#cork lined rooms

[notadecepticon]

currently completely sane and not cross referencing 3 different decades old translations and checking my kanji dictionary about this hours later

ill be be minding my own business not thinking about anime penis game and then suddenly Tears pops into my head

[ibbythebee]

Anything

pairing: Fred Weasley x Prefect!Reader

summary: Fred would do anything to see you, 'Hogwart's strictest Prefect', loosen up.

genre: fluff 'n stuff, and only slight angst, also borderline slowburn

warnings: swearing, bullying moments, implied that reader is in Slytherin, lots of teasing, flirting, kissing, Fred is completely and utterly whipped for reader, "your highness" nickname

a/n: not me in the middle of writing a neville fic and then having a shower thought of a fred x reader and writing this instead.

words: 6.9k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

You can hear them. And you know it's them, because of the sniggering and that laugh.

By now, when you patrolled outside of class hours you'd find yourself actively seeking out these boys. Today happens to be good day to continue your spotless Prefect record.

With a hand sliding to your hip, you smoothly round the corner of the door to your Potions classroom and as you suspected, Fred and George Weasley are there, huddled over a particular cauldron. Something's clearly already been brewed and Fred is holding a cork screwed flask with the mysterious liquid.

It takes a minute until Fred happens to glance toward the door and sees you there, nose in the air and hands now clasped in front of you. He's trying not to laugh when he sees you, and elbows his brother.

The said Weasley is about to say something, but as he meets your gaze his lips press together in a slightly curved line.

Successful in catching their attention, one eyebrow and then one corner of your lips gently raise. "We've really got to stop bumping into each other like this."

"I think you wanted to bump into us," Fred says with a prominent smile. He looks innocent, just like always.

You neither confirm nor deny his remark and instead stride closer to them. You take your time, head turning in each direction, eyes scanning for any other suspicious looking activity. It feels good, because you can feel their stares and how they wait with bated breaths for your next move.

With a last step you settle on the opposite side of their table. You look at Fred, head tilted softly, studying his expression.

His smile only grows when you reach his eyes and it's finally time to address the elephant in the room.

In a newly straightened posture you say in a slow and sarcastic tone, "did you know... that I can take away points from your House? From each of you, in fact?"

"Oh, come on. Our favourite Prefect. Can't you pretend you never saw us, like last time?" George answers.

"Sorry what was that? You'd like 30 points taken away?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Fred waves with a chuckle, "let's not get hasty. What about... a-a compromise?"

George nods desperately.

Your eyebrow raises again, and you lean back, crossing your arms. "A compromise, instead of taking away your precious points?"

"Yes, we'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything." Fred glides a tongue over his bottom lip, speaking to you through his eyes.

For once he looks completely serious and it makes you smile in delight. An expression seldom found in your features. It's completely magical and Fred finds no regret to bargaining with you.

"There is something you can do for me," your eyes glaze over Fred's face and then you turn to George, leaning forward over the table on your elbows. "The next Quidditch Game."

"Yeah? Slytherin v Gryffindor. Need us to bug someone?" George grins.

You shake your head and smile again. You're frighteningly beautiful with that curve on your face as you continue. "I need you to make sure that Slytherin wins."

"What?"

Fred captures your attention, so you lean in closer to his side of the desk. "It shouldn't be too hard for you both, right?"

He squints, unable to hold back a smile of his own. In the previous times when you had caught the twins in the middle of scheming, you'd never been so coy with them. Ruffling your feathers a bit was always the boys' goal when getting caught by you, however now that you seem to be playing along, Fred can't get enough. "That's hardly something to wish for, your highness. You can have anything from us, really anything. Don't hold back."

You shrug, "well, that's what I choose."

"But if you think about it you cou—"

"I can take the points off now, if you like? It's really no problem."

"Fine. W-We'll do it." George huffs, and his brother follows with a playful bow.

"Your wish is our command."

"Please just don't take the points off. We'll be kicked out of Gryffindor if you snitch again."

"Me? Snitch?" Your voice drips in sarcastic innocence, and you push yourself off of the desk. Your feet turn to walk back outside first, but your eyes remain on Fred until it's physically impossible to stay focused on him. As you saunter to the door, you feel their gazes on you again and it's oh so satisfying to know that you get the last say. "You need to get better at not getting caught. Because, if I didn't know any better, it looks more like you want me to bump into you."

You turn around to face them again, and stare at the flask in between Fred's long fingers. By some miracle you'd never found yourself to be the butt of their schemes, unlike the other prefects. Even as a chaser of the twins' opposition in Quidditch, you've been the only lucky soul on your team to come out the other end. The question was why? Why spare you?

"Who in Salazar's name threw that?" Your captain shrieks, massaging the back of his head, small flakes of snow dropping to the skin of his neck.

How bothersome, you think, looking around at the rest of your teammates who're busy cooling down after Quidditch training.

"What?! A snowball just happens to gain sentience and hit me, huh? An owl maybe? Just come forward, admit you did it and I'll go easy on you—"

The spray of snow flies off of the captain's head again and you dodge the icy substance in time, some of it landing on your beater and chaser teammate. Everyone exclaims except you, you're too busy scanning over the field.

Suddenly, the burly boy of a captain huffs toward you, and you take a shove to the shoulder.

Stumbling back by a metre, you frown. Increasingly annoyed by your captain's baseless judgements. "What the hell is wrong with you? How many times do I have to tell you I'm a prefect?"

"I know a guilty person when I see one."

You're about to give him a piece of your mind until the idiot is hit again and you stifle a laugh at the noise he makes.

"Clever," he says through gritted teeth. Despite clearly looking at you just seconds before the snowball made contact with his thick skull, his pride is still hell-bent on accusing you. "I knew you were good at school, but I didn't think you'd stoop so low to use non-verball spells for something so stupid."

"Well, I knew you were delusional before, but now it's perfectly clear that you just don't have a brain."

As though your words were a signal, a tsunami of white ice balls appear in the sky and you don't hold back your smile as it pauses over your team. They each look up, faces with panicked expressions, and before they can even begin to escape, the snow crashes down over your peers. Figuring, it's the perfect moment to leave, you zoom out of the field on your broom and land to your feet once you can't see those angry faces anymore.

And that's when you hear him. That laugh, and he's looking at you and combing a hand through his ginger hair, all whilst adorning a satisfied ear-to-ear grin.

"Thanks." Is all you can say at first, then you realise his partner-in-crime George isn't right by his side. "Where's your brother?"

"On the other end of the field."

You nod. When you don't say anything more and turn to leave, you feel long fingers wrap around your wrist. He's warm against your icy skin, and your eyes shoot up, only to be greeted by a soft smirk.

"You're not going to snitch on us are you, your highness?"

"Me? Snitch?" You stop yourself from feeling so giddy about the previous event and instead focus on the fact that would you be doing your prefectoral duties correctly, you would have absolutely told a Professor about the twins. But the adrenaline rush feels too great and so you finally shake your head at the tall ginger. "You were just... watching us practice, right? I don't see anything suspicious about that."

His smirk twists into a genuine smile, and he allows your wrist to slide out of his grasp. A twinkle of mischievousness reaches your eyes, and then you're off, jogging into the distance. A few metres in, you take a chance to glance back to where you left Fred. And you don't know whether it was from training or the adrenaline, but you feel your neck and cheeks flare with heat at the sight of him lean against the frame of the entrance, steadily watching you run.

Clearing your throat, you push your recollection of the past away and take out your wand.

“You know you’re not allowed to use spells outside of class, your highness,” says Fred, his voice playful.

“That’s okay,” you shrug, “because I know you won’t tell on me.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” George chimes.

You nod immediately, the easiest question to answer. “I’m your favourite prefect, am I not?”

Fred’s expression is unreadable to you at first as he shakes his head slowly. He looks shocked, but at the same time pleased and a hint of something else that you can’t quite grasp.

Figuring you’ve stared at him long enough you send the twins’ a wink and the door shuts with a swipe of your wand.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Your robe is floating behind you, a spitting image of Professor Snape, as you walk with purpose to your class, books cradled in your arms and head held high. You round a corner of the halls smoothly and find yourself at your Potions classroom. It's been a week since finding the Weasleys in there, and you still haven't found out what concoction they had created.

In any case, your class has already begun, and Snape's voice is barely audible with the door in front of you. You let your fingers clench around your books for a moment, taking in a breath. Then you push your way in, and each one of your classmates turn their attention to you.

"How lovely of you to join us, Miss L/N."

Having already predicted the Professor's sarcasm-filled reaction to your tardiness, you hand out a small slip of paper. "A note from Professor McGonagall."

He barely skims over the words and indicates for you to find a seat. Fingers clenching around your books again, you let yourself look over your peers. There's a seat next to Ginger Jorkins from Hufflepuff, but after noticing your stare she's quick to put her belongings where you could have sat. You hold off from sighing, because to your relief there is one more free seat, all the way at the back of the room. Right beside the vacant spot is a familiar head of red hair, and the pain from your tight grip subsides upon seeing him. That sigh you've been holding lets free once you sit down and the class continues.

"Welcome to the back of the class," Fred whispers with his signature grin. "You're with the cool kids now."

"Speaking of..." You glance behind him and frown. "Where's your brother?"

He makes a face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." And then it hits you. The Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch Game. The compromise. The "make-sure-that-Slytherin-wins" game. The "George-has-been-completely-annihilated-by-a-bludger" and "won't-be-walking-around-anytime-soon" game.

"Oh... right."

Fred simply nods, finding the way you froze for a moment to be equally funny and endearing. The rest of your face doesn't show it, but he notices the panic in your pretty eyes and gives your arm a little nudge. "Hey. The git's okay. Says it was worth the pain because the girl he fancies paid him a visit."

You bite your lip and let yourself focus on Snape, who's mouth is moving, but you can't hear anything coming out. "It's still technically my fault. He looked awful."

Fred leans forward, his head turning to rest against his crossed arms. He studies your features as you attempt to listen into the class. When he speaks, his voice is a whisper again. "Come to Hogsmeade with me."

You give him a side glance. No one's ever invited you to come before and for all you know he could be making fun of you. It'd been hard in the beginning, though you eventually found comfort being in your own presence; drinking butterbeer while other people joked and laughed and shared stories and the gossip of the week. And talked about how they received a pointless detention after being told off from that know-it-all bitch.

"I-I don't..." You stumble upon your words, the crease between your brows growing deeper as you try to recollect your thoughts.

"Yeah, you're coming," he declares. And when you go to protest, he sits back up, sending you a wink.

"AND so..." Snape glares in your direction, "by the end of this class, I will be testing the quality of your potions by using a simple leaf. If it melts you've brewed successfully, and if not... you'll be in here on the weekend till you get it right."

To your surprise, Fred doesn't make a fuss, instead he beams at you with a clap of his hands. "Let's get started then, shall we Professor?"

The said man only grunts in response, so you all begin.

Forty minutes passes by in an instant, and no matter how well you follow the recipe, the liquid in your cauldron doesn't look like a liquid anymore and it smells differently to Fred's.

Wait. Fred's?

You frown down into his cauldron. His potion's immaculate.

You pull at the sleeve of his robe till his head comes down and his long hair tickles the tip of your nose. "How are you doing this?"

"I'm smart when I want to be," he chuckles.

"That's not an answer. I demand you give me an answer, or... I will take off points from Gryffindor."

He feigns an expression of shock which immediately gives way to a smirk, face just a few inches away from yours. "And what if I do tell you? You promise not to snitch?"

"Me? Snitch?"

That mischievousness is back into your dolomitic eyes, and Fred swears that the potion isn't required to melt the leaf.

"How about a compromise?" you whisper.

He shoots a glance toward the Professor and then hums when he feels it's all clear to keep talking. "I'm listening."

"I come with you to Hogsmeade, and I promise to do whatever you want to do. Deal?"

He doesn't need a moment, or even a second to reply. He's already nodding, slipping a hand into yours. "Deal."

You share a knowing look and shake your intwined hands. Compromise confirmed. "Now—"

Before you get to finish, he pulls out a very familiar cork-screwed flask, and in perfect fashion you keep from gasping or reacting at all, but Fred can see it in your eyes. He scans over the classroom, Snape's busy writing something on the board, and so he's clear to lower his head to you.

Your fingers graze as he passes you the concoction he had made with his brother. Electricity runs through the veins of your fingers till it hits your heart, skipping a beat.

"Someone might've tipped us off about this assignment," Fred murmurs. "So, naturally, we just wanted to be prepared. There was no way we were going to miss out on a Hogsmeade visit."

Not with George in the Hospital Wing, you think to yourself with guilt, pulling your robe sleeve down to hide the flask should your Professor stop by.

"Well... my beloved brother sadly will. I'll never forget his bravery." Fred makes a show out of a simple sigh and you feel like slapping his arm. He places his hand over his chest and sighs again, only it's a little louder this time and longer. "A girl we know threatened us to rig the Quidditch game so that Slytherin would win, if we didn't do as she asked she would've gotten us into trouble—"

"Fred." Images of the poor Weasley twin with a whole half of his body covered in the sickening colour of a bruise flood your brain.

"—and being the good man that he is, Georgie sacrificed himself, in order to satisfy the needs of this girl."

"Oi! I already feel horrible, okay?" You finally give his arm that well-earned smack, and when all he does is laugh, you huff with a pout.

He recollects himself, and makes sure Snape's still preoccupied. He bends down to your level again, and his breath fans over the strands of hair by your ear. "I would do the same for this girl."

There's that heat in your neck again and yet another electric feeling runs up your spine at his worlds. You don't meet his gaze and instead stare forward. To save yourself from embarrassment, you lift your chin and with one swift movement, the liquid from the flask falls into your cauldron.

Fred watches in delight as you stir until your previously horrible creation morphs and dissolves into that flawless fluid that you had just seen in the Weasley's cauldron. From such a result, you're unable to stop yourself as your lips curl into a smile, parting slowly to reveal your teeth.

You are the embodiment of this potion. Any person or creature of the magical world would completely disarm at the sight of your expression. And Fred's lucky enough to be your first victim.

"You seem very pleased, Miss L/N."

The black figure of Snape shadows yours and Fred's vision as he glides in front of your desk. He peers into your cauldron, nothing shows on his face and then he's examining Fred's, the same reaction of nothing.

The man then clicks his tongue and floats back to the front of the classroom, picking two leaves off of the plant on his desk. He returns swiftly, gesturing the rest of the class to join him by your table.

"Look closely." Snape says as his hand hovers over your creation, and then his fingers let go of the green object.

Hushed breaths watch as it hits the surface of the liquid with a ripple. There's no reaction at first and it fills you with dread. You even see Fred stiffen in the corner of your sight.

Then the leaf twitches with a change in colour, and soon it's no where to be seen, dissolved. Successful.

Someone mutters a 'wow', others share glances of contempt or roll their eyes. You on the other hand feel relieved and lean onto your hip, arm brushing against the tall boy beside you. He relaxes at your gentle touch.

"It seems you will have the fortune of freedom this weekend." Professor Snape mutters, and then with no time to waste, moves on to Fred. You barely have a chance to thank the man. His hand hovers, fingers open and a new leaf falls.

In a blink, the leaf has melted and you feel the Weasley straighten up in pride.

Snape however, isn't convinced and folds his arms. "How convenient that you should produce a successful potion - out of many failures - when seated beside Miss L/N."

Innocent until proven guilty, you think and look up at Fred, who's only smiling like a fool, his focused trained on Snape's. Your classmates murmur, and it isn't hard to place who they're talking about with their not-so subtle glares pointed in your direction.

"So I did a good job?" The boy's happy expression grows with innocence.

"Somehow. Five points... to each of you." The raven-haired man admits, his gaze lingers on the Weasley before he turns away, addressing you both and the rest of the class. "L/N and Weasley, seeing as you have completed the task, you may be dismissed. However, by next class I expect a 2,000 word written report of your method and findings. That'll be all. The rest of you... you have fifteen minutes."

Groans and curses hidden under breaths echo through the room, you and Fred, however, turn to each other with eyebrows raised and stupid grins plastered over your faces.

Adrenaline kicks in, and you both scramble to clear up the desk and snatch up your belongings. You sprint out the door not after sending the Professor a 'thank you', and then you're out the door and sprinting into the courtyard, crisp winter air nipping at your extremities.

You pause by the fountain, leaning against the tall structure and Fred follows suit, situating himself in front of you. "I can't believe I did that," you say in a breathless tone still grinning, books hugging into your chest.

He chuckles in between his own pants of breath. "Feels good doesn't it, your highness?"

"I hate to admit but... yes."

You watch as his gaze on you softens, as well as his grin subduing into contentment. "You make a good partner-in-crime. I think I might just replace George."

"Then he will surely kill me once he's recovered! That is... if he doesn't already."

Fred winks, "I'll make sure that won't happen. A princess such as yourself deserves a knight-in-shining armour."

"Oh yes." You give a curtsy and wave of your hand, your voice forming a posh accent. Well, no more posh than you already sound. "Then will you do the honour of escorting me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

With a fist to his chest, Fred bows. "For you, my dear, anything."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

It's irregular of you to be so fashionably late. Last night you'd found yourself restless, thoughts of sleep hidden behind scenes of you and Fred eating candy together, laughing, using magic outside of class to throw snowballs at your Quidditch Captain. Despite the chill of a winter night, being covered by your duvet and blankets was suffocatingly warm, especially when you kept seeing Fred pull you behind a tree, gloved hands drawing you into him by your hips, noses barely touching and lips parted with warm butterbeered breaths.

Your chocolate-brown screech owl whinnies by the foot of your bed and you flinch, adjusting your beanie for the hundredth time. "What do you think, Prim? Do I look tired? I look tired, don't I?"

The owl blinks and gives another whinny, a sound similar to that of a miniature pony. You check the clock on the wall of your dormitory and bite your lip, jostling through your belongings and retrieving a small purse of galleons to shove into your coat pocket.

One more look in the mirror, just one more. Your hair looks surprising lovely, strands of it squished against your thick scarf, and fortunately covering areas of your blemished face that couldn't be covered enough by your concealer. "It'll have to do!"

Prim purrs when you stroke her head and then you're off. You almost trip at the bottom of the stairs and as a result you pause, taking in a breath, calming the pounding in your chest. This Hogsmeade visit is just like any other. Just like any other. You’re just… not alone this time. That’s enough to get you smiling, as you saunter through the halls and finally out the gates, where you see a few groups of students still hanging around Hogwarts.

At the top of the steps you crane your neck in an attempts to find Fred amongst the small groups.

“I was beginning to think you stood me up.”

You spin on your heels at the sound of his voice, and are greeted with a growing grin. Teeth sparkling and everything. It takes a toll on you not to tackle him in a hug right then and there. The thick hoody he’s adorning, as well as the adorable beanie all look extra cuddly. Those gloved hands that you’ve been thinking about slide out of the pockets of his jeans and reach for your scarf, gently tightening the fabric around your face and neck.

On the outside you seem unbothered by his action, but he already sees what you’re really feeling through those dolomitic eyes of yours. “A deal’s a deal,” you finally say. “But it was rude of me to keep you waiting so long, so I’ll buy you a butterbeer.”

He shakes his head, fiddling with the hem of the scarf. “You turning up is enough for me.”

You shake your head back, dipping your chin into the material to hide your smile. “I’m buying you one. Argument over.”

“Alright then.” He chuckles and gives your scarf a gentle tug. “No more time to waste, your highness, let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Sir Weasley.”

You’re perfectly giddy as you trudge your way to the little village. Fred tells you about his plans for Christmas and you tell him yours, not very big and not very exciting, but he adores listening to you speak. He tells you about George and his recovery, and teases you when he sees guilt written over your face. Then despite your many differences, you both bond over your love for Quidditch, especially the Irish team. Occasionally, your shoulders and arms graze, and other times your fingers, as you stomp through the snow covered grounds. With every touch your chest grows warm, and your belly flips. You almost forget that you should be looking out for any bad behaviour. You almost forget that you still have a duty to uphold to the school.

Hogsmeade is bustling with life when you finally arrive. More so now that you could share it with someone.

“Come on, let’s warm up first.” Fred tugs your scarf again and successfully gains your full attention. He pulls you into the Three Broomsticks, greeted immediately by a wave of warmth. He’s still pulling on your scarf so you swiftly ask for two hot butterbeers and allow him to lead you to a table at the far end of the room.

“Am I your pet? Leading me around like that.” You sit down opposite him, motioning to his hand still holding onto the end of the long material.

He hums for a moment, and doesn't look to have any intention of letting go. “More like restraining you from going into ‘prefect’ mode.”

"Hey! Some people need disciplining," you pout.

"You sound like a Professor..." he narrows his eyes at you, lacking the skills to stop smiling so big. "You're not Professor Snape using Polyjuice potion, are you? Trying to figure out my secrets for passing your class, huh?"

Slowly, meticulously you straighten your back and fold your hands over the table, and void any emotion on your face. Your voice is low and slow and articulating every syllable as you speak. "What a ri-di-cu-lous suggestion. However... while we are on the topic, you didn't... copy off me, did you?"

Fred is so bad at suppressing his smirk. "Bloody Norah, you found me out! You're so smart, Profess— I mean... your highness."

The clink of glass hitting your table interrupts yours and Fred's thoughts. Madam Rosmerta's standing over you and when you meet her gaze she winks. "Good to see you with company this time around, Y/N."

Your face squishes into the fabric that Fred's still holding onto as you feel heat rise in your cheeks. Desperate to eliminate the fact that she basically just called you a loner in front of him, you fish into your pocket and pull out some coins, placing them onto the woman's open palm. "Thank you, Madam Rosmerta."

"Pleasure, dears. Enjoy.” Another wink is sent your way and she’s off to tend the rest of her pub.

As you bring the hot beverage to your mouth, you peek through your eyelashes. Fred has removed one glove and is now using that bare hand hold onto his drink, allowing the warmth to transfer into his already warm skin.

"Thank you," he says.

Your brows press together, "what for?"

"For paying."

"Well... thank you too."

He raises an eyebrow as he takes a good sip of the butterbeer, waiting for you to elaborate.

"For inviting me," you say shyly, fingers sliding across the surface of the mug.

"Awh, that's nothing," he chuckles, gently swaying your scarf.

"It's not 'nothing'. I didn't get a wink of sleep last night because I was so excited to come with you."

The ginger-haired boy presses his lips together tightly and then leans his face closer to you. "Wait, really?!"

How many times has it been now that you've felt your face heat up around Fred? You could play so coy and confident before, but now you felt like any other girl-with-a-crush in your year. "As a matter of fact, yes." You raise your chin and attempt to sit up straighter. "I know it may seem that I only agreed to come because of a compromise, but... I really did — do — appreciate you considering me."

"I don't think we'll need to stop by Honeydukes, your highness. You're so sweet, that my teeth already ache."

"You're so...!" You smack his arm.

But he's grinning like a fool, pulling at your scarf. "I'm so what?"

"I'm gonna take points off Gryffindor, just because you asked."

He guffaws, "what is this abuse of power?"

You take a swig of butterbeer and shrug, head high and smirk on display. "I like to call them perks."

"See?" You feel on your neck as he gives a tug-tug. "This is why you need to be kept on a lead."

Before you can retort, you notice he's pointing at his upper-lip and quietly chuckling. It sets off your heart.

"Brilliant moustache you got there," he says.

"Oh... thank you." How embarrassing. You really thought he was suggesting something else for a moment there. You glance around the room to make sure no one's watching before you slide a tongue over the sweet foam above your lip. "Is it gone?"

"Just..." at first there's a second of hesitation, but then he pulls you in over the table and meets you half-way, un-gloved hand coming up to cup your face. Why is he always so warm? Why is it that one of the most notorious rule-breakers of the school is taking your fancy? And so easily at that.

It feels like an hour passes when his thumb smooths over the left corner of your mouth and you hold in a breath, fingers clenched around your mug. You simply cannot help the urge to look at his own lips; pretty, pink and gently parted, calm breaths passing through.

His movements pause all of a sudden, so you glance at his eyes, but he's already looking at you. Completely under your spell, completely forgetting how to move, and completely forgetting that you're in public. You seem to have forgotten the same, still not pulling away from his touch. He catches your eyes dip to his lips again and he swallows thickly.

Then he's moving away and sitting back down, clearing his throat. "There, now you're good."

"Thanks," you wipe a finger over for extra measure and then look out the window, clearing your throat and straightening your back.

"You know how you mentioned that part of the deal was that we'd do anything I want to do?" He inquires, finishing his drink with a last swig.

"Yeah. A deal is a deal," you answer, finally turning back to him, surprised to see a confident smile carved into his features.

"Perfect. There's something I want to show you, but first I have a really good idea to help you unwind and forget about your prefect-ness."

"That doesn't sound good," you tease, chugging the last bit of your own butterbeer.

He's smirking now, "you won't be saying that when you see what we'll be doing."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

You're both crouched behind a boulder that oversees the Shrieking Shack in the distance. The perfect spot to spy on anyone who visits the lookout point. The perfect spot to snog outside of school walls. And it also happens to be the perfect spot to stock up on snowballs and wait for one particular person to fall into your trap.

"I hate to admit, but you were right, Sir Weasley. Again," you mutter, rubbing your gloved hands together.

"The more you hang out with me, the more you'll find out just how right I always am." He peeks over the boulder for a moment and then his hand shoots up in alarm, speaking in barely a whisper, "he's here."

He is. You can hear your Quidditch captain now and a few of his buddies, chatting and laughing. Someone puts on a voice, and it makes the group howl, but makes your stomach churn. The closer they get to the lookout, the clearer their words sound and the more you're looking forward to breaking the rules.

"—thinks she's all that, just 'cause she's a prefect. Like, bitch, I'm older than you!"

Their laughter is equal to that of nails on a chalkboard. Pelting them with some snowballs might not be fulfilling enough.

"Nah, it's 'cause she's got Snape behind her, hah. Thinks she can say and do whatever she wants."

Fred is hearing all of this. You feel like screaming, and perhaps hexing the hell out of all of them. They need a proper disciplining.

"Yeah, that's probably what's happening!" The group laugh again, and the next thing they say is the last straw. "She only got prefect because she's fucking him."

The bottom of your vision is blurry, but you tell Fred you're ready and he only nods. You both raise your wands, and he counts to three.

One snowball hits the back of the captain's head and to your satisfaction he lands on his face. You and Fred are enjoying the scene a little too much that it isn't until one of the idiots shout your name, do you realise you've blown your cover.

"Shoot!"

"Quick! We need to unleash all we've got!" Fred takes your free hand and guides you up to stand beside him. "One, two, THREE!"

Adrenaline shoots through your veins, as together you swish your wands and the rest of your snow pile is sent into the air. One more flick of the wands, and the balls fly with the speed of a snitch. Straight toward their faces. Exclamations, grunts, yells echo through the woods and open winter air. They swipe at their faces and eyes, blinded by your attack. The captain's still trying to recover from the first hit, from head to toe the entire front half of him is covered in white.

You let out a laugh, and suddenly Fred takes your hand again and you're sprinting away from the crime scene.

"HEY!" The Quidditch captain shouts after you, pure rage in his tone.

But you couldn't care less, because that grin on the Weasley's face is too contagious as you run by him, gloved hand in gloved hand.

He peeks over his shoulder to meet your gaze, only resulting in a skip of his heart and a flip of his stomach. Losing that Quidditch match was absolutely worth it, and Fred had to remind himself to thank George later for taking the blow.

You share breathless laughter as the shouts increase in amount, but decrease in volume. You're both much too fast for them and manage to get back to the village where you could hide within the crowds.

Your feet slow to a walk, and you both check if any of the idiots followed. Fred spots two pass by a tree and squeezes your hand to gain your attention.

"In here," he jerks his head, and pulls you into a small alley between two buildings.

Finally having a moment to catch your breath, you realise that it isn't really an alley, and more like a small gap. The space is so narrow in fact that your body is essentially pressed up against his. Back against wall. Heaving chest against heaving chest. Feet and legs side-by-side each other as though woven.

You don't care to look to your left where those jerks could be looking for you. You simply can't. You can't because all you can see are Fred's parted lips again, and he's looking down at yours. After which, your gazes meet and you don't think you've ever felt so hot in the middle of winter before.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes. No grin, no smirk, no teasing, just facts.

"And you're..." Your eyes dip again.

His hand slides out of yours, and then you feel weight by your hips and he's squeezing against the material of your pants and sweater.

You crane your neck, and he dips his head, as those gloved hands of his pull you into him.

Your own hunger has your fingers smooth over his chest and grip the collar of his hoody, desperately tugging for him to come closer and closer, tension in the air building with each breath.

"And I'm... what?" He purrs.

Something stirs in the bottom of your abdomen as the scent of butterbeer fills your senses, just millimetres away now. And then he captures your lips. And it's like heaven, because his hands can't help but slide up under your sweater and hold you by the skin of your waist.

At first the kiss is gentle, hesitant, but then you open your mouth a little wider and Fred takes this as a clear invitation. He smooths a tongue over yours, the taste of the sweet foamy drink still lingering on your lips.

His bold action elicits a hum from you, and his grip only tightens, craving more and more of you and your pretty sounds. You go until you can't breathe, mouths parting reluctantly but eyes still closed.

Fred presses his forehead against yours, your noses brushing in a feather-like touch. His thumbs caress your sides as he whispers, "you never answered my question."

"You wanna know what you are, right?” You murmur, hands sliding down over his collarbone and resting on his chest.

“Yeah. You’ve said it twice now and never finished your sentence.”

“Okay,” you lean in, lips feathering over his. “You’re…”

Good Godric you’re addicting. He pushes his head forward to meet you, but you pull back with the most attractive breathy laugh he's ever heard. Your lips stay brushing against his, but you won't give him any more than that and he loves it.

"You're..." you say again on his mouth, and he hangs on every single one of your words. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me at Hogwarts."

He watches your eyes for a moment, and leans into you once more, hands climbing up to lay flat against your back, your sweater pooling by his wrists. And you share the softest kiss ever, full of adoration, full of care, full of absolute affection.

"You saying that, you being here right now... feels like I've just won the Quidditch cup," he says when you part.

"I really mean it, Fred." You wrap your arms around his middle and squeeze him there, cheek squishing into his chest. "You've heard how people talk about me, but you don't seem to care about any of that stuff."

He returns your gesture, his own cheek landing on the top of your head. "You're right. I don't care about it, because I've seen how much you care for the school and care for keeping things in order. A little too much, but to each their own."

"Oi."

"I have to tease, I have to. Still, joking aside, if anyone says that kind of shit about you and you hear about it, find me and tell me. Me and Georgie have your back."

"Just don't get caught," you smirk.

"You won't take points away if you catch us, will you?"

You pull away from the cuddle and send him that beautifully, intimidating smile of yours. "Not if you promise to keep losing your Quidditch games."

"Low blow, your highness!" He laughs and then you're running away, giggling like a fool.

You manage to slip through the crowds and head toward the woods by the Shrieking Shack lookout, your giggles only getting louder and more frequent when you see Fred bounding closer and closer to you. Your cadence slows when the ground starts to feel icy under your boots, and sooner than you think, you feel arms wrap around your stomach and you squeal.

Fred's laugh vibrates against your back, and after a few pants of breath he speaks into your ear. "There's still something I wanted to show you."

"Oh?" You spin around in his hold. "That's right. What is it then?"

"Surprise. Follow me." He's hasty in his movements, as he takes your hand, running further into the woods. Then he rounds the corner of a large tree trunk, his fingers slip out of yours as he twists around to face you and then he's pulling you by your hips, grin on display.

Your heart flips when your back meets with the rough surface of the tree, bodies pressing into one another and then his mouth is hovering over yours. There's hunger in his eyes, yet he's waiting for your next move.

"Wow. 'I have something to show you'. That was so corny," you tease in a whisper.

He chuckles, feeling your lips just barely touch his, "but you loved it."

"I did. You're right again, Sir Weasley."

"Always am, your highness."

He squeezes your hips. You lift your chin and you kiss for a third time that day.

[worstreligiousfanart]

Vancouver Home Office

[yanderestarangel]

Could I request a Dark Raiden with a FTM reader with breeding and possessive sex?

TW ┆degradation, sexual punishment, porn plot, ftm reader, afab anatomy, breedkink, possessive sex, jealousy, objectification, pain kink.

"Are you really such a pathetic boy that you don't learn your place?" Raiden's words sent shocks down your spine, making you moan softly as he pulled your hair and made you look at him ── his red eyes burned into your being as you felt the anger in his tone of voice... You really had crossed the line that time, no excuse would be good enough to free you from his wrath.

"Sitting on my own brother's lap... Fujin was practically devouring you with his eyes and you loved that attention, didn't you? Are you such a needy slut?" He hissed again as his large hands went around your neck and threw you onto the soft mattress, cushioning the brute impact.

You saw the god of thunder advance against you quickly and kiss you with carelessness and brutality, his hot tongue fought and dominated yours for control; his right hand came across the fabric of your shorts and ripped it, exposing your already wet pussy to him ── a strong slap was felt by you when he hit the soft flesh of your cunt and left it red, a sign of dominance and anger... That was just the beginning.

"Open those legs for me like the cheap whore you are, boy, I'm really going to teach you how to be a good boy today... I'm sick of your brattiness." With a swift motion, he drove into you, consuming every inch of your tight hole in one powerful stroke. You gasped, eyes widening in surprise at the intensity of his invasion. The god of thunder began to fuck you roughly, his shaft sliding in and out of your warm depths, claiming your body as his own again.

"Take it, boy. Take every inch of my cock and remember who owns this pretty little body of yours," he demanded, the intensity of his penetration sent waves of pleasure and pain coursing through your entire being making you shed fat tears down your cheeks and cling to his larger body in an attempt to keep a grip on yourself, in vain obviously, the cork in your stomach threatening to burst at any moment in time to the rhythm of your older lover's rough thrusts.

"That's what dumb, pretty boys like you deserve... I'm going to breed your little pussy... You're going to be filled with my seed and carry my children, aren't you? You can do this for me, can't you? He growled as his hips were slamming violently against your body, you were in a submissive position and all you could do was enjoy and respond to his commands like the good boy you were ─ moaning his name and opening your legs even more to expose your sore hole, his fingers came across your clitoris and small rays came out of the tips of his fingers leaving your clit more sore and overstimulated while the sadistic smile spread across Raiden's face at that moment.

"Oh... What a cute little cock you have here, dumb boy, do you want to cum already... I haven't even filled your pussy yet, baby boy." He teased you while he was referring to your sore and swollen clit, massaging your sensitive spot while his dick directly hit your cervix, making you milk his cock and tremble, your ears went deaf from the intensity of the orgasm and your muscles tensed ─ and even with the overwhelming sensations you felt the hot and sticky sensation of Raiden's cum filling your wet hole, making you whimper even more.

He practically filled you to the brim, making your stomach bulge slightly as he pulled out of you and watched your pussy spill his semen out, smiling satisfied.

"We're not done here, boy... You're not leaving this room until you become the adorable father of my children, right?

[ponderingmoonlight]

I Love You When I Drink Champagne

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,1k

Synopsis: In the late hours, with champagne in hand, Gojo’s teasing fades into something deeper. Beneath city lights and whispered confessions, you begin to wonder if his midnight promises mean more than he’ll ever admit in daylight.

Warnings: honestly none, this is pure fluff and ✨aesthetic✨ lol, it's getting a little heated y'all, you NEED to listen to the song that inspired this while reading I'm begging you guys

Inspired by I love you when I drink champagne by Eric Christian

It starts with the champagne. Always the champagne, the delicate pop of the cork that seems to echo across the room, as though announcing his arrival even when he’s already leaning against the doorframe, all tall and confident with that infuriating smirk you can feel even with your back turned.

The night is quieter than usual, just you, him, and the glow of the city filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment.

“Satoru,” you murmur, looking over your shoulder as he brings two glasses, the golden bubbles within catching the light like little stars.

He holds a glass out to you, eyebrows raised in that mischievous way that always makes your chest tighten.

“Wouldn’t want you to miss out on celebrating the small moments,” he comments, voice light, almost teasing.

You take the glass, but the moment your fingers brush his, a shiver runs down your spine. There's a warmth in his eyes tonight that feels... different, somehow softer, though his gaze is still as intent as ever. It’s almost as if he can see through you, right to where your heartbeat is pounding.

“You know, Satoru,”, the words spilling out before you can stop them,

“I feel like I’m always celebrating when I’m with you.”

There’s a brief flicker of surprise in his gaze before it’s replaced with something darker, a gleam that sharpens the lines of his jaw. He takes a sip of his champagne, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel the weight of that stare, like it’s made of silk and shadows, wrapping around you.

“Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice a bit deeper, a bit closer.

“Then let’s make it worth celebrating.”

Before you can respond, he steps closer, his body radiating warmth that seems to mix with the champagne already making your cheeks flush. The air is thick, charged, and you realize you’re holding your breath as he leans down, his lips just inches from yours. His scent, a heady blend of something musky and dangerously intoxicating, fills your senses, making you dizzy.

“You know what’s funny?” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your lips, making them tingle.

“I think I’m starting to fall for you, every single time we do this.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, and you can barely bring yourself to breathe, let alone speak.

“You say that… but every time we drink, you say things like this. And then the next day, you act like nothing happened.”

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that makes something twist inside you, tight and needy.

“You know I don’t just say things, sweetheart. Not to you.”

And then he closes the gap, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s both gentle and possessive, like he’s savoring the taste of you, as if he’s been waiting for this moment. It’s soft, at first. Too soft. But you feel the tension in him, in the grip of his hands on your waist, pulling you close until there’s nothing left between you but heat and the intoxicating scent of champagne.

You melt into him, letting the spark between you flare hotter, brighter, as his hands slide up your sides, tracing a path that leaves your skin tingling beneath the thin fabric of your black dress. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes darker, more intense.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint.

But you can’t. You don’t want to. Instead, you let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking your head.

“It’s not like you already know the answer.”

That’s all it takes. His mouth is on yours again, deeper this time, his hands moving with an urgency that has you arching into him, craving more of his touch, of the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. Your champagne glass is forgotten, left abandoned on the table as you run your hands through his hair, feeling the silky strands slip between your fingers.

He presses you back against the cool glass of the window, the city lights sprawling out below as he kisses a path down your jaw, his lips tracing fire along your skin. His breath is hot, ragged, his hands roaming with a roughness that has you gasping, aching for more. His teeth graze your neck, sending a sharp thrill through you, and you can feel his smile against your skin, his satisfaction at each shiver he pulls from you.

Your hands move over his chest, feeling the warmth radiating through his shirt, and you can’t help but trace the hard fibres of muscle beneath your fingertips. His breath hitches, and he captures your mouth again, hungrier this time, his kiss leaving you dizzy, your thoughts hazy and wrapped in a fog of desire.

“Tell me you want this. Tell me this isn’t just the champagne.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words sinking into you, grounding you in the reality of this moment. Oh, it’s always in the champagne. It’s always when your heart wins over and you let yourself fall back into his arms each and every night just to act like strangers the next morning.

“I want this,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper, but he hears it, and the look in his eyes softens just enough to make your heart ache.

“It’s never just the champagne for me. Not with you.”

The answer seems to set something free inside him, and his hands find the hem of your dress, sliding beneath it to brush against the bare skin of your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine. His fingers are warm, firm, as he trails them slowly, teasingly higher, his gaze locked on yours as if daring you to look away.

But you can’t. You’re completely intoxicated, caught in the fire between you, in the way he’s watching you, as though you’re something he’s longed for, waited for. His hands are everywhere: on your waist, your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, until you’re lost in him, your breaths mingling, your bodies moving in sync, pressed together in a way that feels both thrillingly new and achingly familiar.

It’s only when you’re completely tangled together, breathless and flushed, that he pulls back, just enough to brush his thumb over your lips, his eyes soft, almost vulnerable.

“I don’t just love you when I drink champagne, you know,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, his gaze searching yours.

“I think I love you all the time. Even when I pretend not to.”

Your heart skips a beat, the words sinking in slowly, warming you from the inside out. And in that moment, you know he means it - know that this is more than just a moment, more than just the champagne.

Satoru Gojo tells the truth.

And as his lips find yours once more, you realize that, maybe, you’ve been falling for him all along too.

His lips press against yours with renewed purpose, pulling you under, deeper into the whirlwind of his warmth. Your heart beats in time with his, the rhythm echoing in the hush of the room. You’re tangled in each other, fingers slipping beneath layers of fabric, hands exploring the expanses of skin that you’d only dared to imagine touching before the sun set.

Satoru’s fingers trace slow, teasing paths up your thigh, each touch sparking a blaze in your skin, making you arch into him, craving more. The coolness of the window against your back only heightens the warmth of his touch, his mouth moving along your jaw, down the curve of your neck, as if he can’t get enough. His lips, his tongue, the scrape of his teeth - they drive you to the edge, leaving you breathless and wanting.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmurs, his voice thick with restraint.

“Because if you tell me to stop, I will.”

But there’s no hesitation in you, not with the way his touch has unraveled you, his words making promises that hang heavily in the air. You reach for him, your fingers sliding through his hair, tugging just enough to make him gasp, his eyes darkening as they meet yours.

“I don’t want you to stop, Satoru,” you whisper, breathless.

 “Not tonight.”

That’s all it takes. His hands move with renewed urgency, his mouth capturing yours again, rougher this time, hungry in a way that speaks of all the times he’s held back, of all the moments he’s wanted this but held himself back. It’s like a dam has broken between you, and you’re swept away in the torrent of him, of his desire, of the fire that’s been simmering between you, now roaring to life.

His hands slide beneath your dress, fingers grazing the bare skin of your thighs, higher and higher, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His touch is firm, assured, yet gentle, as though he’s savoring every inch of you, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

When he finally lifts you, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and he presses you back against the cool glass, his body a solid weight against you, grounding you even as you feel like you’re flying. His mouth finds yours again, his kisses a blend of sweetness and heat, of promises and desire, and you lose yourself in him, in the way he’s touching you, holding you.

The sound of your soft gasps fills the room, mingling with his own ragged breaths, creating a rhythm that feels as ancient as it is intoxicating. You feel his hands slide along your sides, lifting your dress higher, his fingers splayed possessively over your hips as he pulls you closer, as if he’s afraid to let you go. His breath is hot against your skin as he murmurs your name, each syllable laced with longing, with need.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough, raw, as he looks at you with a reverence that makes your heart stutter, that makes you feel like you’re the only thing in his world.

“Satoru…”

Your voice is a soft gasp, barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough to send a shiver through him, his eyes darkening as he watches you, his gaze intense, focused, as though he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

You’re barely aware of anything else. The city lights outside, the distant hum of the world beyond his apartment - everything fades away until it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, in the warmth of his body against yours, in the taste of his kisses, the feel of his hands on your skin.

You sink into him, letting the last of your reservations slip away, trusting him to catch you, to hold you. And he does, his arms strong and steady as he pulls you close, his touch tender even in its urgency, his kisses a silent promise, a vow that he’s yours, that this moment, this night, is only the beginning.

By the time dawn begins to spill through the windows, casting soft hues of gold and pink across his skin, you’re tangled in each other, his arms wrapped around you, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm beneath your cheek. The quiet is peaceful, almost surreal, as if you’ve entered a dream that neither of you want to wake from.

He shifts slightly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your shoulder, his gaze soft as he watches you.

“You know, I meant what I said. This isn’t just the champagne talking”, he repeats all over again.

You smile, brushing a kiss to his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him beneath your lips, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“I know. And I told you I feel the same way”, you whisper back, your fingers lacing through his.

For the first time, there’s no teasing smirk, no playful glint in his eyes. He just holds you, his expression open, vulnerable, and you realize that, for all his strength, he’s put his heart in your hands. And you hold it gently, knowing that this is the start of something you both know you’ve been waiting for all along.

And as you drift off to sleep, his arms wrapped around you, you can’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you’ve finally found where you belong.

And maybe tomorrow morning will be different from all those countless mornings the bedsheet was already cold next to you.

Tags:

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@hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut 

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@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife 

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@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@sugu-love @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

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@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr @ryumurin

[teddybeartoji]

shoko pins you down on the bed and straddles your hips with a devious little grin on her lips. there's a marker hanging from between her teeth as her cold fingers toy with the hem of your shirt; they slip underneath and her eyes grow darker at the way you squirm at the lightest touch. she pushes the material until it bunches up around your chest, the sensitive skin of your tummy meeting her hungry gaze. she pops off the cork of the pen before letting her left hand caress your side. goosebumps rise and her smile widens. with raspy whispers and confident strokes, she starts using your body as a canvas – drawing and naming your organs like she's a proper artist. (she is.)

you may twitch and whine, she won't let it up until she's got them all perfectly lined up. she looks focused, she looks hot, and the overall quietness of the room is driving you insane. lungs, liver, spleen, intestines. heart. her eyes flick up to yours as her lips curve around the word and you feel like you're about to burst.

she holds the tip of the marker where your heart lies, she presses it into your skin. deeper and deeper. it's hurts so good. she tastes like cold coffee, like cigarettes, like sex. deeper. her cold fingers now find your jaw and she lets her nails dig into you. skin. she hums into your mouth as you paw at her sides, trying to pull her closer. there isn't an inch between the two of you and the art on your body is starting to stain her shirt. you on her. she marked you up and now you're doing the same.

she can't wait to truly feel you from the inside and she hopes, that you wish for the same thing. she hopes you can both get a little bloody, a little red; it wouldn't be real love if you didn't, right?

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Charles and Lando come to your apartment for the thank you dinner as promised. Warnings: 18+ only, sexual tension, alcohol, touching? WC: 2.4k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four

Black smoke billowed out of the pan you thought you had turned off and you rushed to toss it in the sink before opening a window. The breeze was a moment too late to clear the air of the dark tendrils snaking higher and they soon reached the smoke detector, the piercing sound of its alarm filling your kitchen. 

“Shit,” you cursed as you tried to jump and hit the detector to shut it off but you were just too short. “Double shit.”

A knock sounded at your door and you threw it open, grabbing whoevers hand it was and dragging them inside. “Thank god, hit that fucking thing for me will you?” you asked, realising it was Charles who had arrived on time, unsurprisingly.

His nose wrinkled at the heavy stench of smoke and he rose onto his toes to reach up and turn off the alarm. “You look like you have been, um…creative.”

You smiled at the attempt of a compliment before laughing at the situation. In the cold pan on the stove were the chicken breasts that were meant to be frying and you slapped your forehead as you realised you had turned the wrong element on. “Looks like we are going out to dinner, which is probably safer. I don’t think I could have kept my promise not to give you food poisoning by the looks of it.”

“I’m not dressed to go out,” he said as he looked down at his polo and chinos.

“Are you kidding me? You look like a damn model.”

“Thanks. It’s not easy being this handsome,” Lando said as he walked in the front door that was still open, a bottle of wine in his hands. “I see your cooking skills are as good as mine.”

“Har-har,” you drawled as you reached into the cupboards and got three wine stems out. “Liquid dinner it is.”

“Haven’t you sworn off drinking?” Charles asked as he rummaged around your cutlery drawers, finding the corkscrew for Lando.

“Pfft, that was just for summer break to stop the PR team from riding my ass,” you said with a grin. “Plus, you two won’t let me get into trouble. At least not too much.”

The cork popped open and Charles took the bottle from Lando to read the label. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” he laughed as he handed the Prosecco back. 

“What?” Lando asked with a frown as he turned it around to see the label. “The lady at the shop said this was good.”

“Sure, for an afternoon at the beach, but it won’t get you drunk.”

You took the bottle from his hands and kissed his cheek to erase the pout on his face. “It is the perfect starter course, and my bar is fully stocked with the hard stuff.”

“No,” Charles sighed as he took the bottle and poured three drinks. “I’m sure there is something salvageable to eat. No drinking on an empty stomach.”

You raised your glass to him. “I wish you luck, my kitchen is cursed.”

He tapped his glass with yours and winked. “I’m a miracle worker, watch me.”

You sat with Lando at the kitchen table as he showed you some photos he had taken throughout the year that hadn’t been posted online, keeping you entertained with stories that would get him in trouble if they ever got out. Every now and then you would check on Charles who familiarised himself with your kitchen, opening and closing all the cupboards and drawers before sighing.

“Admit defeat yet?”

His green eyes narrowed at you from across the room. “Never. I just can’t find any- of nevermind. What is this monstrosity?” He pulled a large jar out of the fridge and grimaced at the sight. 

“Crushed garlic,” you said obviously but he grew even more offended by the jar as he held it at arms length away.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered as he opened the lid and sniffed it. “It will do, I suppose.”

“What are you cooking?” Lando asked as he saw the ingredients lined up on the bench.

“Chicken pesto pasta.” He didn’t even look up as he sliced some limes up, muttering that lemons would have been better. 

“See, this is what I was looking for,” you said to Lando as you rested your chin on your hand watching Charles navigate the kitchen comfortably. “He cooks for me, you did my laundry, you’re both good looking and funny. That’s what I need from a man, I need the love child of Charlando. I give up. It’s impossible. I’m never going to find that.”

“Okay, this definitely isn’t going to be enough,” Lando said as he took the almost empty glass from your hand and rose from the chair. You and Charles both watched him cross over to the wet bar and tap his fingers along his lips as he debated what spirits to choose. “We need to cheer you up, I’m thinking tequila sunrise or strawberry daiquiri?”

“And music,” Charles added as he diced an onion that had been hiding at the back of your refrigerator for who knows how long. “Not mine, because it’s all depressing.”

“So music and drinks…why don’t we just go out?”

Neither looked happy at your suggestion and they both shook their heads. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture from your brother,” Lando admitted.

Lando plugged his phone into your stereo and some soft pop song started to play in the background as Charles said, “And it's too loud to talk in a club. This is nice, no?”

“I guess the company is half decent,” you teased.

Charles chuckled and beckoned you over with a curl of his finger that had a dollop of creamy pesto sauce on the end. “Taste test.”

Your stomach clenched as you parted your lips for him and his eyes held yours, the moment too intimate to dare break. His lips parted with a silent sigh when your tongue rolled over the pad of his finger, and he took a harsh breath as your lips sealed around it and sucked it clean. 

“Hmmm,” you moaned as the flavours coated your tongue and you pulled back, licking your lips as you did. “Oh my god, Charles, that is delicious.”

You couldn’t help noticing how the green of his eyes had been swallowed by his blown pupils or the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed twice before he could muster a response. “Now that I’ve seen your cooking, I’m sure everything else tastes delicious.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said with a laugh as your attention was pulled away and a shot glass was placed into your hand. “I thought we were having cocktails?”

“We will, but,” Lando said as he reached past Charles to grab the salt before he sprinkled a line across his hand. “Tequila first, sunrise later.” He grabbed a wedge of lime next and pinched it between his teeth with a daring curl of his eyebrow. 

The food was forgotten as Charles watched you wrapped your fingers around Lando’s wrist before running your tongue across his skin. The grains of salt coated your tongue as you raised the glass to your lips and tipped the liquor back under their heated stares. You swallowed the liquor and inhaled the fiery burn that followed as you eyed up lime waiting between Lando’s lips. 

This moment balanced on a knife's edge and you could feel how influential it could be on making or breaking the friendship you had with both Lando and Charles. This was the line in the sand that once you crossed there could be no return.

No one dared to breathe. No one dared to move. 

They were waiting for you. 

You licked your lips of the salty spirit residue and stepped closer to him. Your fingers trailed up his neck to tease the short hairs on his nape as you pulled his head down to meet yours and you bit the lime, tearing it from his lips as the sour juice ran down your chin.

“You’re a bad influence,” you teased as you wiped away the excess and stepped back. 

The tension in the air evaporated with his proud grin and Charles chuckled as he turned back to the pan before it burned for a second time.

“I’m just trying to cheer you up,” he replied innocently.

He made his way back to the wet bar with a little dance that had you laughing again. “It’s working.”

The sunset made the perfect backdrop over Monte-Carlo as you stepped out onto the balcony with a plate in each hand and placed them on the small square table. The music drifted out from the french doors after Lando queued enough songs to last the night and joined you and Charles with the extra strong drinks he had made.

“We should do this more often,” you said as a calm settled within you and you watched the yachts dotting the sea beyond the marina.

“What should we toast to?” Lando asked as he placed your glass in front of you, the cocktail matching the orange skyline.

“Single life?” you offered, earning a snort from him as he dropped into the seat beside you, mirroring Charles on the other side.

“How about the hunt?” Charles joked and you groaned at the reminder. “Since we are all looking for love now.”

“Not me,” you surprised them. “I’ve deleted every dating app from my phone and given up. I might even get a cat to keep me company.”

“I thought ‘a girl had needs’?” Lando teased with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Nothing a little self love can’t take care of,” you muttered to your drink as you took a sip, making Charles choke on his. “What? It’s true. You can’t tell me that you don't use your hand out when you need it.”

“We definitely need to do this more often,” Lando chuckled as he spared a fork full of extremely overcooked pasta. 

Charles sent a grin across the table to Lando before their eyes turned to you, a mischievous glint reflecting in both pairs as Charles agreed with a nod. 

“Then let’s cheers to that,” you said as you raised your glass. 

“To the three of us,” Charles winked, clinking your glasses.

“The three of us.”

The empty plates were neatly stacked and the last rays of light had long disappeared, but you weren’t ready for the night to be over. The air was growing cold and the fading solar lights dotted around the deck were starting to attract bugs, interrupting the peaceful lull in conversation. 

“Do you want to stay and watch a movie? You probably shouldn’t drive anyway.” You hoped your question didn’t sound too eager and tried to cover it up with the logical statement. It was needless though as they both perked up at the offer and started to clear the table.

“I’m up for a movie night,” Lando agreed as he took the glasses, leaving Charles to take the plates. “Another round?”

 “Yes, please. I’ll meet you on the couch.” 

You went to your room and changed out of the jeans and top you were wearing, opting for an oversized white AlphaTauri shirt you often slept in instead, before dragging the quilt off your bed. You switched the lights off around the apartment as you passed them and flopped down onto the couch between the two men who had been quietly chatting. Lando reached for the refilled glasses on the coffee table and handed you yours as you asked, “What are we watching?”

“Nothing sad or Charles will cry,” he said with a little laugh as he helped spread the blanket over everyone.

“And nothing with shooting or Lando will cry,” Charles shot back with his own teasing smirk.

“And nothing with romance or I will cry,” you added as you swiped up the remote and scrolled through the options on Netflix. “Guess that leaves horror. Paranormal Activity?”

You wanted to look away but you couldn’t as the crackling image on the screen only grew darker. You knew what was coming but it still didn’t stop the squeak that escaped your lips or the way your tense body startled at the jump scare.

The guys chuckled as if you hadn’t felt their legs knock yours at the sudden slam of a door and the blanket shifted until you felt a comforting hand on each thigh, resting just below the hem of the shirt. It took everything in you to keep still as their palms warmed your skin and the heat spread to your core and you felt Charles’ thumb start to draw soothing circles.

Under the guise of settling back into your skin after the fright, you laid back into the cushions and stretched your legs out. From the corner of your eye you could see Lando bite his lip as the shift left their hands even higher up your thighs, almost brushing the lace edge of your panties.

“Scared, chérie?” Charles asked, his voice a little deeper than usual.

It wasn’t the horror movie that was causing a fine tremor to work its way over your body, setting every nerve ending alight. And it certainly wasn’t the horror movie that was causing the goosebumps to tingle across your skin. 

It had been a long time since a man came so close to you that your core was turning to molten lava without even being touched and you lost the battle to remain still, your thighs clenching together in search of friction. You could feel a second heartbeat throbbing between the juncture and as the blanket slipped down your body your peaked nipples were easy to spot through the thin material. 

“Not exactly,” you uttered as Lando’s fingers squeezed your thigh, almost as if he were silently begging you to part them for him. 

“You’re shaking,” Lando murmured close to your ear. 

“I know,” you whispered as your throat clogged with the pleas for them to touch you, to slide their hands just another inch higher and sate the need your body craved. 

You felt the touch of Charles’ shaped beard along your jaw before his lips brushed your ear. “Breathe, chérie. We’ll take care of you.”

His thumb drew another circle and your chest expanded with the softest gasp as you felt the pad of his digit run along the seam of your underwear. 

Lando mirrored his friend, his breath hot on your neck where his lips set a trail of scorching fire to your ear. “Will you let us take care of you?”

Click here for part two.

Tagging: @destourtereaux @severerebelearthquake @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @omgsuperstarg @mvclff1 @alwaysclassyeagle @icantcomeupwithamusicalname-blog @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @secretlyangrymagazine

[silverzoomies]

135 for Peter- I can’t- it genuinely sounds like something he would say🗣️

Peter Maximoff/Reader drabble: ⚡"I'll be honest: I get off on the thought of you."⚡ warnings: use of "truth serum," dirty confessions. also, i don't usually post unedited writing. apologies if this isn't up to par with my usual, polished work !!

Spending a venturous night sneaking around with your bestie, you followed behind him on your toes. Stealthily moving through the X-Men’s base of operations, you found yourself snooping in Beast’s lab. Your teammates all slept upstairs in the mansion. Which gave your mischievous pal all the time in the world to unleash hell. Peter had a bad case of sticky hands that night. He smuggled a few gadgets from Hank’s lab tables.

While he gave into his klepto compulsions, you busied yourself with a mini-fridge labeled "Samples. DO NOT TOUCH!"

You were a good little nugget. You knew you shouldn’t be so nosy. But part of you wanted to take the risk, just to impress your trouble-maker friend. Giggling quietly, you pulled the fridge open.

“Duuuude! Check this shit out!” You whispered.

Your curious eyes scanned the army of glass vials lined up neatly inside. Cool air fanned your face as you leaned in. Squinting, you read off the labels one by one, mumbling their names under your breath. Peter appeared by your side in a speedy blur. He peered over your shoulder. On impulse, he hastily snagged a vial or two without a second thought.

“Oh, dude, sick! Are these his nerd potions?” Peter snickered.

“I think so! Metamor-...Metamorphose Elixir? What the…” You tried to keep your laughs at a low volume, “Angel’s Essence. X-Celeration. Honeysuckle…” You scoffed as you picked through the fridge, “I don’t even know what half of these mean. What’d you get?” 

Absentmindedly, Peter paced the room. He moved backwards with effortless grace, reading the vials in his hands. The stolen gadgets stuffed in his jacket pockets made sharp noises as they rustled together.

“Uhhhh…Super Sonic Boom…pppffbbbttt…what even is that?? I told you, Hanky boy’s, like, nerd supreme.” Peter rolled his eyes affectionately, before reading off the next one, “And I got…OHHHHHOHOHO!” He raised his voice a little too much, and you quickly shushed him, “Sorry! Sorry! Just…check it out! Truth Serum!”

You skittered up to Peter, snatching the vial from his hand, “You really think it works??”

Peter wiggled his silver brows. His lips stretched in a cat-like grin. Totally aloof and super chill.

“Only one way to find out, ah?”

You popped the cork off the vial, giving the sample a sniff test. Neon liquid bubbled inside. It reeked strongly of pickle juice. The scent made you reluctant to try it first. But after an impromptu game of rock, paper, scissors - of which you ultimately lost - you braced yourself and took the tiniest swig.

“C’mon! That was nothing! Don’t be chicken shit!” Peter teased, tossing the other vial in his hand into the air, catching it before it fell to the floor.

You smacked your lips and hollowed your cheeks, feeling your eyes overflow with tears; all in immediate reaction to the serum’s sour flavor. Several seconds became a minute, as you stood there in silence. Over eager and irritable, Peter huffed. He rapidly tapped his foot. Before breaking the silence with a restless exclamation of-

“Well!? Did it work ‘er not?!”

You chuckled, gesturing with the vial.

“I hate it when you do that.”

Peter’s expression fell. He slumped his broad shoulders, catching the other vial just in time after tossing it again.

“Huh? When I do what?” He asked, giving you a defeated, puppy dog look.

“That. When you act so impatient? I can’t tell if it's super annoying, or ridiculously cute.” You spoke without filter, shifting your bashful gaze, “And…augh. Please stop looking at me like that. You really are so freaking cute it’s unbearable.”

“Wait...are you...” Peter’s lips curved upward in a cocky grin.

Covering your mouth with a hand, you felt your cheeks heat up in a flash.

“Did I…what the hell did I just say??”

“You really think I’m that cute, huh?” Peter sheepishly blushed. Pulling his lip between his teeth, he flitted his gaze to the vial in your hand, before meeting your shy eyes again. He threw you a nod of his head, “Lemme see that.”

Peter downed the entire vial in one shot, instantly shuddering as the tart taste oozed down his throat. He smacked his lips, scowling, looking at the vial with a single brow raised.

Not even two seconds passed before he openly admitted-

“I’ll be honest. I kinda get off on the thought of you, like, all the time.” He said on impulse, his dark gaze still fixed on the empty vial.

When he tilted his head up to meet your eyes again, you gaped at him with your peepers blown wide. Peter blushed an even brighter shade of scarlet. Laughing uneasily, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uhhhhh…heh…uh…wow…awkward.” Peter whistled, shaking his head, “I guess…safe to say…this shit most definitely works. Way to go, Beastie!”

“Do…” You hesitated, biting your tongue for a microsecond before you found the courage to continue, “Do you really think of me like that? Because…I mean…I'm kind of into you too.” You confessed without meaning to, "Or...no. I'm really into you."

With no filter to hold him back anymore, Peter's lips moved at an alarming speed. He began spouting an onslaught of filthy words. As he did, you felt hot, pulsing wires of tension pull between you both. Drawing each other in closer.

“You say that now. But if you knew how much I beat my meat thinkin’ about your body, you'd never wanna talk to me again. It happens like fifty times a week. I just can't help it, babe!” He shrugged, his face burning hotter and hotter with every loose word, “H'oh, man. I should shut up now. I should really shut up. Before I admit somethin’ else. Like how I can't stop starin’ at your ass when you're not looking.”

“What!?” You burst out laughing, hiding your blushing face with your hands.

He matched your laugh with his own, “Sorry. The pickle juice of truth's got me acting all kinds of loco right now.” Peter bit his lip again, stifling his next words before they slipped out anyway.

“Sometimes you get a feisty attitude with me and it really turns me on.” He added, "Ah...shit."

Basking in the thrill of this back and forth truth game, you parted your lips. Anxiously awaiting your own, inevitable disclosure.

“I've always wondered what your speedy tongue would feel like on my…” You sealed your mouth shut once more, groaning into your hands.

"YOOOO! No way! Seriously? You're twisted, baby. That's hot."

Carelessly discarding the vials, letting glass crash the floor without a moment's pause; Peter grabbed you by your waist and pulled you into him. You both searched each other's eyes frantically.

A devastating degree of mutual attraction had the two of you on edge. Peter waited for you to break the silence with another sexy confession. You did the same. Waiting. Anticipating his next words in hopes he might say something to further turn you on.

“I have a huge boner right now.” He fessed, biting his tongue to suppress his giggles.

You wheezed loud enough to shake the earth, surely waking up the whole mansion.

[ktsumu]

A CHILDHOOD BEDROOM tw: allusions to divorce/his family dynamic, holiday comfort for the soul

Ushijima’s bedroom is nothing like the one you share. 

His walls are bare, save for a few frames with pictures that are older than the two of you. There’s a bulletin above his desk that’s naked down to the cork, a few tacks littering it at random.

He has his dresser, a small mirror on the wall hanging above it. The room is nearly devoid of colour aside from beige and navy, but the Christmas lights from the house across the street give it some red and green. Not much, but it’s good enough.

You walk along the perimeter of the room, the floors cold, hands tracing over his desk and chair. He watches you from the doorway, the door closing softly behind him as he does. You hear the same floor creak beneath his feet as he crosses to his bed, the frame sighing under his weight.

A print-out picture of him and a redhead (Satori, he’s mentioned) standing side-by-side in school uniforms is framed on said desk, thumbs up on all four of their combined hands. A team in maroon stands tall beside it, and he’s dead center. A three-person family — father, mother, boy — takes up the space beside that, the frame much more sophisticated than the others. He looks about ten.

The clock on his wall tells the time wrong; it hasn’t been reset since he graduated and moved out at eighteen. It looks like it’s a few hours behind, but it’s really telling you time six years back. 

“Your walls are so bare,” you comment, turning back to look at him where he’s sat. He offers an almost unnoticeable, lopsided smile. “Where are all the medals, huh? I’ve heard big things about Ushiwaka the Great, you know.”

You’re joking, but he answers, “In my drawer.”

(You check; it’s full of them.)

Ushijima watches you hold them, looking at all of the engravings before setting them back, the years stretching further back the deeper that you dig. It’s like your chest is swelling with pride over things he won before you knew him. 

“What is it?” he asks, eyes following you as you cross over to his bed, sitting down to face him. His brows furrow, leaning his back against the headboard that looks so comically small; then his lips tug up at the sight of gold around your neck. His teenage pride rests on your chest.

There is something so invasive about a childhood bedroom, about wearing what once was his entire life as he looks at it — a whole life you didn’t have the chance to watch lays itself out in front of you. This childhood doesn’t exist anymore (maybe it never really did) and yet you see it around you all the same. 

(It is invasive, but it is full of love. An empty room that feels so full.)

“Why doesn’t your mother display your medals in the house?” you ask, tilting your head. “Hell, my mom would’ve lined mine up in the window. And your desk is like a trophy factory.”

 “It’s not practical, I suppose.”

“So they just sit in here?”

Ushijima looks at you like he’s in thought. 

He shrugs. “Mostly,” he says, “my father has a few in California. My player portrait is on his office wall. My mother shows her affection in her own way.”

“Can we take some back home?”

“Why? They’re old.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, shrugging. “I’ll display them around the room for a bit, swap ‘em out when you rack some up this season.”

Ushijima just chuckles shortly, shaking his head as he moves down the bed, laying down flat. His feet hang off the end a bit, and the pillows are the same as they always were. “If you wish. You know I never stop you from anything.”

You hum. “God, does it echo in here?”

“Sometimes. It never used to.”

“When did it start?”

He knows when. “I’m not sure.”

You know, too. “That’s okay. Our room at home doesn’t echo, at least.”

“No, you won’t let it.”

“Never.”

Ushijima reaches out a hand, his left, and he twirls the medal you picked in his hand. You wear it still, and it looks like it gleams. His eyes flicker up to yours. 

“I love you,” you tell him. “You and your empty room.”

He sighs a laugh, one you taught him how to make, and he pulls you into his chest by the ribbon around your neck. He breathes, your head rises and falls with his chest, and the room comes alive; breathing with its maker, welcoming him home the best it can. You certainly help.

Ushijima looks at his bedroom walls, his broken clock; the house is not resetting, his parents’ old bed will always be half full and half made, but he thinks this is enough — coming back with you was enough. Now, when he leaves, he will remember a warm bed and leave to sleep in a warmer one. 

“Love?”

“Mm?”

“When we find a home we like enough to live in,” When. Not if, when. “I’d like to paint the walls with you.”

“Ooh, what colour?”

“Not white — or beige.”

You grin, angling your head up to see him. Ushijima is looking up at his clock, six years behind like he just got home from training camp, his boxes packed for the city.

(He meets you two years later.)

“Pick a swatch, baby. Just no neons.”

“Oh. I was thinking of a traffic cone orange.”

“Ha-ha.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Members Only 1

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, cheating, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

“Tommy knows the owner,” Grace trills as she leads you upstairs, “he’s around here somewhere, I’m sure.” 

“Right,” you follow her up into the violet-tinted lighting of the private room, “Mr. Shelby must know a lot of people.” 

“Mm, yes, that is the upside of our marriage. There isn’t a single restaurant or shop in this city where they don’t know his name,” she boasts as you stop at the door and she struts across to the slender bar. She hums, a hint of disapproval in her tone, and she pops the cork of the bottle. “That and the drinks.” 

She catches the foam from the neck in her mouth, her lipstick staining the torn edge of the golden seal. She gulps and puts the bottle down, blotting her lips with her knuckles. She turns and strolls around the curved sofa and looks through the windows that peer into the flashing club. 

“Pour me a glass,” she demands, “it isn’t my brand but good enough.” 

You obey. Mrs. Shelby is very precise in what she wants. She never leaves you in need of further directive. Your previous employer often expected you to know what they wanted without saying so. That stint did not last very long. 

The private room is decorated in silver and gold banners, vases filled with matching confetti, and an ivory cake with a big ‘40’ mounted on top. The decor clashes with the rest of the club. This isn’t a refined venue, it’s a place where coeds come to wile away their weekends. 

You fill a stemmed glass with champagne and bring it to Grace as she toys with a pale blonde wave. She is a pretty woman. She has all the elegance her name would suggest. Still, there is a staunchness to her that keeps you diligent. 

“Hmm, I do wonder why my husband is so fond of this place,” she tuts, “though I might guess it.” 

You peer down at the writhing bodies dancing below. Skimp skirts, crop tops, flirty moves; it isn’t your sort of place and you didn’t think it was hers either. She turns and struts away, sitting on the sofa to nurse her champagne flute. You turn to face her, staying by the windowed wall. 

“I won’t complain. Charlotte will appreciate the effort. It might even bring back a few memories for her,” Grace continues on, twirling the glass between her fingers. “The rest of the ladies should be content enough with the champagne and—oh my, please, go to the kitchen and inquire after the appetizers. I was promised brie and crustinis.” 

She sighs as you move for the door and she slurps loudly. As you reach the door, you hear her mutter, “...ever trust him...” 

You leave her there, wallowing with her golden nectar. It is no secret that the Shelby’s are facing marital woes. Even beyond the scope of Mrs. Shelby’s personal assistant, it’s obvious. Their last dinner party erupted in an argument which had their social circle whispering even months later. She blamed the alcohol and he blamed her. 

You find your way to the kitchen, past the burly man serving drinks behind the upper tier bar. You’re permitted past upon the mention of your employer’s name. Within, a man lines trays with tidy hor d’ouevres. Despite his greasy apron, his work looks no different than the private chefs that often serve the Shelbys. 

You hate to ask but you have to. Your ‘when’ is met with a ‘soon’ which sounds more like ‘can’t you see?’ You thank the cook and quickly retreat.  

As you get back to the stairs, you see Mona, Lilian, and Charlotte. The latter looks confused at her surroundings. She has no idea why she’s there. The surprise has worked. You linger then follow up a few steps behind. 

You can hear the furor as you approach the door. Charlotte’s squealing and as you enter, unseen, she hugs Grace who looks more irked then endeared by the embrace. Your employer’s eyes lock onto you and he gestures to you. You serve the other ladies; Charlotte first as guest of honour. 

“This is quaint,” Mona preens. 

“It’s exactly Charlotte’s taste,” Grace snipes, “if only you’d known her twenty years ago--” 

“Grace, I am a married woman now. No need to bring up the past,” Charlotte girds. 

“Oh, tell me the first note of Britney won’t have you undone,” Grace challenges as she lets you refill her glass. 

The woman chirp and giggle. Your employer faces you, “well?” 

“The cook is finishing up. They’ll be here shortly,” you keep your voice low, an expert at not disturbing the others. 

“Mm, it better be worth it.” 

You don’t mention that it hasn’t cost her anything. It’s isn’t your place to say so, or to speak unless spoken to. Some may think your job oppressive but you don’t mind so much. It’s easy to be told what to do. You’ve never been very good at decisions. 

She sips and scrunches up her nose, “ugh, this isn’t dry enough. Go, find my brand. Ugh, he knows what I prefer and he just doesn’t care.” 

“Yes, miss,” you take her glass as she hands it over and you leave it on the bar. It’s miss, not ma’am. Ma’am makes her feel old. When her birthday comes around, it will be her fifth fourtieth soiree. 

You leave the room again and venture back down. You go to the bar and wave your hand at the tall, blond bartender. He nods to show he’s seen you as he continues to serve his current customer. You wait, bobbing impatiently. He forgets you as a flurry of babbling young girls approach from the other side. He takes their orders and you sigh. You put your hand up again. 

“Oi,” a voice sounds from behind you and a whistle cuts through the thrumming din. The bartender turns and his blue eyes flicker in the club lights. He nears, looking behind you, almost through you. 

“Mr. Shelby,” he greets. You tense and glance behind you. It’s him. Thomas Shelby. Your boss’ husband. In essence, he is your boss, he pays your bills. 

“She’s been waiting,” he points down at you. 

“Of course, sir, apologies,” the bartender looks down at you, “what can I do for you?” 

“Er, I'm looking for champagne. A specific brand--” 

“Taittinger,” Mr. Shelby calls over your head. 

You nod in agreement. That’s the one. He knows but he didn’t have it in the room. Is his wife correct in his disregard or was it merely an oversight? 

“Quickly,” Shelby demands and shoos the bartender with his fingers. “My wife is here?” 

You face him and confirm his assumption. 

“Mm, I forgot it was tonight,” he says, though you hardly hear him over the music. 

You don’t know what to say. There isn’t anything to say. You rarely, if ever, speak to Mr. Shelby. You’re usually just treated as part of the decor. 

“Keep an eye on her for me,” he reaches past you as the bartender returns and he takes the bottle of champagne, “better get this to her at once. Guard it with your life,” he intones as he stares you down, “she does prize her little indulgences.” 

“Yes, sir, thank you,” you make sure he can hear you above the pulsing noise. 

He tilts his head and steps aside, “on you go.” 

[decagondice]

༓ A Gaze, A Glimmer ༓

Soft!Toji x reader, sfw, You each honour the other's gift at an elegant gathering, slight part two to this.

The room glows with low light, chandeliers casting a warm sheen across polished floors, while the soft strains of a grand piano drift from the far corner, mingling with the quiet hum of voices and laughter. The gentle bustle of the room swirls around him, the clinking of glasses and occasional pop of champagne corks fill the grand hall, but Toji barely registers it. His attention, as it has been all evening, remains on you—and he feels himself slip into a quiet awe at how natural you look here, among all this refinement, with the glint of chandeliers casting soft glows across your face.

Tonight, there’s something quietly captivating about you, an effortless grace that has him transfixed. The earrings he gave you—the ones he’d hesitated over for so long, wondering if they were too simple or plain for someone like you—catch the light with each of your movements, their delicate gleam tracing the line of your neck. He hadn’t been sure you’d like them, yet here you are, wearing them with such understated charm, honouring his gift in a way that feels both simple and deeply intentional. Each flicker of light reveals his own admiration woven into your elegance. Your gaze finds his, and a faint blush dusts your cheeks, not with shyness, but with a warmth that tugs at something deep within him.

Toji stands beside you, acutely aware of the weight of your hand on his arm, the subtle pull of his suit—tailored sharp and dark, perfectly fitted. He hadn’t expected to feel this way in it, hadn’t thought a suit could change anything. But then, he’s never worn something like this, not until you bought it for him, insisting it would be just right, and that tonight would be special—a night to match the way he looked in it. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes travel over him, lingering on the lines of the suit, an unmistakable admiration that makes him stand a little taller, feeling uncharacteristically proud, feeling as though, perhaps, he could belong here by your side.

At some point, a few people approach to exchange pleasantries, but Toji finds himself barely listening, his focus held entirely by you. He watches as you greet them with quiet poise, your words gentle but confident. He notices each small detail—the curve of your smile, the way you tilt your head to the soft tone of your voice, and it all makes him feel a little lost in the moment. 

He doesn’t say much, just rests his hand at the small of your back, thumb brushing over the soft velvet of your dress, a steady touch. In the background, the piano’s melody rises and falls, each note delicate and crystalline, echoing through the grand space around you. After a beat, he leans in, his voice low, quiet, meant for you alone. “Didn’t think I’d like all this… but standing here with you…” He lets the thought linger in the air, his meaning clear, a quiet truth woven between you.

You smile, your fingers slipping over his, a small squeeze that says more than any words could. The simple pleasure of being here together, seeing him like this, in the suit you chose for him and the earrings he picked for you—both of you subtly transformed for each other. And in this room of refined elegance, with music filling the space like whispers, it’s only the two of you—close, matched, and completely at ease.

[da-shrimping-station]

Feast

Beelzebub x Reader

minors DNI or im busting your kneecaps 💚

suggestive content | bondage | a bit of food play | inspired by that Beel art from the Komiket interactive display | honestly idk what else to add

bare minimum editing/proofreading | english is not my first language

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You felt like the luckiest bastard in Hell right now.

There was an entire buffet laid out in the room. Plates upon plates of mouth watering dishes that would make anyone stuff themselves full. Drinks of every kind in pretty bottles and glasses. Fine cutlery and dining ware laid out on white sheets, waiting for you to sit down and glut yourself until you burst. Despite the smells wafting into your nose and the generous portions catching your eye, you head straight to the main course.

It was a sight that made you drool the second you saw it. It wasn't just the bare torso or the ribbons or the bottle of expensive champagne tucked into his pants. It was the fact that the King of Gluttony was propped up on a pedestal, eyes blazing and teeth gnawing at the bit and squirming to be let free. Suddenly, the buffet might as well be bland gruel in comparison.

Bright green eyes zeroed in on you as you stepped closer. He struggled even more, muffled noises growing more insistent, but the ribbons held.

Your hand reached out to cup his cheek. You squished it a little then scratched at the strips of cloth that served as his gag.

"You look very delectable, your Highness."

"Mmhff-!"

He sounded mad. Or maybe excited. Either way, it didn't stop you from feeling him up.

You pinched and groped, tan skin soft and muscles firm. One hand scratched red lines into his side while the other thumbed at his pierced nipple. The bright pink strips of cloth was a nice contrast to his rich oche skin. Your nails dug deeper, your grip turned bruising.

Groaning, Beelzebub writhed, tugging at the restraints even more. His flushed cheeks gave away how he really felt. More muffled noises came from his throat and you think he was telling you something. You had stepped back to admire your work with a pleased smile.

You've only had your hands on him and he already looked winded. Your eyes landed on the bottle at his crotch.

You deliberately ignored the bulge in his pants as you gently pried the liquor from his waistband. Your hunch was right. It was a bottle of champagne from Tartaros. The foil on the label shone nicely under the lights.

Beelzebub glared at you as you popped the cork off. The flush on his face was dying down now that you've stopped your ministrations but his erection persisted still. You took a whiff of the drink. It smelled sweet and citrusy. You know this bottle costs more than your own soul given its origin and you wanted to enjoy it to the fullest.

Your eyes shifted from the bottle to the bound King beside you. An idea pops up and you smirk. 

The king of gluttony watches you like a hawk as you step into his space again. 

Without hesitation, you poured champagne on his lips. You watched, mesmerized as the golden liquid dribbled from his chin and down his neck. Smaller rivulets trailed down his pecs and abs, eventually soaking the waistband of his underwear. You had to stop yourself before wasting the entire bottle.

The pink ribbons over his mouth were soaked and you think he's trying to get a taste with how his throat bobbed. He glared at you. You can't pinpoint why he's upset so you laughed it off.

Your hands grabbed him by the jaw, tilting his head and kissing him. It was awkward with the gag and the angle but the taste of the champagne and the feel of his lips on yours egged you on. He groaned, trying to better reciprocate the act.

Breaking the kiss, you poured champagne over him again, this time onto his torso. 

Beelzebub growled. The sound sent shivers down your spine and you licked and bit at his collarbone to appease him. He growled again, less aggravated this time. You took it as a sign.

You continued to appease him with your mouth and tongue, cleaning up the trail of liquor on his torso. From his chest, down towards his stomach. You even went so far as to kneel to nip at the V of his hips, toying with the pink bow right next to his bulging arousal.

You made sure to leave marks as you went, adding to the ones you made earlier. You left hickeys and bruises over his tattoos and bite marks over the bare patches of skin. All the while he bucked and groaned, hips jerking whenever you touched a sensitive spot.

During all of this, the delicate pink ribbons did their job of keeping him in place. A part of you was concerned that the binds would snap. Whatever magic they were imbued with was pretty damn strong.

His highness was looking down at you, eyes glowing with lust and frustration. You shuddered, enjoying the way he looked at you while you were on your knees.

You could suck him off. His cock was right there in front of you, just about ready to burst from the looks of it. The tempting thought made you lick your lips. With him tied up, you had free reign to do as you please without so much as a peep from him.

He must've sensed your lewd intention, swaying his hips towards you as some sort of invitation. An urgent moan rumbled from his throat.

You bit your lip, weighing your options for a moment.

"Thank you for the treat, your highness," you said with a smirk. Then you got up and walked away, half empty champagne bottle in hand.

Incensed noises followed after your footsteps as you left. You knew for a fact that you can't handle the king of Abyssos on your own. He was a force to be reckoned with, whether he's fighting or fucking. And you were someone simple who lived by the rule of not biting off more than you can chew.

The bottle of liquor was more than enough of a prize. There was still enough for a glass or two to indulge in. 

You were close to the exit, oozing with satisfaction as you walked past the buffet tables. The door was just a few meters away when–

Snap!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

A/N 🦐

eeyyyyy dont come after me i wrote this all in one sitting cuz that one Beel card wont get out of my head

i was gonna have the reader give him head but my skills aren't up to par so he gets blueballed instead lmaoooo i bet he would've wanted the reader to be a glutton and choke on his cock but where's the fun in that amirite

him bending the reader over one of the tables while he rails them and finishes the rest of the champagne is a nice image imo

thanks for reading!

[loveshotzz]

Big Boss

older!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve’s had a stressful day at work, you know just how to help.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: 18 +porn with little plot, we’re just giving our favorite daddy some sloppy toppy. oral (m receiving), dirty talk.

authors note: this is just a little fun blurb in the colors univserse but could be read as a stand alone. Had to finish this as a joe keery day gift to you. inspired by this post . thank you @pastel-pillows for always being so filthy in my asks and every single one of you for always being horny for our favorite boy with me.

Steve was stressed, you could tell by the way he only came out of his office once to refill his coffee mug instead the half dozen times he’d found excuses for your first two days here. Finally reappearing again when the clock struck 4pm, his bare feet pad with force against the plush cream carpet of his living room where you sit lounged out on the contrasting dark brown leather couch. A guest. Scratching his peppered scruff with deft nails he grumbles a “Hey honey” giving you a chaste kiss on that top of the head before running a clearly frustrated hand through his already messy hair stomping off to the kitchen.

Despite the itching feeling to go check on him, you decide to give him space. This was unchartered territory. You try to refocus on the passage of the book you’d left off on before he appeared, avoiding the picture of Jenny hanging on the wall that always seemed to catch your line of sight.

The pop of a cork being pulled makes you jump, the hollow noise echoing through the hall before the clink of glass signals he's pouring wine. You wonder if it’s the same as last night, cheeks heating up at the thought of the way he had you cumming on his tongue in the middle of dinner last night. The flush of the red wine made him insatiable, even though he said it was just you.

Biting your lip into a smile, warmth floods your stomach as you press your thighs together, your body already needing more and he’s not even touching you. Not yet. Closing your book with a sigh of defeat you glance towards the kitchen. Steve’s back is to you as he leans against the island, the black cotton of his shirt stretches over his shoulder blades when he lifts the glass to his lips, downing its contents in one gulp before pouring himself another one.

“You gonna save some for me baby?” The nickname you give him is new, but you say it so sweet it makes his muscles relax at the sound of your voice. You wonder if he’s smiling like you are.

He huffs out a tired laugh pushing off the counter to grab another glass before finally turning around to face you. The smile you’d hoped was there doesn’t disappoint as his hazel eyes meet yours through the thin rims of his glasses. Grabbing the bottle with his free hand, the wet spot in the lace you wore just for him grows when it looks small in his grasp.

“Got plenty saved for you.” He grins at his own joke making his way over as your gaze drops to his loose fitting worn jeans. They look like they’ve been in his possession for years, hanging low on his waist, you get a peek of the happy trail leading to what you’d hope to get to soon.

You uncurl your legs from under you, the small yoga shorts you have on leaving little to the imagination as your toes hit the floor. He steps confidentially between your spread legs, the spark that had been missing from his eyes returning as he towers over you.

“I know you do.” Your fingers gran at the denim on either side of his thighs using them as leverage to pull yourself to the edge of the couch, quirking an eyebrow with a knowing smirk when his pants start to strain.

He holds out your empty glass for you to take, fingertips brushing yours on purpose when you grab it. The intensity of his gaze has you squirming as he holds your eyes, filling the ruby liquid half way. He sets the bottle down on the end table when he’s done, not moving an inch from your space.

Taking a sip, the bitter fruit hits your tongue making you remember it tastes much better on his. Running a bold hand up his thigh, you hook a finger through his belt loop tugging gently.

“What’s got you so stressed?”

His face softens at your question, fingers reaching out to tuck a fly away hair behind your ear. Soft tips tracing the shell, sending goosebumps across your skin.

“Just a long day, nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.” Running his knuckles across your cheek bone, his lips twitch when you lean into his touch. Already putty in his hands.

“Let me help you relax?” Your words are soft when you look up at him, and the green specks in his eyes turning black.

“You wanna help me relax? How are you gonna do that baby?” The pad of his thumb swipes against your bottom lip when he asks. His jeans tighten even more when your tongue comes out to collect the salt from his skin.

“I’ve got a few ideas in mind, but I need you to sit down first.” your cheshire grin gives away your intentions and he gladly listens.

Standing up when he sits down, his eyes stay on the curves of your body. He watches you intently as you polish off your glass like he’d done in the kitchen before setting it down. Your cheeks heat up from the wine and his stare, getting his full attention like this always makes you bold.

You run your hands over all his favorite dips, the softness of your hips, finger tips catching the hem of his old shirt you’d thrown on lazily after your shower together this morning, teasing just a peek of the skin underneath. Leaning his head back against the cushions of the couch, you enjoy the way he greedily drinks you in.

“This looks an awful lot like teasing me honey.” There’s a playful edge to his voice despite how hungry he looks.

Giggling when you drop to your knees, it only makes his smile grow, pearly whites showing through his pink lips.

“I promise, that’s not my intention. Mr Harrington.” Practically purring his last name, his eyes roll in the back of his head at the sound of it. A low groan rumbling out of his chest when your hands start to wander up his legs, squeezing the muscles of his thighs under the layer of denim in your way. You needed it gone.

The bulge in his pants is intimidating when your fingers brush against the zipper, a low hiss slipping out from between his clenched teeth.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” you look up at him from under your lashes as you find the button of his jeans. Nodding, his pupils take over any color left in his eyes when you pop it open with ease.

“Need it baby.” He sighs when you start working at the zipper, lifting his hips for you so his pants pool at his ankles.

You’re more than happy to find he’s opted out of underwear when his cock springs free smacking hard against the dark happy trail covering his stomach. Precum already leaks from its pretty pink tip and it kicks up when the heat of your breath fans over the sensitive skin. You’ll never get over how big he is, always challenging yourself to take him deeper than the last time even if it left your throat bruised in the process.

The carpet is rough against your knees as you scoot closer, wasting no time to take him in your hands. Your fingers are barely able to wrap around the girth of him as you lick a long flat stripe up the underside. The tip of your tongue tracing the large vein protruding and it makes him exhale a loud breath you didn’t know he was even holding.

“Shit, honey.”

You do it again with a little more mess, spit coating your lips before sucking gently at his sensitive head to collect whatever he already has for you with a greedy tongue. His long fingers find their way into your hair when you take him halfway into the heat of your mouth, humming against him when he starts gently scratching at your scalp.

“S’good for me. Look at you, so pretty like this.”

His praise goes straight between your legs, as you hollow out your cheeks. Spurring you on with his words you try and open up more of your throat for him pumping whatever you couldn’t fit with your hand until you could.

Your nose brushes against the dark patch of hair that frames the base of him when you finally hit your limit. His moan vibrating off the walls echoing through the empty house as you take him deeper than you ever had before.

“God, just like that angel. Taking me so good. Like you were made for this. Made for me.”

You can feel the intensity of his stare, he loves watching you like this. Head bobbing up and down with tears prickling the corners of your eyes that keep looking up at him searching for more. Your tongue swirls around his length in a way that makes him lose his mind while his fingers stay gentle, continuing to play with your hair. His voice is thick with want whispering praises that make you feel special on your knees for him.

The outline of his cock moving inside your throat has him twitching, saliva dripping onto your hand that keeps stroking him while the other starts massaging his heavy balls. His toes curl into the carpet when you somehow fit the rest of him in your mouth, your nose hitting the warm skin of his stomach.

“Fuck! honey, I’m gonna cum, holy shit.” He tugs at your hair signaling to meet his eyes as he starts thrusting up, gagging you just enough to make you restrict around him in a way that has him shooting hot down your throat.

His jaw goes slack, brows pinching together while he holds you right where he wants you, forgetting his gentle nature as his orgasm washes away the stress of his day.

You swallow everything he gives you, making sure to suck him clean as you slowly start releasing him from the confines of your mouth. He shudders with a bob of his Adam's apple when your lips let him go with a loud pop, tears staining your cheeks with a proud smirk. He needed a picture of you like this.

-read more is a bitch line-

———————————-

[desideriumwriter]

Anyone But You | Chapter 8

Chapter Summary - Reader makes friends, witnesses the twins failed attempt of putting their names in the goblet, and ends up in a pantry with Fred.

Pairing - Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Category - enemies to lovers

Word Count - 2.0k

Series Masterlist | F.W Masterlist | Previous | Next | Navi

The days had been going by quickly into your sixth year. The cold fall weather had snuck in and things were going smoother than you expected. 

You’d become good friends with Katie and Angelina (though you wanted to gag whenever she started talking about the twins,), Cedric wasn’t constantly ditching you to chase after Cho, and that bloody cast on your arm was finally gone.

Yesterday the other schools had arrived before the Welcoming Feast. All the boys had their eyes locked on the blue uniformed Beauxbatons girls, while the girls swooned over the Durmstrang boys.

It was Halloween on a Saturday, you would’ve been sleeping in late, but you and Katie promised to go with Angelina to put her name in the Goblet. 

There were already a good amount of people wandering around the Great Hall by the time you got down there, some eating breakfast and some chatting. Katie and you stood back as Angelina dropped her name in, giving her little cheers and applauds as she grinned.

Afterwards, you all went up to the end of the table where most were sitting. Katie asked if anyone had put their names in yet.

“Apparently most of the Durmstrang boys, I’ve only seen one person from here do it, and it was some bloke from Slytherin.” Dean told the table, getting reactions of disgust.

“Well, Angelina just put her name in!” You added in. Everyone turned to look at the chaser.

“Really?” Ron said, an impressed look on his face. 

“Mhm!” Angelina gave a nervous smile, “I just turned seventeen last week.” The group cheered and swiveled in their seats.

"I'm so glad someone from Gryffindor's entering," Hermione looked up, "I really hope you get it, Angelina!" She gave a genuine smile.

Laughter emerged from the entrance of the hall. You turned to see the twins running in, each of them holding up a small potion.

“We’ve done it!” George exclaimed.

“Cooked it up just now!” Fred added on.

“A aging potion!-“

“Just to get us a few months older!”

They high fived students in the crowd that was beginning to assemble around them. Cheering and praising the ginger boys.

They hopped up onto a wooden bench together, shaking up their potions and linked arms.

“Ready Fred?”

“Ready George!” 

“Bottoms up!” They said in unison, popping the corks off the small glass tubes and knocking the liquid back into their mouths.

The room was silent as the boys jumped over the line. You were shocked that it actually worked, so was Hermione, and everyone else in the room. There was a few seconds of complete silence before applause started.

It was silent again as everyone watched them take their pieces of parchment out, carefully dropping them into the blue flames. The room began to cheer and applaud, the twins high fived each other, letting out yells of triumph until it was turned to yells of fear once they were suddenly catapulted away from the Goblet.

They both flew right over the crowd surrounding them and landed ten feet away onto the stone floor. They groaned in pain as they sat up. 

Long white hair and beards sprouted from their faces, they both touched their heads and looked at each other in shock.

“You said!” Fred began.

“You said!” George pointed at his brother, then tackled him, knocking him back down to the ground.

“Yeah, you want a piece of me?” George shouted as they began to roll around wrestling on the floor.

This immediately got another crowd around them, kids began to laugh and chant for them to fight.

“Get off! Or I’ll tear your ears off!” Fred grunted.

You couldn’t hold in your laughter at their childishness and continuous insults being thrown at each other. Eventually, you joined in on the chanting encouraging them to continue on fighting.

⋆⋆⋆

“Dragons?” You retorted a bit too loudly. Cedric's eyes went wide like yours, shushing you.

The both of you weren’t supposed to be outside your common rooms. It was nearing midnight and you would’ve never come out this late, but Cedric had sent you an owl, his message looked frantically scribbled down.

Now you stood with him in the kitchen corridors, right outside the Hufflepuff common room entrance.

“Yeah. They’ve got one for each person.”

“What? I don’t- How do you know? They said they wouldn’t tell what the first task was?” You stammered.

“Harry told me, he saw them. The task is to get past them somehow. That’s all I know.” Cedric sighed, running a hair through his hair.

“Cedric, the first task is tomorrow evening!” He shushed you again when your voice echoed throughout the empty corridor. You muttered a small apology and then rubbed your face with your hands.

“Can’t you back out?” They can’t force you to go through with this, right?” You already knew the answer, there was no turning back once your name was chosen, but you didn’t like the idea of your bestfriend going head to head with a dragon.

“What?” He breathed out, “I’m not going to quit! Do you realize how’d that make me look when half of the school is rooting for me?”

“It’d save your life!” You remarked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’d look like a coward!” He gawked out. “Listen, I’m sure there will be…precautions so no serious harm is done.” He regained his composure and sighed once again. “Surely they’ll let us use magic, they didn’t weigh our wands for nothing.

“Yeah, but I really don’t like this…” You muttered, staring at your slippers. “It’s dangerous and..what if something goes wrong?” You said hastily, Cedric put a hand on your shoulder, getting you to bring your eyes back to his.

“I’ll be fine, now you go get back to your dorm before Filch comes around.” He let out a breathy laugh, patting you on the shoulder. “Get some sleep, alright?”

“You too, big day tomorrow.” You smiled, both turning to get back to your dorms.

You were quiet as you snuck through the kitchen corridor, casting lumos and using your wand as a dim flashlight. You continued to replay the conversation in your head, you didn’t understand how Cedric could be so calm about it.

“Dragons..” You mumbled to yourself, shuddering at the thought of being face to face with one.

“Sounds like nasty business.” A muffled voice came from the side of you, you pointed your wand to see him sitting on one of the tables, a small plate of scones sat next to him, a half eaten one in his hand.

You let out more of a sigh than a breath of relief at the sight of him. Why is he everywhere?

“The beard’s gone.” You mindlessly stated, looking at his bare face. This is the first time you’ve seen him since he got sent to the hospital wing for a little while after his potion backfired.

“Yep, I've been shaved clean.” Fred said as he took a bite of the scone, “Decided to get myself a celebratory midnight snack.” He raised it up in the air proudly. “Take one for yourself!” He said, picking one off the plate and tossing it to you. Instead of being able to catch it, the pastry hit a very messy and unsteady stack of metal bowls on the counter behind you, causing them to come crashing down.

This just caused a domino effect of bowls falling all over the counter and onto the floor, knocking some plates down as well and causing them to shatter on the floor. The array of loud noises made your eyes flutter with each bang and boom.

Once the 10 second lasting chaos was over, you covered your mouth with both of your hands in shock, turning to Fred with wide eyes. His jaw had dropped too, but you could see the way the ends of his mouth began to curve upwards, this only boiled your blood. 

You were going to tell him off for being the most childish, reckless, dumbass boy you’ve ever-

“Who’s there?” The raspy voice of Filch called out from further down, your head whipped to the direction you could hear the quick patter of footsteps coming towards you.

Soon enough Fred’s hands were grabbing onto your arms, pulling you into a pantry, saying a quick spell that restacked all the bowls and fixed the broken plates, then shut the door. 

The pantry was incredibly small. Fred and you stood facing towards each other, you could still see very faintly his face in dark space, your chests were nearly touching as the both of you breathed heavily. It felt strange, it wasn’t a bad strange. It was just…strange.

“Your cast's gone.” He whispered, his hand was still holding yours. You weren’t holding his, nor were you paying attention to what he was saying, too focused on the thought of getting caught by Filch.

His hold on your hand was loose, it was gentle. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over the back of your hand, he did it so smoothly, so sweetly, it felt almost soothing. But, you’d never admit that.

“You’ve got really soft skin.” He thought out loud, it took you a second to actually realize what he just said.

“What?” You stared at him, a door slammed open in the kitchen before Fred could say anything, he just put a finger over his lips, signaling you to shush.

You both waited and watched as a small slit of warm light passed through the doors cracks. Filch muttered something about ghosts then left, listening as the old lantern he always carried swung as he walked off.

You let out a breath of relief once any sign of him was gone. 

“I’m always saving you from some trouble.” Fred broke the silence, you hated how you could still see that cocky grin on his face. 

“You’re always getting me in it.” You seethed, ripping your hand out of his grasp and pushing out the door. Fred followed.

“How is it my fault? I’m not the reason you’re down here in the first place.”

True. But if he was able to not be the loudest and cause messes everywhere he went maybe you would’ve never been nearly caught.

“What’d you come down here for anyways?” Fred questioned as he leaned against the wooden table he was originally on. You were a bit hesitant to answer, hoping you wouldn’t make anything look suspicious between Cedric and you.

“Cedric needed to talk to me.” You shrugged, not missing how Fred's face twisted at Cedric being mentioned. You narrowed your eyes at his reaction.

“Oh come on, he’s not all that bad. You’re just still sour about losing to him in last year's match.” You let out an amused laugh, you were just teasing him, giving him a taste of his own medicine. But when Fred scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, it seemed as if he was still hung up on that.

Was he really?

“You’re not…” You began to grin in disbelief, “You’re still mad about that?” Fred tried to mutter out a ‘no’ in response but you just chuckled at it.

“He offered a rematch! Practically begged for one! You know that!” You gawked at him, you knew Fred wasn’t actually upset at Cedric, he was upset that Gryffindor lost cause Cedric grabbed the snitch that time.

“Yeah I know…whatever, what’s little loverboy Cedric got you down here at this time of night for?” You rolled your eyes at the nickname.

“None of your business.” You copied his pose, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Was he telling you about the dragons?” He smirked, your face dropped, now looking at him in shock.

“How did you…” You trailed off, he did hear you mumbling originally, maybe he just connected the dots. Maybe he was listening in on your conversation with Cedric. Maybe-

“You’re not very good at whispering.” He said with a blank face. You closed your eyes and let out a heavy breath, drowning in embarrassment.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’ve known for weeks.” Your eyes shot open, you looked straight at him. Fred already knew what you were about to ask, your baffled expression already said enough.

“How?”

“You think they can bring giant fire breathing creatures here and expect George and me not to find out? Especially when they had my older brother bring them here?”

tell me what you thought! or ask tba to the taglist for this series! <3

TAGLIST: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @five-seconds-flat @nal-leo-17 @rhunew @albertdabuttler @weak-aesthetic @whotfskai @m00nymarauder @miaandthediamonds @hpstuff244444 @tarzanathetumblingwarrior @isabellavolere @navs-bhat @honeybee240

[pluckyredhead]

The past few days I've been thinking a lot about the General Slocum disaster.

It's a mostly forgotten story now, but the General Slocum was a passenger steamboat that was used for excursion trips around New York during the turn of the 20th century. In 1904 it caught on fire and sank in the East River, and over a thousand people died (there were less than 1400 aboard to begin with). Most of them were women and children. They were on a church-sponsored picnic outing.

From top to bottom, the story of the General Slocum is about corporate greed, and corruption, and incompetence:

The fire was probably started by a match or cigarette (!) in the Lamp Room, which was full of straw, oily rags, and lamp oil (!).

A child told the captain that the ship was on fire, but the captain ignored him. The crew didn't properly inform the captain of the fire until ten minutes later.

The captain inexplicably made for North Brother Island, even though other islands were closer. Steering directly into headwinds spread the fire faster.

The crew hadn't practiced a fire drill in the past year.

None of the safety equipment on the ship worked, because the steamboat company found it cheaper to pay off safety inspectors than to keep their ships up to code.

There was a hose on board, but it was so old and rotten that it burst when the crew tried to hook it up. The crew then gave up trying to put out the fire or help anyone and abandoned ship.

The lifeboats were wired to the deck, and the wires had then been painted over, rather than removing the lifeboats each time the ship got a fresh coat of paint, so it they were impossible to lower.

The life preservers were filled with cork. They were supposed to weigh a certain amount, so the manufacturer had put lead bars in some of them to make weight.

Others were so old that the cork inside had disintegrated into powder. Solid cork floats. Powdered cork sinks.

That meant that some of the mothers who survived described putting life preservers on their babies and throwing them into the river to escape the flames, and watching them sink.

Very few people could swim at the time, and everyone was wearing the heavy wool clothing of the period. Hundreds of people drowned.

The disaster decimated the immigrant community of Little Germany on the Lower East Side, where most of the deceased were from. Fathers who hadn't been able to attend the picnic because they were working got home to find their wives and children were all dead. Dozens of bodies were either never found, or found but never identified.

Though multiple safety inspectors and employees of the steamboat company were indicted, only the captain - who very much became the scapegoat for the whole thing - was convicted. The steamboat company paid a nominal fine. The one silver lining was that state and federal safety regulations were strengthened in the aftermath.

Like I said at the beginning, this story is mostly forgotten. A lot of historians credit that to the Titanic upstaging it just a few years later. Adella Wotherspoon, who survived the General Slocum as a baby and lived until 2004 (!), said she knew why: "The Slocum people were very poor or middle class. They were often German immigrants. The Titanic and other ships had celebrities."

I don't really have a moral to this story, except that safety regulations matter, ships full of immigrants are just as important as ships full of rich people, and humans have pretty much always been the same, as far as I can tell.

(If you want to know more, I highly recommend Ship Ablaze: The Tragedy of the Steamboat General Slocum by Edward T. O'Donnell, the excellent Wikipedia page, and the Bowery Boys podcast episode on the disaster.)

[jmscornerlibrary]

Snape's Search History - Part 2

Hello! Slightly shorter, but slowly crawling forward. I'm writing a book of my own which requires quite a lot of time and creative inspiration, so that's taking priority... anyway, enjoy!

Featuring: our favourite grumpy bat-boy and Minerva's I'm too old for this attitude.

Tags are at the bottom - if I've missed anyone, I do apologise.

***

Minerva McGonagall rapped sharply on the Potions classroom door and entered without waiting for a reply. She half expected something short of a calamity - perhaps the desks all scorched into remains beyond recognition, an infestation of some sort, chaos in the form of the furniture being stuck to the ceiling or anything else which would claim “round-way-wrong” - and Severus’ face contorted and twitching as he muttered dark things under his breath, but no. She was most mistaken.

Snape stood in the middle of his classroom, his arms folded, one hand propped beneath his chin as he stared blankly at his chalkboard, his face quite placid, even serene, as he stood deep in thought.

Minerva paused, feeling an odd pang of unrest in her chest at this strange change, for he was hardly in such a state and something must have been certainly very wrong. She followed the line his eyes made to the blackboard, saw nothing which could be the subject of such intense evaluation, so she merely looked back and forth between him and the wall a few times before clearing her throat.

His eyes flicked towards her, but the rest of his position remained stagnant.

Minerva didn’t say anything; neither did he. After a few moments, she looked past him, walked a few steps into the room, then turned around to look at the walls for any sort of unobvious differences that could have brought on this change of facade. Snape let out a dry chuckle. 

“Nothing has changed since you were last here, Minerva.”

She turned to look at him.

“Then I don’t understand.”

Snape nodded thoughtfully. 

“Me neither,” was the reply, before he marched up to his blackboard, turned on his heel, stood still, then began to evaluate the desks in the same position as before. This was enough for her to become slightly unnerved and her eyebrows to climb up to the highest ring on her forehead as she watched him. Still, the silence dragged on long before she formulated a question of any sort and that was only after the Potions Master got down on his knees and began to look under the desks as though he had previously misplaced a cork of a bottle, looking rather silly.

“What are you doing?” she said flatly, tilting her head to peruse him.

“Investigating,” he replied calmly from under the desk, looking up at the underbelly of the furniture.

“Investigating.” Minerva nodded, though she was everything but enlightened. “And what on could you be investigating under the desks, on the floor?”

Snape banged the back of his head on the desk-edge as he emerged from beneath it, cursed viciously, then this alien demeanour he had borrowed for a moment shattered and dissolved into his standard one. The dark scowl looked so normal back on its master’s face that Minerva’s chest loosened a little.

Snape drew out his wand. After a moment, in which more investigation and observance occurred, his scowl deepened and suddenly lunged and struck the front desk with it.

“Revellio.”

Nothing happened. Minerva watched him, po-faced. Snape repeated the gesture.

“Revellio!”

Not a peep. He growled, then pointed his wand at the ceiling.

“Revellio!” The wand was pointed at his blackboard. “Revellio!” The tip was directed at his desk, at the floor, at the back of the classroom, at the door of his store cupboard.

“Revellio! Revellio! REVELLIO-!”

“Severus, please,” McGonagall said, approaching him as he scowled and his eyes darted around the classroom. “This verges on nonsensical. There is nothing here.”

“That’s the problem!” Severus snarled, his knuckles white on the black of his wand. “This makes no sense whatsoever! Confounded brats… This is idiocy!”

“What is?” 

“This innocence… this consideration!” 

The last word was spat out like something vile. Minerva’s eyebrows dropped down and she looked completely exasperated.

“Consideration? Severus, what precisely is going on?”

“I don’t know!”

Minerva’s hands stiffened as she grew impatient. 

“Can you please calm yourself down and tell me what brought on this… this whole examination?” she said. “I would be very grateful. This hysteria is quite past what is expected of both of us. Put your wand away, Severus.”

Snape seemed to regain himself as she spoke. He straightened, breathed out a long sigh through his nostrils, arrested the fire snapping in his eyes, then slowly fed his wand back into his sleeve and drew his cloak tight about him. 

“Your pupils, Minerva,” he began in his low voice, looking much displeased, “have been behaving in a very strange manner today.”

McGonagall watched him, remembering the giggling trio she had passed on the corridor and their strange mood.

 “You mean Potter, Weasley, and Miss Granger?”

“Indeed,” he spat, then grimaced disdainfully at the front desk which had been occupied by the unwelcome trio a few moments before, before looking back up at her. “Well? Are you surprised?”

“No,” she replied immediately, glancing at the desk too, then paused. “Have they been causing trouble?”

Snape’s face stretched into a very dry smile.

“Trouble?” He scoffed, then grew solemn again. “Why, yes. Well, no. In fact… ah, confound and bebother those varmints-!”

Minerva had pursed her lips. “Severus-”

“Yes!” He clenched his fists and stormed towards his desk. “Yes, they have been causing trouble! They have undoubtedly been causing trouble, otherwise Potter wouldn’t have had an accursed aureole shining around his head for the entire lesson!”

At this, McGonagall frowned, but Snape wasn’t done.

“Weasley, too!” He fell into his chair then sat up, rigid with passion, his fingers digging into the wooden armrests. “Not a single word out of his mouth during the entire lesson! He usually doesn’t shut up, his mouth works like a watermill! And this time, silence!”

“One moment.” McGonagall was close to pinching the bridge of her nose. “You mean to say-”

“And Granger,” Snape cut her off, snapping, his fingernails making scratch-marks in the wooden armrests as his fists clenched. “I’ve never seen her so pleasant in the entire time she’s been here. Didn’t put her hand up once! Her head was down, she did the work without a word and not a bullet of the usual know-it-all piffle left her mouth!”

His form loosened and he fell backwards against the back-rest, his hand dangling over his face as he worked rest into his face muscles and the creases around his eyes with his fingers. McGonagall watched him with pursed lips, feeling it wouldn’t be wise to interject until he finished with his mental breakdown.

“And that’s not all,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “The homework they handed in today is twice the length I asked for. And I mean twice the length. The spaces between words and the size of their handwriting wasn’t different from their standard lettering.”

“I fail to understand why that calls to get so worked up,” Minerva said carefully. “Surely, you don’t find this irritating?”

“And it’s top standard,” the wrecked Potions Master continued, his voice almost breaking. “It was concise and intelligently written. Into the bargain, all three pieces of work were different. The pair of idiots clearly didn’t copy off Granger this time. It seems they have put effort into those rolls of parchment like never before. I dread to think what it is they have done to act in this manner.”

Minerva shook her head as she watched the black bat sprawled out on his wooden chair. He saw her scrutiny and growled.

“You weren’t here, Minerva - I have very good reason for suspecting nothing but trouble. Potter didn’t talk back to me once. He claimed blame, even if it was unjustified.”

At this, Minerva frowned. “Harry Potter?”

“What other Potter is there?”

Minerva, this time, did pinch the bridge of her nose and both adults stood there feeling quite shaken. The former regained herself first.

“Let me sum this up,” she said. “You are completely and utterly indisposed because Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were well-behaved for the entirety of your lesson.”

“I am completely and utterly indisposed,” Snape repeated with disdain and through clenched teeth, “because they have clearly done something, or are about to do something, which must have stirred enough remorse within their hollow little souls to not place a toe out of line for the entirety of my lesson. Not to mention this.”

He leaned forward and grasped something, then offered it to Minerva. She stepped forward and squinted at the object; it was an empty glass vial, with a square label which read: headache draught.

She glanced up at him as she took it in her fingers. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“This appeared upon my desk when my back was turned.”

“And you think they placed this on your desk?”

“No,” Snape said after some thought. “This is something far darker than both of us think.”

Minerva looked at him over the rim of her spectacles.

“This empty vial?” she said flatly.

“It was full when I first beheld it.”

“And what happened to its contents?”

“I poured it down the sink.”

Minerva paused.

“Why?”

Snape rubbed his face and stood up, looking fixated. “It was very cleverly disguised. It smelled exactly like what it claims to be.”

He began to pace. Minerva placed the sinister, empty vial back on his desk and folded her arms, looking down her nose at him as though he was an adolescent hissing about overblown drama which had happened upon the corridors and had tarnished his reputation into disrepair. Not that she hadn’t seen that before. 

“There can only be one explanation for this,” he finished, standing still. “It has to be.”

“Which is?”

He turned and met her eyes with his obstinate, dark gaze.

“Someone is trying to exact their vengeance upon me.”

Minerva said nothing, her face betrayed nothing.

“It wouldn’t be the first time it happened,” he muttered. “I’m not taking any risk. I don’t have a very tolerant stomach…”

Minerva began to shake her head. “Severus.”

“...headache draught indeed.” He scoffed. “The only question is: who? And why? I am beginning to doubt that Potter wasn’t involved in it, though perhaps he wasn’t acting of his own accord. Our favourite trio wouldn’t even know that they were under the Imperius curse-”

“Severus.”

He turned to her impatiently, then shut his mouth under the impact of her gaze.

“Has it not occurred to you,” Minerva began patiently, “that instead of poisoning or attempting to murder you, someone could be simply trying to help you out?”

Snape looked at her incredulously, then burst out laughing. It was his usual harsh, grating laugh, which was emitted more to mock than to express amusement. It bounced off the classroom walls like hailstone.

“Of course,” he chortled. “That would make sense. Let’s be nice to the irritable wretch of a teacher who resides solely in the dungeons of the castle.”

“I’m sorry you struggle to understand the concept of compassion,” Minerva said, rolling her eyes and moving towards the exit. “Perhaps you ought to take this as a sign, Severus, and with it this concept into consideration.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, then placed the base of his palms to his temples and moved to sit in his chair as he grimaced. “There is no such thing as compassion. If there is, it is very hard to find, and simply non-existent in these particular corridors, between these particular individuals.”

Minerva didn’t see the sense in trying to convince him otherwise. Instead, she simply looked at him pointedly as he grasped his head and shut his eyes to try and contain his headache. 

“Stop spearing me,” he muttered, sighing. “I’ve not forgotten what brats are capable of. I was one too. It’s certainly nothing but chaos and infidelity. I’m not stupid.”

“No. You are stubborn,” she replied, shaking her head, “and prone to jumping to very unfavourable conclusions. Now that you poured that draught down the drain, why don’t you make yourself another? Lessons resume in fifteen minutes.”

Snape groaned and muttered some dark words, followed by a very low: “I will manage.”

“As you like,” McGonagall replied in a tone which seemed to highlight her claim about how stubborn Snape was. “I will see you at lunch, Severus. Don’t get yourself too worked up, now.”

He didn’t answer; Minerva shut the door behind her, taking the rest of the noise and warmth of presence with her. 

Five minutes of silence and dwelling later, Severus Snape rubbed his eyes, opened them, then fixed them onto the glass vial with the ‘headache draught’ lettering arranged upon the label, apparently nothing but innocent.

“Help me,” he repeated absentmindedly, then snorted and leaned back in his chair. “Of course the intention was to help me. Because that is what we do when we have a spare moment. We all come together, sit down at a round table and discuss how to make somebody’s life less of a damned hellscape over a light cup of coffee.”

Snape’s rigid posture broke as the sneer ebbed off his face. His eyes flicked around at the walls of his empty classroom, then to the pale skin of his hands which hadn’t held another for over two decades. He thought of the bleak and empty days the future promised him, feeling something horrible, hard and gooey congealing in his chest. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

“Silence!” Snape commanded nobody in particular, feeling his voice begin to crack as it echoed around the classroom.

He put his face in his hands, pressing them to his facial features to keep them in stone, but they creased into something embarrassing and despairing anyway.

“Silence…” he repeated, but with his voice hoarse and thick. “Very well. Fine. Let it be so.”

He regained himself, then fixed his face into the window, making a sharp move to smear any stray tears away, then folded his hands tight and pressed them to his lips. Still, the red rimming his eyes, cheeks and nose gave him away, though his face was cold and disinterested as marble.

His voice was a mere whisper, though the boggart hiding under the sink heard it and obeyed:

“Let it be silent.”

***

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