#hop fic archive

[sarge-barnes-sir]

“Get on the desk for me-keep your legs open,” Hopper said, a wry grin lifting the corner of his mouth. “It’s lunch, and I haven’t eaten a damn thing yet…”

i- s-si-sir??? SIR?????????

also not this gif SSKSKSKA i fucking hate this gif so much bc it just reminds me how i can never sit on/ride those juicylicious thighs 🥹🥹🥹

Jim Hopper x Reader • EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI • Includes: oral (f receiving) squirting, piss, multiple orgasms, office sex

Hopper guided you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist, cock straining against his pants. The khaki fabric did little to conceal Hopper’s erection beneath it. You rubbed your bare cunt against the outline of his cock, spreading your slick lips over Hopper’s shaft. A shiver ran through you as your clit nudged one of the more prominent veins along Hopper’s dick. He hummed deeply at the sound you made, a cute little gasp that left your lips and went straight to his balls.

“You tryin’ to make me come in my pants?” Hopper drawled. “Keep makin’ those pretty little sounds, and I might have to.”

It was partially a joke, and partially true. Hopper could tell he was close; it had been a few days since he’d had the time or energy to relieve himself. This morning had been particularly stressful, and now that Hopper had some time to himself, he was using it just how he liked: by using you, his naive, lovestruck little secretary, in his office over lunch…

Hopper bucked his knees, bouncing you. Another pretty little whimper squeaked out of you; Hopper grinned at your response. He enjoyed the way you were absolutely obsessed with him, how completely vulnerable you were in his presence. Your infatuation had been obvious since you began working at the station.

Your fingers tugged Hopper’s uniform, clinging to his shirt as you rutted on top of him. The smell of your cunt was everywhere; you were dripping for him, making a mess of his pants that would surely require him to change afterwards. Hopper didn’t mind a little mess, though. He’d told you as much many times before. It gave you the freedom to be as unrestrained as you needed, knowing that whatever the two of you left behind on his clothes, desk or floor, Hopper would take care of cleaning it up before anyone saw.

You buried your nose in the collar of his shirt as you humped the outline of his cock, moaning when it pulsed between your legs. “Hey sweetheart?” Hopper grunted, his voice breathy and low.

“Mm-hmm?” you whimpered into his neck.

“Do somethin’ for me?” Hopper murmured. You parted your lips over his neck, tasting his skin, inhaling the scent of tobacco and musk imbued in his collar. “Anything,” you panted at Hopper’s ear, your eyes fluttering closed, drunk on the taste of him.

“Get on the desk for me-keep your legs open,” Hopper said, a wry grin lifting the corner of his mouth. “It’s lunch, and I haven’t eaten a damn thing yet…”

He lifted you off his lap and onto the desk, holding your legs apart with his big, calloused hands. You let your head dip over the other side of the desk, your eyes closing in blissful anticipation as you waited for Hopper’s tongue. He lowered his face between your legs, pressing gentle kisses onto your inner thighs. Your hips jerked when Hopper moved his kisses to your center, tugging your labia between his lips and sucking gently. After teasing you a moment longer, Hopper gave you the stimulation you craved. He sank his lips over your clit and sucked, tugging the puffy bud between his lips in a pulsing rhythm. Your eyes flew open, head whipping up from the side of Hopper’s desk. You watched his face moving between your legs, bobbing on your clit as he suckled your most sensitive space.

Every nerve in your body seemed concentrated under the seal of Hopper’s mouth over your cunt. When he dipped his tongue inside you, it sent a jolt through your body so intense, it almost hurt. You clamped a hand over your lips, screaming into your palm as Hopper made you come, hard. It wasn’t a pretty orgasm, but the best ones never are. It was brutal, exquisite, Hopper’s lips torturing your clit beyond the point of climax, till a throbbing ache bloomed between your legs. He forced them further apart, not allowing you to buck away from him. Hopper’s tongue licked at your bullied clit, simultaneously soothing and abusing it with further stimulation.

You came again, orgasms consuming you back-to-back. Every ounce of control left your body, and maybe your soul left, too. Because as you gazed between your trembling thighs, all you could do was succumb, allowing Hopper to do with you as he liked, overwhelmed with sensation. He lifted from between your legs, replacing his mouth over you with his hand. Hopper’s chest was heaving, his eyes like lasers fixed on your cunt, sweat lining his tensed forehead as he watched you coming beneath him, pumping his cock in rhythm with his other hand working your clit.

You came a third time, completely at Hopper’s mercy, your hands clamped to the sides of his desk, no longer able or caring to quiet your screams. You lost control of your bladder, spraying a mix of piss and your slippery arousal onto the floor, splashed across his desk by Hopper’s hand working your cunt mercilessly. “Oh fuck,” he groaned in absolute awe as your cum and piss spattered the ground at his feet.

Hopper released your pussy and moved between your legs, aiming his cock at your puffy cunt. He growled as he ejaculated onto you, coating your plump, swollen lips in white. He watched as his cum dripped down your pussy, combined with your release. Piss and cum pooled on the floor at Hopper’s feet, a mess he’d have to clean up, but he didn’t mind. He kept a roll of paper towels in his desk for just this reason. You were still trembling, softly crying as Hopper helped you sit up and then pulled you into his arms.

“…Made a mess,” you quietly observed, your eyes on the floor. Hopper chuckled, stroking your hair at the back of your head. “Nothing that can’t be cleaned up,” he muttered. “Now, give me about fifteen minutes-.” Hopper planted a kiss on your forehead. “And I’ll feed you your lunch too, alright?”

@mrshopper84 @umnitsa

[muffinlance]

Extreme long shot, but looking for a fic I read years ago, that to my knowledge is NOT on AO3 or FF, just on someone's blog or maybe a small hosting site. It's a three(?)-part series.

Stuff I remember: Zhao kills Iroh pre-north-pole; he dies on a beach due to shrapnel, I think. Zuko wanders off in a daze, stays with a nice Earth Kingdom woman for awhile, then embarks on Messing With Zhao's Shit until Zhao catches him. Gaang rescues him (from Pohuai?) after whump.

Zuko leads them back to the Earth Kingdom woman for a safe place to rest, meanwhile Zuko's crew has found her and given her a letter+their location+tell our stupid prince he's not the only one who wants to Mess The Fire Nation's Shit Up. Zuko and the Gaang go to his ship, whose treason against the Fire Nation is already in progress (and they've gotten their families out of the Fire Nation to avoid reprisal, so Jee's wife is there). Katara bonds with the ship healer, who teaches her non-bending healing and is both salty and instructive. Ends incompletely right as Zuko and the Gaang are about to leave the ship.

Those parts of the series are a good read, but I am dying to re-read the part that's an Iroh POV of the royal family, including Ozai's strategic murdering of all of Iroh's children (he had more than Lu Ten in this AU), and Iroh's extremely chilling "maybe I should do the same to his" thoughts until baby Zuko wins him over. It is PEAK disfunctional Fire Family.

I thought I bookmarked this somewhere, but I can't for the life of me find it. Plz send help.

EDIT: FIC FOUND! See the reblog chain for the link, it's in the second post.

EDIT EDIT: This is. Even better than I remembered. My heart hurts, ow. <3

[rinn-e]

self-care is keeping screenshots of your favorite ao3 comments on your phone and re-reading them now and then 🥺

[wistyxx]

Pokefics woop woop

Dumping the Pokemon fics I've finished so far here toooooo. Idk man Pokemon isn't even my main fandom but it's the easiest for me to finish fics for so all my pieces that are closest to being finished are pretty much all Pokemon related (￣_,￣ )

Maybe Since Forever is Hop x Gloria (my main ship is Bede x Gloria tbh but the fic I'm writing with them is taking me longer lol)

Through Melting Snow is Grusha x Juliana

[voltstone]

pigeon / wrecker

(yet another) JORI SERIES RETELLING

That regret of mine to not kiss her, again, was really when it sank in: Jade may be the one who talks through her scissors, but I go about my relationships like I’ve got a sledgehammer. I don’t know if I just learned from the best, or if I did get tired of being this doll-faced girl who doesn’t have a set of scales underneath the porcelain. I just really, really wanted to wreck something. One relationship specifically, all to scavenge the debris for myself. Turns out? I’m not a good person. [. . .] Next time there was a chance, I wouldn’t hesitate. And I didn’t. I went about her like I had that sledgehammer.

(Loving Jade meant competing against another person was a losing game, and competing for the chance to be bigger than what they were was an uphill battle.)

— — — — —

or basically i want to finish writing the toxic story about the toxic ship that found me again (and is the reason why i'm writing fics at all). so um. yeah. this project is technically eight years old… shut up.

don't look at me. or do. here's the "first chapter". or go find on ao3, ff.net, wattpad. i dunno.

(no but honestly, hope you enjoy! i've wanted to write this thing for a long, long while now, but it seems i had to get better in my writing for it to happen.)

:)

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

BIRDSEED | 0

This started in a million different ways, and I’m dreading how all this will end, but here we go.

It might’ve been the coffee I tried desperately to rub off of Beck, only to make it so, so much worse, and then the coffee after because she honestly saw me as a dog, I guess. Or the next day, when I did knot that whole entanglement together tight, and there was no undoing it, but the look on her face was worth flaying any good girl image I had.

Could’ve been the first time I got it right, and I passed something just to prove myself. The Bird Scene, though I wonder if it had been the chewing out Sikowitz part that got her attention.

The hundred little comments throughout the weeks, then the thousands between those when we’d just pass each other by…

It’s easier to say it started the first time she knocked on my door, and her eyes were scheming, and that smile she wore grew wide. It wasn’t gentle, or genuine. Nothing about her was. She just never bothered for anything better.

“I’ll mug you.”

So when you have someone like this say something like that, every nerve gets shot, the next few hours are a grueling crawl to figure out just what that glint in her eye is getting at, and that smile…twitches in the back of your mind.

Speaking from experience. Of course.

She came and went, though. Nothing happened. 

Then I didn’t hit Jade with a cane the next day. And if that honestly doesn’t sum up everything about her and me, I don’t know what does.

— — —

“I don’t get it.”

. .

“I know André told you that I faked everything.”

. .

We were standing in what was supposed to be, was theoretically, the Blackbox Theater, except it was hardly a black box and was instead the aftermath of someone taking a little too much inspiration from Sinjin’s locker. I also wasn’t wearing my best. They were less clothes and more rags, and it said too much that I didn’t care how Jade West of all people was there, watching me, with sludge over my shoulder and plastered on the wall. All the walls. And floor. …and ceiling too.

“Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

Great question. It was, honestly.

For once it had nothing to do with me being this pushover. I was done with going around the same routine. Each week had something new. So I came up with something else. An idea. And it was born the night before, and conceived from André flagging me down between class:

I would back Jade into a corner. She had a reason at first, and it was a valid one. I did kiss her boyfriend, even if it was for the iced coffee over my head. But I would back her into a corner, because I had enough, and I would give Jade every last reason to not give me her cut of hell. She would run out of reasons. She’d be stranded to fumble for her own. Run out of energy. Lose her voice.

This wasn’t being nice. I knew her game, and I knew how to end it.

“You took detention, and a lower grade, and you’re scraping crusty pudding off the wall on a Friday night just so that I won’t get in trouble?”

“Pretty much.”

A little too well, because I backed her into that corner with this one disgusting room. Which also had a security guard—Derek, since I had anger issues, apparently.

“Well y— You can’t be nice to me when I’ve been mean to you! That’s not how it works!”

I looked at her, heard the insistence in her voice—a near-desperation. Because her world had its rules, a logic, and it was very corporate, because Jade would do wonders in the family business. She operated on one equation: one input, then get its output; another input doesn’t mean the same output; the same input doesn’t mean another output.

Except when it came to me. And so I pissed Jade off. Confused her. Because I don’t see the numbers. I don’t read a black and white world in statistics.

I retorted to her a truth of mine, how tired I was:

“Well then try and be nice to me some time. Maybe that’ll work.” And then I turned around, dismissed her, to go and scrape off this onion puss from the wall.

Just as I felt my thoughts slog back to how long this was going to take…, I heard her. Scraping some other puss, off the catwalk pillar. Shock plastered a partial grin across my face, and in return, I got this…smile carved beneath narrowed eyes. I imagined it was the same kind of thing a crocodile would pull off. Which got me weary, because crocodiles preen before they sink beneath the surface, and they roll to maul. I didn’t know if Jade was above that.

She isn’t. For the record.

“This…might be more fun with some tunes.”

I didn’t realize what was brewing in her eyes. Believing in her stumble for the music—rag over her shoulder, bucket at hand—, it was a mistake of mine. She then smiled and turned to Derek, proclaimed that this was now fun, and he should join. Which was a mistake of his.

Jade schemed again. Off the cuff, she duped one to rip away the other.

Not a minute later, before the song finished, we were gone from the Blackbox Theater, and we left the security guard too stunned to follow.

She dropped the smile. Her eyes were serrated, and I walked carefully at Jade’s heel. She worked her jaw. 

“There. Happy?”

I gave you an inch. Now don’t turn it into a mile…

I stopped listening. I read her eyes instead.

They were such a cold, lukewarm, brazen green that day.

. .

This whole thing— This dialogue between us.

It started then. That scheming, and the little things, and all the silent stage directions we were following because it was never in the dialogue.

There is no word for it. The most straightforward thing about Jade and I, it’s in the glances, the promise to keep our mouths locked tight, the corners where nobody can find us…

And the soundless murmurs between us when we kiss, the ones I feel leak down my throat.

I devour her mutely.

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

Ch.2: AO3 | FF | Wattpad

[hopalongfairywren]

the fact that for like 5 whole pages their isn't ONE fic in the hannah tag that actually has her as a major or relevant character and half of those don't have her listed at all. And the ones that do usually have her be a secretary or background character. I just want to find one fic on actual canon hannah. This shit sucks.

[solradguy]

Omg how does Interlude have almost as many views as the actual Begin translation???? That's wild.... Thanks guys haha <3

[inkandpaperqwerty]

Ed gets to find out what an MP3 player is, and he may or may not get a little sucked into the case the BAU team is working... even though he's supposed to be researching ways to get home. Check out Chapter 7 of Through the Gate on AO3, fanfiction.net, and wattpad.

[sarge-barnes-sir]

your honor i need him in my life

dbf!hopper in which your parents ask him to watch you because you twisted your ankle at the pool :( you couldn’t be safer than with the sheriff, but your parents don’t know you two are closer than they think

“it’s absolutely sweltering, how can you still want to cuddle?!”

i’m torn between smutty n fluffy so u choose bae 🫡

Thank you for this my lovely, my love for our one and only Sheriff Hopper is unmatched; Hopper humours your dramatics over a twisted ankle, fluff ensues; 800 words

bambi’s sun kissed summer celly

“Hi, Honey.”

You’re pouting the moment you limp through the police station; you know you are, and it only gets more prominent, your soft little lip pushing further out as Hopper catches a glimpse of your deflated countenance.

You hop your way over to his desk, the door swinging shut behind you, and plant your bum onto the solid wood furniture in front of the older man. Your thighs squish, pushing against the seams of your frayed denim shorts; Jim thinks you’re practically edible.

“How’d you manage that, huh?” He lifts your swollen ankle, resting the heel of your foot against his thick thigh as you whine and halfheartedly explain how you tripped and sprained your ankle at the pool.

“Wasn’t my fault! Tripped ‘cos Hargrove distracted me, fuckin’ shouting.”

“Language.”

You huff and roll your eyes but you don’t curse again. He begins rubbing soothing circles into your calf, squashing the flesh in and then pulling it tight, working his way up your leg until he’s at the pudge of your hip. He squeezes you there, laughs as you prickle and squirm under his heated stare.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

He lifts you with ease, hooking your legs over one of his arms where the other holds you up at the base of your spine. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, what with the chief being your dad’s closest friend; no one ever realises there might be more to your relationship than that.

He deposits you safely in the passenger seat of his car, pausing to pinch your chin and nudge you gently into the centre of the seat.

“Attagirl,” he mumbles, leaning over you to fasten your seatbelt; you don’t bother telling him that you’re capable of doing it yourself. You adore the attention from him.

You’re dozy and content on the ride to Hopper’s cabin despite the throbbing in your ankle. Lolling your head to the side, you gaze at the man next to you with a level of adoration only seen in cringy romance movies.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teases in that deadpan way he jokes; you flush white-hot right down to your toes.

After he parks, you let him lift you back out of the car and snuggle in close; the frayed hem of your cut off t-shirt tickles his arm. If it bothers him he doesn’t say so. You reach up and scratch at his jaw, fingers touching and then spreading out until they’re splayed across his stubbled cheek.

The couch is a welcome comfort; it smells of Jim, feels like him as you sink into it with a happy little grunt. You whine and reach for him when he steps away to toe his heavy boots off, quickly perking back up as he makes his way towards you, towards his permanent dent in the seat cushion.

You knock his hat off of his head with the way you fly across the space between the pair of you and into his lap; he doesn’t even scold you as he usually would. You thank the Lord for your injury. His arms naturally fit around your body and he hikes you up until you’re comfortable cradled in his lap, your hurt leg stretched straight to avoid any unnecessary tension.

“Honey,” he laughs, this deep bellowing sound that pushes his eyes half shut and reveals smile lines mostly hidden from the outside world. “It’s absolutely sweltering, how can you still want to cuddle?”

“Missed you,” you mumble into the fabric of his Sheriff’s uniform. “Need a cuddle.”

He coos something sweet that isn’t quite a word and you make a funny sound somewhere between contentment and a complaint. Your face goes to the juncture of his neck, eyes closed as his hand spreads across the top of your head and locks you tight against him. You go still and limp.

“‘s nice,” you slur, already well on your way to being asleep.

“You fallin’ asleep on me, sweet thing?”

“No,” you mildly protest; you both know it’s a lie. You press a featherlight kiss to his neck, and then another. Jim’s fingers scratch at your scalp the way he knows you like.

“That nice?” he asks.

Your replying snore tickles his neck.

[redflagshipwriter]

Snitches the cat and his favorite bat

I wrote up dpxdc fics based off of prompts I happened to see in the last day to add to the reading pile for anyone who didn't prep for the archive down time today.

EDIT

The idea for Danny as a cat came from @shycorvid, thank you so much for correcting me and letting me play in your sandbox!

Snitches the cat comes from @garbagewith-a-cherryontop (I think??? I couldn't find a definite first post!) but the fantastic linked post is the one with how I think Snitches the cat looks here.

Word count is 1053.

Tumblr reference

masterpost for my AO3 downtime fics

“Ugh- that's not- did we just summon a demon cat?”

“It's so messed up looking. Ew.”

Danny blinked and swayed on his feet. He'd had a tail a minute ago, speeding across the GZ to check in on Walker. There had been an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. And now he was on his feet. All four of them.

Wait, what?

“You fucked this up.”

His ears twitched at the sound of a slap. Danny swiveled towards the sound and then got distracted by the feeling of his ears swiveling back. Whaaaaat?

He looked down at his precious little feeties. They were adorable paws.

“Oh, you motherfuckers,” he said. It came out as a conversational yowl.

The humans looked at him from about ten feet away and five feet up. “Annoying…”

He was pretty sure they were high schoolers. There were five of them, two girls and three boys. They were all bigger than him. High schoolers were usually bigger than he was, but this was just ridiculous.

“Count yourself lucky, dimwits,” one of the older kids said. He took a step towards Danny. Danny pressed his ears flat against his head and hissed at the approach. “If you managed to sacrifice Patches to a demon, your Mom would straight up murder you.” He laughed when he said it, like anything about that was remotely funny.

Uh- what now?

Only now, Danny noticed a very distressed calico cat underneath a laundry basket on the other side of the room. There was a stack of textbooks weighing the basket down. A large rug had been rolled up and- he sneezed rapidly, eyes watering. Chalk! They'd drawn on the floor with chalk!

‘This is some incompetent summoning,’ Danny realized, way too late. ‘Did they- how did they turn me into a cat?’ He looked at his unfortunate brethren under the laundry basket. Her ears were flat against her skull and she looked scared.

He remembered the word “sacrifice” and his blood flushed hit with fury. They'd wanted him to eat her! They'd wanted something to eat miss Patches!

The teenagers froze and looked at him, aghast at the angry sounds that were coming out of his throat.

“Shut up!” One hissed. She took off her shoe and threw it at him. Danny dodged and then threw his head back to yowl even louder. Sonic attack! Aural damage, you big jerks!

“The neighbors are going to- make it shut up!”

Danny had to run, dashing over furniture and tearing his way across a crowded table to avoid being grabbed. He screamed the whole time, eager to alert whoever they were so afraid of. Someone should see!

The window burst in.

Danny stopped running, shocked. He hadn't actually expected-

Someone snatched him up from behind and smacked him on the face with a palm. His jaw exploded with pain. It cut off his yowling.

Stunned. He was still for a moment and then he struggled for his life. The grip on his ribs was way too tight-

He looked over at the sound of a sword being pulled from a sheath. Holy shit, that was bomb as hell. His eyes went wide at the sight of a heavily armored small child crouched on the windowsill. The boy's eyes were covered, but Danny could still see him look at Danny and the poor calico under the laundry basket. He sneered.

“Unhand the cat or lose your hands at the wrist, you wretch.”

Danny loved him.

The teenager dropped him. Danny caught himself with a stumble. He let out a sad mraow before he could stop himself.

Fight club baby was enraged. “What have you done to this animal?” He hopped down into the room, revealing he was at least a foot shorter than the smallest girl in the room.

Danny trotted to him and started winding around his ankles admiringly. What a good kid! He purred.

“I will be taking both of your cats with me. If you ever harm an animal again, it will be your head that is found in a chalk-”

“Robin.” A hugeass grown man squeezed himself through the window that the kid had broken. Danny craned his head up, up, up, to see him case the joint.

The older man radiated incredible judgment. “I see that you require education on animal welfare and demonic summoning. Go on, Robin.”

“That's my Mom's cat!” One of the teenagers protested. “You can't take her!”

Robin growled at her. Danny jumped in his skin at the sound.

“Then we shall return it to your Mother and her alone, when we explain what you've done.” Danny let murder baby scoop him up and purred at full volume. Hell yeah. He looked at the cowering teenagers with condescension.

“Not that fugly thing.”

Danny blinked. He ended up making an inquisitive mraow. Why was a finger being pointed at him? He was baby.

“That thing showed up, you can get rid of it. But Patches is Mom's cat, and you can't steal a cat because-”

“Batman can steal any cat!” Robin bit out, gathered up Patches, and jumped out the window with both cats in an expert grip.

That didn't sound right, but Danny just enjoyed the night air as a line pulled Robin up to where yet another masked vigilante was waiting, cackling himself to tears.

“Batman can steal any cat,” he wheezed. “Brilliant. Good detour, Robin. Can I hold one?” He held out his blue-striped palms expectantly.

He faltered when he saw Danny, visibly surprised.

Danny… was starting to feel bad. He curled into Robin, hurt. He wasn't ugly. Why did people keep reacting to him weird?

“No,” Robin said curtly. “You have damaged his pride, and Patches is still reeling from her shock.”

The man let out a sigh but let the topic go. “That's Patches, and this is…?”

Robin hesitated. “He is the Snitch.”

That unlocked cooing. “Snitches? Snitchy Snitch Sni- ow!”

Danny snapped at the hand that came way too close and he let out a warning growl. No baby talk!

Robin seemed very pleased. He rubbed behind Danny's ears. “Snitch… I suppose that Snitches will suffice. We are taking him home.”

“....Maybe, just for fun, we should take him to get treated for mange first!” The guy made jazz hands to go with his statement.

Robin and Danny both growled that time.

[spectra-bear]

(first comic's coloring was done by my beloved friend @r0b0t1me)

And thus this story comes to a close... Thank you so much to everyone who's been following up since the beginning, and to those who hopped in along the way til the end, and to @apatheticrobots for allowing me to participate in the making of this fic (be sure to drop kudos and a kind comment when reading, and check out more of his other works!!!),

Sal and I have never stopped appreciating the endless support coming from both ends 💜

Alt versions of the comic + t&e fleo ref!

Dont forget to check out the extra snippets that comes along with the main story! A visual of chapter 2 from another perspective~ ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

[sarge-barnes-sir]

i want forehead kissies from him too 🥹

Wisdom Teeth - Jim Hopper

You had to take a holiday day from working at the station to have your wisdom teeth taken out, after putting it off, the pain was horrible so you decided to bite the bullet and get them taken out. They had originally advised that you have someone to look after you for the first 48 hours, you had originally declined stating that you didn't have anyone around Hawkins. When you informed Jim that you would be off, he said he would look after you until you were better, you reluctantly accepted. 

You were sat next to Jim in the dentists office, your hands were shaking, you had a fear of needles so being here seemed like a nightmare. Jim grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze, in an attempt to calm you. You both stayed like that until the dental nurse came and shouted your name, you sighed and stood up, your legs wobbled but Jim put his hands on the bottom of your back to keep you upright. 

"I'll be right here waiting" Jim promised while looking at you. You nodded and hoped he meant it. 

You woke up from the anesthesia, slowly opening your eyes and looking to the side of you and smiling when you see Jim at your bedside reading a gossip magazine, you let out a small laugh which alerted Jim. He smiled at you, placed the magazine down, scooted the chair forward and kissed the back of your hand. 

"How you feeling sweetheart?" Jim asked. "I'm ok" you slured. Jim laughed and kissed your forehead. 

"You're so handsome" you said at him. He offered no response, he let you babble on about how handsome you thought he was, although most of the words came out as slurred, Jim got the message. He had no idea you thought this about him, you two became fast friends when you started working at the station. You had a lot of mutual intrests, although the officers who worked with Jim thought that it was more but you both always insited that it was just a close friendship.

Jim had always hoped that maybe, that the friendship could blossom in to something more but he would never put any pressure on it. He didn't know that you felt the same, as soon as you met him it was like your soul was finally free, finally saying there you are. You always hoped that he would make a move but he never did, so you accepted the fact that it was just never meant to be. 

The dentist's cleared you to go home, Jim packed your stuff in to the bag, chucked it over his shoulders, helped you up and walked you out to his car.

Jim did as he promised and stayed with you the whole time you were recovering. On the second day after the operation you were feeling a lot better and managed to trudge your way in to the kitchen where he had a towel slung across his shoulder and hunched above the stove cooking bacon. "That smells delicious" you said while sighing. Jim turned around and smiled, holding his arms out for you, you smiled and walked towards him, wrapping your hands around his waist.  He kissed the top of your head and ordered you to sit down and wait for him to plate the food. 

It didn't take long for Jim to bring the food across and place yours in front of you, while placing the other in the place across from you and sitting down on the chair. You both talked about work, your plans for the future and intrests. He eventually decided to confront the elephant in the room and asked you if you meant what you said. You didnt realise what he meant until it hit you like a ton of bricks, heat rushed across your cheeks and you shyly nodded. You looked away, not wanting to see his response, even when you heard the chair scrape across the kitchen floor, you fought every instinct to look up.

Jim pulled you up by your arms and placed his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. He leant down and kissed you, you eagerly kissed back, getting lost in the feeling. You didnt know how long you both stayed like that, you pulled away breathless. You laughed at the absurdity of it, you dreamt of this day often and you couldn't believe it actually happend.

Jim nudged his nose against yours and softly whispered "So you think I'm handsome?". You chuckled offering no verbal response, just pulling him down by his neck and kissing him once again.  

[queenie-avenue]

There's no solution for whatever this was.

💌 ⤻ THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

—> when you come crashing into his life, his focus for his studies are lost.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader's race is not mentioned but it does take place in korea, stalking, obsession, slightly suggestive, possessiveness, stealing, damage to personal, slightly suggestive, property, encouraging suicide, mentions of academic stress and korea's expectation for its students, inspired by @moyazaika 's academic rival yandere (go check the fic out, it's amazing), a drabble for now but I will be posting longer fics of him

🦋 ⤻ archives.

In Korea, students are shown to be almost always studying. Many news outlets have covered multiple schools and how much pressure Korean students are going through with their studies. It's difficult, no one can deny it. Yet, some of these students just find it normal, they view studying as perhaps their only form of control they have in their world.

One of those such students is Seo Min-Jun, a student belonging to a prestigious private high school. Someone who is in his final year of high school, soon to graduate and take his university exams. Top of his class, the son to a minister in Korea's government and a rather popular film actress, and the president of the student council. He was destined for success once he graduated.

The moment he crawled out of his mother's womb, his fate was paved for him in gold.

That was, until you — the sweet scholarship student — showed up.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

At first, he didn't understand you. Both of you were literally in your last year of school, but you waltzed in like you owned the place. At least, from his perspective. He thought you bland. After all, you got in from a scholarship. You may be smart, but were you as rich, or was your status in society as high as him? It didn't matter, he still viewed you as below him and didn't pay much attention to you, relegating his secretary in the student council to give you a tour of the elite private school that you should honestly be honoured to step your grimy shoes all over.

Sure, he'd never say these things out to you or anyone else in public. After all, he was still a model student, and he was taught to act humble. Key word: act.

He honestly didn't take an interest in you till he saw your name, above his, on the monthly test evaluations.

"What?" He muttered out, not believing his eyes. In almost every damn subject, you managed to score higher than him. He was almost always one mark off from you. His eyes shot to you, the you who stood there in your crisp and cut uniform on the other side of the crowd, looking up at the papers pressed onto the walls with a look of pride. What was that look of pride for?

Pride, something that existed strongly in almost every culture, and you had just ruined his.

Your life was never the same afterwards.

Letters of hatred piled in your shoe locker. They ranged from being written like some crazed man worshipping your feet like you were a god to someone who wanted to see you hop off the building of your school. The handwriting was typically crazed, but you could recognise whose handwriting it was solely because the both of you were in the same class.

As usual, the school board did nothing to help with that. And when you tried to accuse Min-Jun, the teachers especially scolded you for attempting to defame the student council president.

It got so bad that your things were going missing too, your homework — which the teachers unreasonably scolded you for even if you were user sure you placed it in your bag this morning — and then your notes too. Technically, they did return. They just returned torn up, and some were even burnt with mysterious stains on them.

One day, you couldn't take it anymore after receiving a death threat, and you stormed to the student council office, knowing that if you went to the general office, they'd turn you away again.

You would take matters into your own hands.

✧ Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ ✧

When Min-Jun first saw you enter the room, he was left breathless. Your blushed cheeks from running all the way here, no doubt, the way your uniform crumpled, his mouth was almost drooling. No, no. He refused to let himself lust over you in such a manner that you were a rival, for goodness sake! Not some... potential love interest. Though that thought did pique his interest but he pushed it down with any other thoughts he had about his rival.

"I can't take it anymore." You said, which shocked him. Was someone bullying you? Only he could do that! "I know it's you. I've seen your handwriting on tests before, I just know you're the one who's been planting those notes and stealing my things." You accused your one-sided academic rival.

He didn't bother to defend himself. What was the point? His family would protect him, the school would protect him, and most importantly, the student body would rip them to shreds if they ever tried to act out against him. He knew how cruel students could be. After all, he had seen all the outcasts almost drowned inside toilet bowls by bullies multiple times.

He could not have that. Having you tortured would mean he would not be able to have a proper rival. As much as he disliked you for being in his way, he preferred to keep things... somewhat fair.

"And your proof?" He inquired.

"I have all those notes stored in my bag." You hissed.

For some reason, the thought of you keeping those notes made his heart beat faster. Were you a freak like him too? Did you have such sinful thoughts just like him? You broke his twisted fantasy with your next words, though.

"I don't understand why you're doing this to me. It's- it's," you struggled to find a word for his disturbing actions, "ceaselessly cruel!" You finally exclaimed.

Cruel? What was cruel were your actions, driving him mad, making him lose focus on his work. Who were you to call him cruel when you made him like this?

He got up from his seat and approached you, causing you to fall back, landing on the couch that you swore was not there when the entered the student council room. Taking this chance, he pinned you against the seat, taking in every part of your body, your face, your eyes... everything. God, you were so perfect but so infuriating. Just why did you have to confront him?

"Are you that fucking naive to think that when you present the school with your proof, they'll do anything about it for you? That they'll go against me and my family for the sake of defending the poor scholarship student?" He hissed, grabbing your face harshly as you whimpered. He wished the circumstances of your whimpers were different; in his bed rather than on the couch of the student council office. Still, that did breed intriguing fantasies into his mind. "You think they'll do that for you?" He repeated.

"I-" you started, but you had no idea how to end.

"Exactly." He let go of you, almost smacking your head to the other side as he straightened himself, readjusting the blazer of his uniform.

"You should get used to the circumstances of your situation." He said which only made you shudder. "Let yourself out." He said cooly as he exited the student council room, "I trust you'll keep this meeting a secret." He said with an air of finality before sauntering casually towards the male bathrooms where he promptly slammed the door shut and sat on the toilet seat, practically fuming.

That look on your face, the scrunch of your nose, the furrowing of your eyebrows. You were so unfair! He could practically feel all his blood flush downwards as he thought of you.

Now that you knew he was the culprit, what would you do?

It didn't matter.

He would find ways to pester you and find ways to mark you as someone who could not be touched by anyone else other than him.

"I left another note in your bag. You should look at it. Or else."

[shalaaex]

ALRIGHT SO THIS IS MY FIRST LONG TERM COMIC THAT IS PURELY AN ADAPTION (with permission from the creator) OF MY FAV FIC OF ALL TIME CALLED “When Worlds Collide” by @celestiangell on AO3!! This is a comic adaption for those who don’t read ao3 AND NEED TO SEE THIS INCREDIBLY WELL THOUGHT OUT STORY. So if you read ao3, READ IT HERE!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/46730908/chapters/117695395

And if you don’t, and wanna follow along the story, THEN HOP ON BOARD BECAUSE THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG RIDE!!

Also this part doesn’t directly described in the fic, I added it in to set up the next part 🫶

Please bare in mind that I’m really new to comics and so the art will be sloppy, esp during the action parts… anyway SET UP AND STYLE STRONGLY INSPIRED BY @pinetreevillain !!! Love your comics very much🫶🫶

SEE YA NEXT TIME IM SO TIRED IM PASSING OUT

Master post next

[sykloni]

(Progress is) A Comfortable Disease by Draskireis is an universe travel fic where adult Tim decides to leave his life behind and hop universes. The new universe is 17 years behind his own and Tim proceeds to blackmail his way into his own family. One of my favorite things about this fic are the interactions between Tim and Janet.

I already wanted to draw this scene when I first read it. It's just really good.

(I can't describe it as well as the summary does so you should definitely go and read the actual summary if you like time/universe travel fics!)

[kaidynsarell]

Sebastian Sallow and the Day his Daughter Abused her Library Privleges.

🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁

Pairings: Sebastian Sallow x Female OC, Female OC x Male OC.

Rating: Sexual content is referenced/implied

Tags: Seb is smart but also kind of dumb, cannot compute his child growing up, dating and *gasp* Book Violence (Seb insisted on that last one)

The full fic can be found below(5k words)

One shot (unless the gremlins force me to add more. I am at their mercy😅)

The “rug” had been yanked out from under Sebastian approximately three times in a matter of a few minutes. Each displacement worse than the last, and only compounded by the growing smirks plastered across both his wife’s and sister's faces. They'd not even done him the decency of trying to hide their satisfaction. Even Ominis had failed to stifle his mirth and now sat attempting to suppress waves of silent giggles Sebastian knew only too well came at his own expense.

The whole terrible ordeal had started only fifteen minutes prior when he’d Floo’d back home from his office at Hogwarts.

The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had come as a surprising offer nearly eight years prior.

Dinah had been stepping down from the post and had, to Sebastian’s surprise, felt he would be the most suited for the position. He'd almost wanted to decline it, given his own dalliances with the Dark Arts.

Really, he'd thought, he was the furthest thing from appropriate for that job.

If only they'd truly known the history he'd left behind in that catacomb. He couldn’t imagine any of them would be singing his praises if they caught a glimpse of the marks he’d raked through his soul. But his wife had always had this uncanny way of reminding him, convincing him really, that he was a better person than he gave himself credit for.

That, and she’d never been terribly infatuated with the secrecy required by his work with the Department of Mysteries. The “Unspeakable” job title came with about as much useful information outside of the department as the title offered, which is to say, nothing.

So, with his wife's less than secretive encouragement, he’d left his work with the Ministry and set foot in Hogwarts to assist his former DADA Professor for the remainder of that school year.

He’d have been lying if he'd said he’d never thought of teaching before. That he'd not nearly written that as one of his interests on his Career Advice form in his Fifth year and imagined the slight possibility of following in his parent’s footsteps.

Though, that particular thought had twisted in a far more vulnerable place than he ever cared to admit to.

Months later, the 1st of September had seen his official first day as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and his eleven-year-old daughter's first day as a student.

He'd watched her small frame perch on that stool at the center of the stage that day, her legs still too short to reach the ground as the sorting hat slid over her eyes and called out the name of his old house.

He'd known his Love would call him too sentimental when he blinked away tears as he'd watched his little girl with the wavy brown hair and the freckles that so matched his own hop down from the stool and scamper away to the Slytherin table without so much as a backward glance at him.

Professor Weasley had looked at him from down the staff table a little too long then, and he'd quickly swallowed several gulps of pumpkin juice in what he'd hoped was a convincing enough display to not let anyone think he'd just been crying over what was still his baby girl being sorted.

He'd deny it in any case.

Had it not been just yesterday, she'd been two years old and babbling incoherently while he balanced her on his shoulders?

Surely, she'd not actually been eleven yet.

Then, she'd joined the Slytherin Quidditch team as a Chaser in her third year, and his apprehension had tangled so closely with his pride it had been impossible to separate them. Each match had been met with both white-knuckled fear she'd be hurt and joy in seeing how she lit up with each goal she maneuvered past the Keeper.

Until the last game of that season had Slytherin facing Ravenclaw for the house cup.

He'd only just seen the Bludger before it hit her.

She'd not seen it at all, and there'd only been the collective gasp of the crowd as she'd crumpled the last twenty feet to the pitch below.

He would have bet galleons apparition couldn’t have moved him faster that day as he'd scooped her limp, unmoving form into his arms and carried her back to the Hospital Wing, ignoring the shouts of his wife and Nurse Blainey alike.

Hours later, she'd still not opened her eyes, and even the Hogwarts Matron’s reassurances that it was most likely due to the myriad of healing and calming spells placed over her had done nothing to stop the path he'd worn into the stone with the ferocity of his pacing.

She'd looked far too small and pale lying there.

Too much like...

But he'd shoved that particular thought away.

It had taken Anne, Ominis, and the witch he'd fallen for at sixteen to calm him enough to be convinced not to send his daughter to Saint Mungo's for further treatment.

"You need rest, Sebastian," his wife had said when she'd glanced up for what must have been the umpteenth time from her place in the squashy armchair she’d conjured beside their daughter’s bed to find him pacing again, book in hand. "You heard Nurse Blainey. It's a common Quidditch injury. She'll be good as new by morning."

Sebastian had only muttered a halfhearted acknowledgment before her fingers pulled through his, and she’d tugged him over to where their thirteen-year-old slept.

“This isn't like Anne, Seb.” She’d whispered so low he could just feel her breath along his cheek. “Little One is going to be okay. Her body just needs to rest.”

“I know that.” He had; it had done nothing to stop the icy lump forming in the pit of his stomach.

Somehow, he'd let her convince him to return to the large armchair. He’d pulled the woman down on top of him and buried his face into her neck.

Still, sleep never truly found him that night, and if his wife’s much too quiet breaths had been any indication, she'd slept about as well as he had.

Hadn't it only been a few days ago their daughter had turned seven and opened her first real broom--not one of those that skimmed a foot or so off the ground—but one slightly smaller than regulation that soared high into the tree tops? They’d spent hours above the back garden that day tossing an old Quaffle back and forth until the sun saw its last gold fade to ruby along the distant peaks and vanished below the skyline.

When she’d woken in the Hospital Wing the following day, the freckled girl had barely opened her eyes before asking about the match’s results. When Sebastian had gently suggested she might drop Quidditch to prevent further head injuries or, Merlin forbid, save her father a few sleepless nights, she'd looked so affronted one might have thought he'd asked her to kick a niffler.

Only two years ago had seen her sit her O.W.L.S and her career advice meeting.

With Aesop having retired at the end of the previous year, Sebastian had taken over as Head of Slytherin and sat with his little girl, for she would always be his little girl, while she'd prattled on about a list of careers she’d taken an interest in.

An Auror

A Curse Breaker

(And he’d made a mental note to have words with Poppy Sweeting, for this was clearly his daughter’s top choice for a career, and only the former ferocious little Magizoologist could have been behind this particular suggestion) A Magizoologist specializing in Dragons.

When Sebastian had dared offer the suggestion she might work for the Wizengamot or as an Archivist or study something as benign as Kneazles rather than Dragons or aim for a career with even a modicum of safety involved, the then fifteen-year-old had wrinkled her nose at him in that same way her mother always did.

"Ugh! Those are all boooorrring, Dad. I want to work with dragons."

"Absolutely not."

"But Mum and Aunt Poppy helped release a dragon from a poacher camp and returned its egg, and they were the same age as me.”

Sebastian had run a hand over face. "That was different."

That was when she'd settled back into her chair, folded her arms across her chest, and scowled at him in that way that reminded him too much of Anne, of himself if he were very honest about it. "I don't really see how."

She was more stubborn than both he and her mother combined, and Merlin help him; he'd be entirely grey before he was forty.

Hadn't she just been nine years old and still small enough to demand bedtime stories? Where had the time gone when she'd been satiated by the retelling of his and her mother’s adventures? Now, she craved adventure of her own, and he'd known he'd be a hypocrite if he stood too much in her way.

Still, the past fifteen minutes spent in the comfort of his own sitting room might have thrown him more than anything else he'd faced in the past seventeen years.

His first clue something was amiss had come only minutes before he'd taken the Floo home.

It wasn't often his daughter accompanied him back to their house in the evenings, but perks of having a parent as a professor, would occasionally return home with him once a month or so for ‘family weekends’. Sebastian would deny it if anyone suggested having his little girl home for the weekend was more for his own sanity than any amount of homesickness his daughter might have had.

Though, rather than finding her waiting for him in his office that day as he so often did, he'd found the room empty, and even a few minutes of waiting had not procured her.

It wasn’t terribly alarming. It wouldn’t even have been the first time she'd snuck home before him, ready to pounce out when he arrived home with some prank or another.

But when he’d stepped through the fireplace, she'd not been there either.

Anne, Ominis, and his wife had all been there, sitting in the living room. But there'd been no sign of his daughter.

He'd waited, still dusty from the fireplace, ready for whatever prank he was certain Anne was already in on, given the barely contained smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He must have stood there a beat too long because his wife had tilted her head at him. "She's not coming home this weekend, Seb. Matilda’s just written. She's gotten detention for sneaking into the restricted section and for being out of bed after curfew last night."

Sebastian blinked but made no move to sit. It might have been a point of pride for him—the idea of his child sneaking off to obtain restricted knowledge— had he not already permitted her what amounted to nearly unlimited access to the Library anyway.

To any Library, really.

"But she doesn’t need to sneak into the restricted section." Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, there was something he was missing, but whatever was had been proving frustratingly elusive. "She knows I'll write notes for whatever book she wants out of there."

That had been the deal they'd agreed to from the very first day their daughter had stepped foot into that school. Sebastian would sign for whatever book she wanted from the Restricted Section, so long as she kept him updated on what she was reading and, depending on the text, read the book at home or in his office where either he or her mother could keep supervision.

He’d never been one to limit his child’s knowledge.

Perhaps he'd taken that from his parents as well.

If his daughter had wanted to sneak anywhere, there were a plethora of other off-limits areas she could find. But the Library? That didn’t make sense.

Anne had giggled behind her hand. “She wasn't alone. She got caught there with a boy."

"What does she need a boy in the Restricted Section for?"

If his twin had meant to offer an explanation, she'd done nothing more than confuse him further.

His wife sighed. "I don't imagine they were there to study, Dear. Not books, in any case."

That had earned another round of barely contained giggles, and still, they'd all sat there looking at him like he was the butt of some great cosmic joke. Waiting for him to get it, but none of the information formed a logical conclusion. Even glancing at his twin had offered little in the way of answers, and he’d generally have been able to read her better than anyone.

"And here I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, Sallow." Ominis quipped from the place he'd perched next to Anne. “They let you teach? Merlin help the children."

That was when the pieces had snapped together.

"What?! No?!" He’d hated how high his voice had climbed and how much further it climbed as he’d held his hand out at his daughter's height, just about the height of his waist. “But…but she's only—"

Anne snorted. "Sebastian, she hasn't been that tall since she was about ten."

That was when he'd made his most devastating mistake. "Who?"

"I'm not certain it matters right now," His wife had started.

Sebastian whirled around. “It does if he's snogging our daughter."

"I think you mispronounced shagging" Anne chirped.

Sebastian had made an embarrassing, strangled, screeching sort of noise then.

Images had flooded behind his eyes of his little girl crowded against a bookshelf by some faceless man pressing lips against her neck in the throes of passion. Precious tomes toppled from their shelves; spines splayed unnaturally, pages creased. The faceless man's hands maneuvering into places Sebastian had never intended to let anyone near. Ever.

He’d be having nightmares for months.

"Who?" This had now become vitally important information. He needed to know whose fingers he would be breaking.

"Oh, he's sweet.” His wife had chirped. "He's one of your favorite students, you told me so just the other week—"

Sebastian had quickly run through a list of his students and immediately decided not one of them was worthy of his little girl. Not that anyone ever would be.

Really, now that he thought of it, touching his daughter should be tantamount to a life sentence in Azkaban. Did Onai still sit on the Wizengamot? Perhaps he could get it written into law.

"--Oliver Weasley."

"WEASLEY!?!?" His voice had climbed octaves into a territory that could only be described as screeching, but Sebastian had long since stopped caring.

His fingers had clutched around his wand so tightly it might have snapped had his wife not leaned forward and pulled it from his grip. Years since he'd used dark magic against another person, and fifteen minutes had him itching for unforgivables.

"Oh, aren't they adorable?" Anne, this time, and Sebastian had snapped his gaze to his twin. "You know, Poppy says they've been spending quite a lot of time together since she partnered them on that assignment with the Dirwicals a few months ago. That must have been when they started courting."

"Months!" It came out as a squeak. “This has been going on for months?!"

Make that the fourth rug.

He may as well stay on his ass while he was down here.

><><><><

The night was for stillness. Those quiet moments whispered between shooting stars or, in Sebastian's case, breathed against his wife’s hair as she sprawled across him. Her skin bare and tacky in the early summer heat against his own, her fingers tracing constellations between the freckles on his chest.

He tipped his head down to her again and brushed his nose against those soft strands still clinging to the scents of citrus and wildflowers. "Why didn't she tell me?"

"mmm?" The witch tipped her nose up to him.

"Why didn't she tell me she was seeing Weasley? I thought she told me everything." He'd whispered that last bit so quietly a part of him hoped she hadn't heard.

But the woman in his arms just slid her hand up his neck and into the short beard he'd kept for the past seven years. "Because she knows how much you worry, Seb.”

"I don't worry that much."

It was the second time she'd laughed at him that day.

"You stayed home from work for a week and threatened to send her to St. Mungo's when she had the flu last year."

"It was a bad case,” he muttered. Cool fingers stayed against his cheek. He closed his eyes and pushed his face against them. "What if Weasley’s pressuring her into things?"

"I really don't think he is.”

Sebastian scrunched his face at that. “How can you be sure?"

Another hand in his hair, and he thought he might melt into the mattress. "Because you've shown her how she deserves to be treated, Sebastian."

He wasn't prepared for his wife to be hovering over him when he blinked his eyes open again. Nor was he ready for her lips against his jaw

"Besides," she continued, “she's as brilliant and quick with a wand as you are, and I’ve already talked to her about it.” He was already brimming with a retort when his Love placed a single delicate finger over his half-parted lips. “Trust her.”

"She's still not old enough." It seemed the only thing he could manage.

"Sebastian," another trill of laughter, "She'll be eighteen next month, and she and Oliver will both have left school. We weren't so much older than them when we got engaged."

And that sent images of white dresses and vows and his little girl’s fingers on his arm as he walked her toward a tall redhead at the other end of a long aisle racing behind his eyelids.

And that

that.

He was not prepared for.

He wasn't sure he ever would be.

It was enough to pull his Love back against him and bury his face against her hair again. "She wasn't ever supposed to grow up."

He'd deny it if anyone said his voice broke.

><><><><

Now that he was aware of his daughter's relationship, he saw evidence of it in too many places. He'd curse himself for not noticing before, or maybe they'd just stopped being as secretive about it.

His daughter and Weasley holding hands in the corridors. His daughter and Weasley sitting together at meals. The two of them leaning over the same book in the library, Weasley attending all of her Quidditch practices. The both of them in the Astronomy tower, wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate after curfew.

That last encounter had earned him such a ferocious glare from his daughter Sebastian was convinced she’d been trying to shoot fire from her eyes. His wife had floo'd into his office an hour later to drag him back home and demand that he ‘stop following them around.’ Whatever arguments he’d prepared about Weasely’s egregious crime of keeping their daughter out after hours had been brushed aside as she’d informed him the aforementioned would be joining them for dinner that coming Saturday.

Weasley.

His wife had been right. Oliver was ,surprisingly, one of Sebastian’s most gifted students. Where his father may have shone as a potions prodigy in their youth, Garreth's son had a remarkable talent and understanding of defensive magic. There was a natural cadence to his dueling Sebastian had seldom seen, and the creativity of his spell combinations had been nearly unmatched that year.

Sebastian, as much as it now pained him to admit to himself, had liked the boy.

Had being the operative word.

That was before Weasley had started running hands over his little girl.

><><><><

Saturday evening rolled around to slap him across the face before he’d managed to find a proper excuse to keep the young Weasley out of his house.

Sebastian had not missed how his wife had tugged his wand from his grip when he'd stepped out of the fireplace. Nor did he miss the conveniently rounded cutlery with their meal. A hearty beef stew with chunks of a thick golden bread she’d already sliced

No need for any sharp objects at the dinner table.

Pity.

Still, Sebastian prided himself on keeping his emotions level throughout the entire meal, even if it was partially owed to his wife digging her fingers into his knee with every twitch of his jaw.

Despite all of it, Weasley had been perfectly polite and respectful. Perhaps that irritated Sebastian more as it gave him less space to cling to his newfound dislike of the boy.

Weasley had held the door for his daughter and offered his arm over the doorstep. He'd dressed practically enough not to over-emphasize his pureblood origins–not that the Weasleys were known for holding quite the same ideologies–but intentionally enough to show he'd taken the dinner seriously. He'd brought flowers for Sebastian’s wife and complimented her cooking. He’d pulled out his little girl's chair but otherwise kept his hands a respectful distance from her. He'd kept engaging conversation throughout the entire ordeal.

And why couldn't the bloke mess up just once so Sebastian could have an excuse to scream at him?

And then,

and this might have been the worst of all.

When they’d all finished their meals and retired to the sitting room for a drink, Weasley made his daughter laugh.

Not the small polite flutter through her nose he would recognize had she been trying to be nice, but hysterics that had the both of them snorting and doubled over, clutching their bellies.

Laughter genuine enough, his daughter had forgotten all pretenses of decorum and dipped her head against the boy's shoulder.

Then Oliver had looked at her.

In that gentle way, Sebastian recognized all too well, like he might have found poetry written across his daughter's skin.

And Sebastian was not ready.

Not for anyone to look at his little girl like that.

He couldn't remember what excuse he muttered when he left the rest of them in the sitting room and climbed the stairs to the small balcony just off the Study.

><><><><

The summer night was calm. Long faded past the last remnants of sunset and jeweled with the wide expanse of starlight.

Sebastian had already downed the rest of whatever amber-colored liquid his wife had poured into his glass and leaned his arms against the wooden railing. Still, even the delightful tilting buzz did nothing to distract from the patter of footsteps behind him.

"Professor?...I mean..Sir?"

Could he not have a moment's peace?

"What do you want, Weasley?"

He'd be lying if he said he'd not taken some satisfaction in how the young Weasley had flinched at his brusque response. Maybe Sebastian was still at least a little intimidating.

Even if he had needed to curl his fingers around the railing, pressed them against the wood until they might have fractured purple across his fingertips to stop his hands from shaking.

"I...well, I'd just hoped to talk to you about your daughter and...um...my intentions with her and—"

"A bit late for that, don't you think." Sebastian snapped.

"I...erm...right–" He heard the boy shuffle his feet a bit, but Sebastian made no move to turn around. He couldn't have in any case with the way he was bracing himself against the railing and fighting the dark spots in his vision. “–We...I mean, I should have insisted we talk to you first and–"

Sebastian slammed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe. He had to breathe.

“–I apologize for getting her into trouble," the boy continued. "I'd just like you to know that I care for her deeply. She...she's...well, she means quite a lot to me, and I promise I'll—”

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“–and I wanted to formally ask your permission to–”

Fuck.

Not this.

He couldn't do this.

"Not...not right now, Oliver." He was certain he'd muttered something to that effect past the rush of blood in his ears, and still fighting his painfully blurred vision, he shouldered past the young man and back into his study.

><><><><

Sunday greeted late afternoon haze before Sebastian heard his daughter come up behind him.

He'd been given word that morning that she and Weasley would be spending several hours at the coast with his Wife and Anne. With that, Sebastian had suddenly felt the need to blister his hands over copious amounts of physical labor if only for the hope his aching muscles might be an adequate distraction from any thoughts of Weasley or his intentions.

She'd already settled herself on the grass beside him before Sebastian turned from the rose bush he'd been pruning. She hadn't even noticed he'd turned, engrossed as she was in plucking the wild daisies from the grass and stringing them together.

Less than five minutes and dirt had already smudged across her nose. She might have had his chestnut curls and sprinkling of freckles, but she looked so like her mother in every other way.

And that was his little girl

Except she wasn't really so little anymore, was she?

Not with her longer skirts and her hair artfully arranged on top of her head.

When had she started wearing her hair up?

As though he'd somehow given her permission to enter society and invite questions upon him about intentions, and courtings, and permissions. And hadn't she just been six years old and snarking at him because he’d plaited her hair the wrong way?

She twisted another daisy into place. "Oliver said he talked to you last night. Or tried to?"

"He did."

"He said you were angry–"

Sebastian tried not to look too pleased about it. So, the young Weasley had found him intimidating. The confirmation was good, given he'd only just managed to keep himself from collapsing on that balcony..

But Weasley didn't need to know that.

“–You shouldn't be mad at him," she added. "He wanted to talk to you a lot sooner but....but..I...."

Sebastian leaned over. "But what?"

Her fingers twisted against another white flower, but she didn't look at him. "I wanted to be sure he was worth telling you about."

"You know, you could have told me sooner."

A part of him wished she would have.

"Daaadd!" and that was when she looked up, her eyes alight with mirth. "I wasn't going to tell you about every single bloke I decided to–"

"There's been more than one?!" It was far too close to a squeak than anything else, and Sebastian decided his daughter was determined to send him to an early grave.

But when the laughter faded, her hands busied themselves against the little white flowers again. "It....it's different with Oliver, though."

Sebastian sighed. "You really like him, don't you?"

"Yeah, Dad. I really like him."

But her eyes spoke too clearly of another four-letter word, and Merlin help him; his daughter was in love with a fucking Weasley.

Another daisy twisted between her fingers. “He invited me to come with his family to the south of France this summer.”

“Oh?” It was the most noncommittal noise he could muster between clenching his fingers into the grass.

“Because of his dad. They…well, a lot of really good potioneers come out of Beauxbatons, so they travel there sometimes.” She paused a moment, and Sebastian could see the hesitation pinched in the corners of her face. “But I told Oliver I wouldn't go unless he got your permission first and—”

“Sweetheart, It’s not my permission he needs.”

It wasn’t, as much as he was loathed to admit it then.

It never had been.

“I know that it’s just—“

“Do you want to go to France with him?”

“I do!” Her fingers twisted the last white daisy of her crown into place. “But I won’t if you don't think I should.”

Was it that simple? Could he hold to the last of her kite strings? Keep her in this moment where the last of her childhood still clung to the daisies between her fingers and the smudges of dirt over her nose?

“The south of France is beautiful this time of year. You’re going to love it.”

She might have outshone the sun with how brightly she smiled at him.

“But,” Sebastian held up a finger, “ If I so much as think he’s hurt you–”

“Yeah, Dad, I know.” He wasn’t sure she could have rolled her eyes harder at him. “You’re well versed in magics that make the unforgivables look like something out of a children’s story, and there wouldn’t be enough left of the body to find.”

Sebastian couldn’t decide if he should be offended with how bored she sounded or proud she’d recited his threat so thoroughly.

He didn’t have much time to think about it before his daughter popped to her feet, dropped the crown of daisies onto his head, and bent to kiss his cheek.

There was only the softest. “Love you, Daddy”

breathed next to his ear before she was scampering off again.

And that was his little girl.

Always would be.