wants to send him into a coma, but it's even harder to take his eyes off her. She looks so good on her knees that his hand almost searches the couch looking for his phone to snap a quick picture. Instead, he is content to imprint her on his memory, confident that he won't forget what she looks like, with her lips around his cock, sucking the life out of him as if hers depends on it.

Even so, Lando needs superhuman powers not to grab the back of her head to guide his cock deeper. He can't do that, though. She did offer to suck him off, but Lando doesn't know her limits yet, and he doesn't want to cross them without knowing. Alternatively, his fists squeeze tighter, sliding his body down on the couch to be closer to her.

Luckily, she gets the memo, taking him deeper into her mouth, bobbing her head a few times before she drags her tongue against the underside of his cock. The feeling makes every cell in his body burn, one at a time. He's had people going down on him before, but no one managed to get all of him in one go, and certainly not the way she does — opening up so wide for him until the tip of her nose taps gently on his base, making her drool messily all over him.

It’s almost too much, and so overwhelming that he forgets how to breathe for a few seconds, the tension in his lower abdomen building at an alarming pace.

“Shit, Lando,” the girl sobs, her eyes teary, “You're big,” she adds, her voice raw as she continues working her hand up and down his length, while catching her breath.

He doesn't need an ego boost, but he's happy to take it as long as it comes from her.

Lando's head falls back against the couch in surrender, just as she squeezes at his thigh with her free hand, only to bring him back to her. But the slick, pornographic sound her hand makes as she rubs him sends Lando straight to his own personal heaven, where his senses are activated exponentially. He's far too lost in the way she makes him feel, that only her mouth sucking hungrily on his tip can bring him back. Her tongue starts circling around it, and Lando’s eyes snap open while he rolls his hips back into her mouth.

She moans in protest, pulling him out again, “Eager boy,” she whispers out of breath. “Are you close?”

“Mhm” whines Lando, finally rising his head to look at her.

And what a rookie mistake that was.

Somehow, she managed to keep that innocence he saw in her ever since they met for the first time. Her big, deer eyes looking back at him while her cheeks are flushed pink, her lips swollen and her chin drenched would usually be his undoing. But she’s still mouthing around his cock, holding him in her delicate hand, so oblivious to the fact that Lando will see exactly that image whenever he closes his eyes, for a long time to come.

Starting now.

She chuckles at his choked hum and the way he seems like he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, “Where do you want it?”

Inside your mouth.

All over your tits.

On your face.

Her colorful giggle brings him back once again, realizing much too late that he said it all out loud.

“You look so hot when you're desperate,” she says, her lips shiny with spit and pre-cum, squeezing him slightly as she traces her thumb over his leaking head.

Normally, he’d have words to counter that, but all he needs right now is to cum, cum, cum. Except she unexpectedly frees him from her grip, forcing Lando to snap at the loss of contact, her lips leaving him cold, wet, hard, sensitive, and so fucking close to the edge.

His legs tense, and a low, guttural groan escapes him without permission. “Why did you—” he begins, his voice breaking. His head snaps forward, another whimper slipping from him as he watches her, wide-eyed and wrecked, struggling to catch his breath. “Fucking hell, what are you doing?”

She silences him by peeling her pajama top off in one smooth move, tossing it aside without hesitation. The gesture is rapid and deliberate, and Lando’s jaw slackens as he takes in the sight of her bare skin, the curve of her chest illuminated by the faint light that’s coming from the TV. His hands twitch on the couch as if he doesn’t know whether to reach for her or keep himself anchored to the seat.

Without a word, she leans forward, her eyes locking with his as she takes him back into her mouth. Her gaze never wavers, and Lando feels like he might combust on the spot.

So beautiful.

She smiles, intertwining her fingers with his, while her other hand wraps around his length, stroking him in rhythm with her mouth. The intimacy of it all, the eye contact, and the sheer devotion in her movements make his mind travel far away.

His muscles tighten, his free hand gripping the back of the couch for support as he feels himself throbbing against her tongue. He can barely form a coherent thought, his body shaking with the effort to hold on just a little longer, even though he knows it's a losing battle.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, his voice raw and heavy with need. “Such a perfect mouth, I’m—”

That’s when she pulls back again, and he curses loudly at the loss of her warmth. But before he can beg her to come back, she leans over slightly, guiding his cock as his release spills over her bare chest, the warmth of it contrasting with the cool air.

“Fuck, baby, fuck,” Lando cries out, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. “That's so hot.”

She lets out a soft sigh, her lips curving into a satisfied smile as she tilts her head, still maintaining that piercing eye contact.

Lando can’t breathe. He doesn’t know whether to apologize for the mess or worship her for the sight in front of him. Either way, he doesn't even have time to decide. The next second, her mouth falls open, sticking her tongue out to rub his sensitive tip against it, cum and spit dripping down all over her chin.

“Holy shit,” he finally continues, his voice shaky as his eyes are raking over her with a mix of awe and disbelief.

His fingers, still intertwined with hers, tighten their grip, and before she can move away, he uses the leverage to pull her on top of him. She gasps softly at the sudden movement, bracing herself on his shoulders, her flushed face just inches from his.

“Oh, hi,” she says, the sudden closeness catching her off guard.

“Hi,” replies Lando with a little smile in the corner of his mouth, “Swollen lips suit you,” he teases, his voice thick with lingering desire and a touch of his usual smugness. His eyes gleam with a mischievous light as he brushes his thumb over her lower lip, smirking when she playfully hits his chest in response. “Although I’d say you’re missing something.”

“You don’t say?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “And what’s tha—?”

Lando doesn't let her finish before closing the space between them, capturing her lips with his. The kiss is messy, unrestrained, potentially gross, but he doesn’t care about the lingering remnants of spit and his cum still on her. If anything, it seems to spur him on, his tongue exploring hers with a slow intensity that makes her feel like she’s the only person in the world that has ever caught his attention.

When Lando pulls back, his lips glistening just like hers, he chuckles, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand and giving her an exaggerated grin. “My turn?”

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[aquadios]

drunk in love : yang jungwon

wc est. 07k genre best friends to lovers

a sigh escapes your lips for the umpteenth time as you drum your fingers against the steering wheel of your cold car. you’ve been sitting in the parking lot of a busy restaurant waiting for your best friend to appear, given the frantic texts from his friends saying he was too drunk to function.

finally, his figure emerges from the restaurant, stumbling on his feet as his friends try to keep him up straight. you frowned—jungwon wasn’t one to indulge himself in drinks—definitely not when his friends were heavy drinkers themselves.

“oh, jungwon,” you shake your head while keeping your eyes on the blonde. he was smiling and giggling about something, but his gaze was trained in on your car and as he got closer, he found himself walking faster.

although you had expected him to be more intoxicated, he found his way around your car and towards the window of the drivers side.

“you came for me,” jungwon leans in once you roll the window all the way down. “been here for an hour actually.” you smile softly.

jungwon tilts his head, his newly dyed hair falls to the side and he smells like whiskey. to you, your best friend was undeniably beautiful—everyone knew that—but if felt wrong for you to think those things.

jungwon was a friend to you, always has been; however, recently, your heart has been telling your brain something else. mixed signals seemed to be the only feelings you could conjure up about yang jungwon. he was a confusing boy and those confusing actions were reflecting the light you saw him in.

the once beige colors you’ve seen him in began to morph into explosions of red and blue and pink and any other color you could think of. he was turning your life into a splattered painting.

and it’s terrifying.

“ah, i’m sorry baby. you should’ve came in, i would’ve brought you a drink.” he leans his exhausted head against your car while closing his eyes.

you’re grateful he chose to close his eyes the second the heat from your nervous stomach ran up to your cheeks. “i need to drive you home jungwon, i’m not drinking.” you whisper, only because you’re afraid how hard your voice would give out.

“do you need help getting in the car? i can ask the guys, or i can help you myself—”

your words are cut short when jungwon’s hand weaves behind your head and jerks you forward, dangerously close to his own. your nose is brushing against his and you could smell the faint scent of his natural musk that isn’t overpowered by the alcohol.

“i was thinking about you while i was here,” his fingers that were entangled in your hair began to move you closer.

“i was thinking about how much i’ve wanted to kiss you,” if jungwon wasn’t holding onto your head, it would’ve blown off.

your chest heaved up and down as you try to find the words to say to him but nothing was coming out. your mind was going haywire as your heart was beating uncontrollably to the point it hurt.

he continued, “there’s been so many moments where i just wanted to kiss you but i was too scared i’d ruin everything,” he sighs and his intoxicated breath almost has you under the same spell.

“you wouldn’t ruin anything.” your voice is still a quiet whisper. “i can only do this when i’m drunk.” he knows he’s a coward for doing this when he wasn’t sober.

jungwon shakes his head before leaning into your lips. he tastes like bitter peaches and years of pining as he uses his other hand to cup your jaw.

if it hadn’t been for the door separating you two, jungwon would’ve pulled you insanely close to him until your hearts matched the miles they were racing.

when he pulls away, he leaves even more kisses against your lips like the alcohol wasn’t merely as intoxicating.

jungwon smiles and you reciprocate his with an even wider grin. “you finally did it!” heeseung yanks jungwon out of the window, shaking his entire body by his shoulders.

the boys gather around whilst yelling drunken hoots and praises as if he had just won a noble prize (to jungwon you’re worth more)

though, in the middle of the chaos, jungwon turns to you, his eyes showcase a string of emotions he’s never felt before and you’ve never seen. he’s sure it isn’t the alcohol streaming through his veins or the hugs he’s receiving, it’s you.

what’s better than being drunk? being in love.

© aquadios | collection

[tang3r1n]

bully!mirio but he’s so fucking condescending and ‘sweet’ that everyone just calls you sensitive for crying and getting upset meanwhile he’s biting his hand so hard he’s bleeding while he strokes his dick to the thought of licking up your tears.

bully!mirio who phases through doors or smth or fuck with you and pull your shirt down or skirt up then speeds away as he hears your friends giggling at your composure.

bully!mirio who nudges tamaki and nejire to become close friends so he can literally almost always be near you. every time you ask to hang out without him he pulls out all the stops to make his (longtime) friends feel bad for cutting him out for what they think is nothing.

bully!mirio who finds your number through one of them and starts harassing you on there, spamming for hours until you answer, calling you vile things with a cute lil ‘:D’ at the end, sending you straight up nudes when he knows your around others, gets upset and spams you again when you don’t send some of your own photos

bully!mirio who humiliates you in front of teachers, tripping you in front of aizawa, punching you and making your yelp when vlad is chatting with you, ‘accidentally’ spilling his ice cold water on your white school shirt when mic is talking about your patrol routes

OH and bully!mirio who begs to be put on the same patrols as you, saying how the two of you work so well together (lie) and how he’s just worried for your safety (another lie). he’ll like immediately drag you to a nasty ass alley and grope you, fingering and rubbing at your wet cunt and laughing as you squirm and cry.

“you wouldn’t be this wet if you didn’t like me— you got a lil crush on me, huh?~” that stupid grin wide and bold on his fax as he speaks slowly, like you were a fucking child. his thick, calloused fingers pumping so fast you can’t keep up, hips rising off the dirty wall as your orgasm surprises you. you squeal as you cum, burying your face in his shoulder as you shake and cry, squirting a bit from his rough treatment and insanely fast hands.

oh god and of course he doesn’t stop, not even when your panting, pushing him with all your might, body sore and exhausted and twitching as he just fucking smiles.

“no no no, pretty thing,” he whips out his phone, the flash lighting up as he points it as your puffy pussy, thumb roughly massaging your clit and his fingers slowly push in and out, “i didn’t even get to record that first one~”