#loved how he was still smiling despite having his goal blocked (T△T)

[irishwonders]

BACHIRA TIME — The monster is back! 💛💛💛

[timeless-fanfic]

Can you do one whereJohn and and his girlfriend are playing soccer (pretend their teenagers and she’s the goal keeper and someone kicks the ball at her face and hurts her hurts and John taking care of her and yelling at the person who was doing that

A Game of Hearts

Word Count: 1153

John x Reader

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the makeshift soccer field where John and his friends had gathered for a casual game. Laughter and playful shouts filled the air as everyone took their positions, ready to enjoy the fun.

John glanced across the field at (Y/N), who stood confidently in front of the goalpost, a grin spreading across her face. She had volunteered to be the goalkeeper, despite John's earlier protests.

"Are you sure?" he had asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't want you getting hurt."

(Y/N) had waved him off with a playful scoff. "I'll be fine, John. I can handle it. Besides, someone's got to stop you from scoring."

He had smiled at her determination. He loved that about her—her confidence, her strength, and the way she never backed down from a challenge. But still, he couldn't help feeling a little protective.

As the game progressed, it was clear (Y/N) was holding her own. She blocked several attempts with ease, earning cheers from her teammates and even a few impressed glances from the other players. John, standing near the middle of the field, couldn't help but watch her with a mix of pride and admiration.

However, as the game wore on, the opposing team became more aggressive. One of the boys, a tall and brash player, seemed determined to score no matter what. John noticed how he kept glaring at (Y/N), clearly frustrated that she had blocked his previous attempts.

Then, it happened.

The boy charged forward, kicking the ball with all his strength—too much strength. It soared through the air, aimed directly at (Y/N).

"Watch out!" John shouted, but it was too late.

The ball hit (Y/N) square in the face with a sickening thud. She stumbled back, her hands flying to her face as she let out a pained gasp. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze, the laughter and shouts of the game fading into a deafening silence.

John's heart dropped, and without thinking, he sprinted across the field toward her. He could feel his blood boiling, a mixture of fear and anger surging through him.

"(Y/N)!" he called, his voice thick with worry.

When he reached her, she was sitting on the ground, her hands still covering her face, her shoulders trembling. Kneeling beside her, John gently pulled her hands away, his breath catching when he saw the redness and swelling beginning to form.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "Let me see."

(Y/N) winced but allowed him to inspect the damage. His heart clenched as he saw the tears brimming in her eyes, though she tried her best to blink them away.

"It... it hurts," she whispered, her voice shaky.

"I know," John replied, his tone gentle. "Just breathe. We'll get you some cool water."

Before he could even stand up to call for help, the boy who had kicked the ball jogged over, a smug look on his face.

"She shouldn't have been in the way," he said with a shrug, clearly unapologetic.

That was it. John's temper snapped.

He stood up abruptly, glaring at the boy with a fury he rarely let surface. "What is wrong with you?!" he shouted, stepping closer. "You kicked that ball way too hard, and now she's hurt!"

The boy scoffed, crossing his arms. "It’s just a game. She should’ve dodged it."

John's fists clenched at his sides, his entire body shaking with the effort of holding himself back. He was not someone who usually resorted to anger, but seeing (Y/N) in pain—because of this boy's carelessness—had him seething.

"It's not just a game when someone gets hurt," John spat, his voice low and dangerous. "You could have seriously injured her!"

The boy rolled his eyes, clearly uninterested in the confrontation. "Whatever, man."

John was about to say more, his frustration boiling over, when he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. He turned to see (Y/N), still sitting on the ground, looking up at him with a soft smile despite the pain in her expression.

"John," she said quietly, "it's okay. I'm okay."

His anger faltered at the sight of her, and he knelt back down, his attention immediately shifting back to her well-being. The boy wandered off, clearly not wanting to deal with the situation any longer, but John didn’t care. His focus was solely on (Y/N).

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his hand gently cupping her cheek, careful to avoid the bruised area. "I should have stopped him sooner."

(Y/N) shook her head, her smile growing a little. "It’s not your fault. You were amazing."

John let out a sigh, his thumb brushing gently against her skin. "I just hate seeing you hurt."

She reached up, placing her hand over his. "You always take such good care of me, John."

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the world around them fading into the background. John's heart swelled with love and admiration for her—her strength, her resilience, and the way she could calm him down with just a few words.

"I just want to keep you safe," John murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "You mean everything to me, (Y/N)."

Her eyes softened, and she leaned into his touch, despite the soreness in her face. "I know. And I love you for it."

John's heart skipped a beat at her words. Even after everything, she still managed to make him feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

He stood up then, offering her his hand. "Come on. Let’s get you some cool water for that bruise."

(Y/N) took his hand, and he helped her to her feet, keeping an arm around her waist as they walked toward the sidelines. As they passed by some of their friends, John couldn’t help but throw one last glare at the boy who had caused all this. But his anger was already fading—replaced by a deep sense of gratitude that (Y/N) was okay.

They found some ice, and John sat with her on the bench, gently pressing the cold cloth to her face. She winced at the contact, but a moment later, she smiled up at him.

"You really are something, you know that?" she teased, her voice light despite the circumstances.

John chuckled softly, his hand resting on her knee. "I could say the same about you. You’re tough."

She laughed, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Well, I have you to thank for that."

They sat there together, the game forgotten, as the sun began to dip below the horizon. And in that quiet moment, John knew that no matter what happened, he would always be there to protect her.

[samstree]

Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[usakiboi]

Got a list of fic ideas collecting dust because I suck at writing, if there’s any Sakuhina or Sasuhina fans who are experiencing writers block I got you

Sasuhina 🖤💜

Hinata searches for a reason to die but instead gets a boyfriend in return

After the death of her husband, Hinata Uzumaki is left fending for herself and two children. What’s a single mother to do than get a job, though she may have taken the wrong path

-sugar daddy

-boruto kiddies

-Divorced Sakura and Sasuke

-Sakulee (you can change this if you want)

-Sarada plays soccer

Bonus: “God I should have listened to my parents, this marriage was a lost dream and gave nothing in return...” Sakura groaned

“I wouldn’t say that, I did enjoy your company despite your constant talking....plus something good DID come out of it.” Sasuke held amusement in his voice and pointed towards Sarada

The girl ran across the field like lightning, she slid pass the other girls and as she reached the goal she pulled her leg back “CHA!” the ball flew so fast Sakura could have sworn she saw fire come from it. As the ball made impact with the goal the two parents had the pleasure of seeing their daughters victory dance “Uh-huh! Oh yea! I did that! Uchiha princess, Sarada Uchia BABY!”

“I Hate My Husband”

Hinata and Sasuke are married and she can’t stand him

“26 and Lonely”

Sasuke and Hinata are unexpectedly transferred to modern society to apparently help themselves get together. The only problem is that they’re both losers and seem to hate each other

-Hinata is a game addict, anime fan, and often cosplays

-Sasuke is hella emo and also a game addict, huge nerd

-They both are very different from the past Hinata and Sasuke

-Sasuke wears really nerdy glasses

-Bully Naruto and Sakura

-Hinata slowly picks up the modern day lingo

-26 year old virgin Sasuke

Hinata Hyuuga, pure blue blood, childhood best friend of Sasuke Uchiha, and certified bitch. Cheating, OOC, daddy’s money

Hinata is a spirit medium in training and comes across a spirit that can’t seem to rest until her last wish is fulfilled which leads her to befriending Sasuke Uchiha.

Someone’s been leaving lunch boxes out for Sasuke and he’s determined to figure out who

-Kiddie fic

Sasuke somehow gets magical powers after eating a plum from a strange women, the only problem is that he takes a less than desirable form when he wants to use them

-Magical girl Sasuke

-Yes he becomes a girl

-Hinata has a crush on girl sasuke

Sasuke is prince trapped in a birds body and his need a princess to kiss his damn beak to save him

Hinata Hyuuga and Sasuke Uchiha two of the richest children in Japan attend Konoha High as the school’s top students. One is a known delinquent and the other is a class president..or at least that’s how people see her

-Future Mafia leader! Hinata

-Sasuke is her lackey

-They’re often seen together

-Badass Hinata

-Smiles when she taunts her victims

-Sasuke is lowkey creeped out by her

The Hyuga family known for their tech and booming businesses are one of the richest family in the world, but is that really where they’re getting all their income from. Sasuke Uchiha doesn’t believe so and with the help of his brother and family police business he plans to bring to light the dirty ways of the Hyuuga...you know...if the heiress doesn’t blow his head off first

Sakuhina 💖💜

Sakura is a football player, Ino is her cute cheerleader friend/crush, and Hinata is the new girl who she bullies

-Sakura plays with the boys team

-Wallflower Hinata, wears sweaters and long skirts and glasses

-Mean girl Ino

-Mean girl Karin

-Hinata can fight (it’s what gets Sakura to notice her)

-Set in America

Sakura is a fitness trainer and while Hinata enjoys yoga she wouldn’t mind having the woman spot her once or twice

Hinata is a good mother and a good wife, she just so happens to have a few health problems and she just so happens to only want one doctor to look after her. It wasn’t anything serious

Tired of their husbands absence, Hinata and Sakura confide in each other for consolation

Pissed off by their father’s lack of attention, Boruto and Sarada decided to set up their mothers

Sakura can’t help that she had a crush, Hinata was nice, Naruto didn’t notice the girl and Sasuke rejected her. Neither had a man, it was bound to happen.

Sakura finally understands why she’s fascinated by big boobs (Rated M)

Hinata is a witch and she has a crush on a human girl

Sakura couldn’t believe it. A mermaid. She found a mermaid! A busty mermaid.

Hinata has always had a thing for muscles

Hinata has an amazing body and Sakura gladly reminds her.

Hinata and her husband has a secret. (Crossdresser! Sakura) (Victorian era)

Normally witches have black cats yet Hinata has a pink one

Your Choice

Sarada has anger issues and Sakura and Sasuke take her to a specialist to figure out the root of the cause and see if they can fix it. Luckily the woman is pretty cute.

-Child psychologist Hinata

-Humor/Romance

-Sarada overshares a lot and changes the subject quickly

Team 7 is sent on a mission to protect the Hyuuga Heriesses on their way to a diplomatic meeting

Hinata is the chosen holy priestess yet unfortunately she sucks at what she does

-Twin sisters, Shion and Hinata

-They’ve been locked up for years

-Hanabi loves her sisters when she meets them

-Hiashi redemption?

-Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura are left to watch over them

Hinata, Naruto, Sasuke, and Gaara are officially the four great priest of their world after the demise of the previous. Unfortunately they were still in training so they have...a lot to work on

-Water priest Hinata/Wind priest Naruto/Fire priest Sasuke/Earth priest Gaara

-Sakura is a bodyguard for Hinata

-Comedy Rated T

Hinata plays mom for a very sick Team 7

Sakura has a crush on two dark haired beauties

<3

[plant-flwrs]

I love your writing! Can you do a reader x fred where the reader’s whole family (like siblings) is slytherin except her and she’s in gryffindor and you can do whatever with it thank you!

rivalries as old as time // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: omg i’ve never written mean!george this was kind of scary hehe. n e way, hope u like it! thanks for ur request!

summary: Fred and George are usually united on everything, but Fred’s crush on Draco Malfoy’s sister is definitely something they disagree on.

(5k)

---------

You had never liked red, and as you fidgeted with your red tie for the fifth time, you felt an elbow to your side.

“Stop,” Fred Weasley whispered from beside you, sending a scowl your way, “It’s distracting.”

“Distracting from what? You have no intention of taking notes,” you said, looking at both his and your blank parchments in front of you.

“Distracting from my daydreams,” he said easily, leaning forward on his desk to rest his forearms against the wood, “I need to focus on them, they’re just getting good.”

“What’re they about?” you asked, hoping to sound rude. Fred looked at you in the corner of his eye, and he was regrettably forced to admit that your signature Malfoy smirk was insanely attractive.

“Oh you know,” Fred said, copying your actions to lean back in his chair, “ the usual. Trolls and Gremlins.”

The both of you slouched in your chairs, arms crossed, ignoring the awfully boring lecture Professor Binns was giving.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed by Fred. Your gaze drifted across the room, trying to find something entertaining for your crystal gray eyes to focus on.

Fred, meanwhile, was internally slapping himself. Trolls and Gremlins? That was so stupid!

He watched your blonde hair fall from where it was loosely tucked into a headband, and you brought a mindless finger to put the hair back. He watched your simple movements, entranced by you.

You and Fred didn’t get along. You are a Malfoy, and he’s a Weasley. But still, somehow, you both always found yourselves thinking of the other.

History of Magic was his favorite class, because of you.

You and Draco had crossed paths on the way to lunch, and he walked briskly over to you, dismissing some of his Slytherin friends. You paid no mind to their scowls and figured they felt so angry because Gryffindor was playing Slytherin next week on the pitch.

“Has mum sent an owl to you this week?” Draco asked, craning his neck a little to look at you. His growth spurt hadn’t struck him yet.

“Oh!” you said, beginning to dig through your bag, “Sorry, forgot about it.”

You pulled a small parcel from your bag, handing it to your brother. The two of you were nearing the Great Hall, where you would have to split and go your separate ways.

“What is it?” you asked, feeling an obligation to be nosy in your little brother’s business.

“Some ink,” Draco said lazily, tucking the package into his own bag, “it’s my lucky ink.”

“Why? Is it enchanted?” you asked, and then lowered your voice, “Is that how you get such high marks?”

Draco smiled at your compliment and shook his head no.

“No, I get those because I study,” he said flatly, a dig at the fact that you excelled more on the Quidditch pitch than the academics.

You jokingly narrowed your eyes at him, and just before he walked to the Slytherin table, you reached out and ruffled his gelled hair. His joking stature quickly turned serious, and you broke into a jog to get to the Gryffindor table and away from Draco. You watched him attempt to smooth back his hair, chuckling as you slid down on the bench, a few seats away from Fred and George.

Fred was hunched over a poorly drawn drawing that George pointed to continuously while he talked.

“If we took that one corridor, there's that curtain that leads here,” George said, moving his finger to the right, “and then we can easily get back in time!”

You didn’t bother to ask, knowing George wouldn’t tell you. As much as you and Fred would get into little arguments, George had it out for you. Despite being his housemate, it was a known fact that you were the target of his pranks. Last year, he had snuck into the girl's Quidditch changing rooms and stole your clothes. You had to beg Fred from where he stood on the outside of the tent to make his brother give his clothes back, and when that didn’t work, you waved your wand and said “Accio clothes”. George had never run so fast up a hill, and he still couldn’t escape your wrath.

You pulled a sandwich from the tray in front of you.

“Malfoy,” Oliver Wood said, catching your attention.

“Yeah?” you said, taking a large bite of your sandwich.

“Did you look over that play I sent you?” Oliver asked, referring to the crumpled note he had tossed at the back of your head during Charms.

“Yeah,” you said, chewing and fishing in your bag for the note.

You pulled it out and saw Fred looking towards you. You looked at him before returning to Oliver. You unfolded the paper and Oliver hunched over it as George had done down the table.

Oliver’s hands were all over the simple drawing, his words getting lost in your boredom. You loved Quidditch, but god, could Oliver be boring.

“What are you two talking about?” both of your heads snapped up to see Fred forcing himself between the two first years that sat across you.

Oliver handed him the paper, pointing at all the meanings of the symbols.

“This,” he finally said, catching his breath, “is how we’re gonna beat Slytherin next week.”

Your weeknights were spent with Oliver, both of you ranting on about strategies while also trying to get done some homework. You occupied a wooden table that was usually used for chess, but the board was moved over to the coffee table where Ron and Harry played.

Fred watched, nearly pouting, from his spot on the couch. He watched the way your light eyes would brighten at the words Oliver said to you, and how you would blush every time he offered you a compliment on your playing.

“Ready for practice tonight?” Fred said, sliding up next to you as you waited outside of Binns’ classroom.

“Yeah,” you said absentmindedly, picking at your nails.

“George and I won’t take it easy on you,” Fred said, his veiled attempt at sounding threatening failing.

“Oh, Fred,” you said, faking a shake in your voice, “you don’t mean that.”

Fred rolled his eyes at your teasing, following after you as you walked to your shared desk.

Both of you came down the Gryffindor stairs at the same time, dressed in your practice jerseys and equipment in hand.

You glanced at him and caught his eyes looking you up and down. You chuckled to yourself, and his face flushed red.

You walked through the portrait hole with Oliver, and Fred watched you as he waited for George.

The two of them twisted and tossed their beater bats from hand to hand as they were perched on their brooms. You and Alicia faced off near the ground, hovering stoically. It was no competition, you were a better flyer than Alicia. She nearly had you matched in the power of her arm, but you still had the upper hand.

Fred bit his lip as you extended yourself to reach for the Quaffle. Your legs were the only thing keeping you on the broom, but you didn’t pay any mind to the unsteadiness. The only thing you thought of was the play Oliver had ingrained in your mind the past week. You repeated his critiques in your head and made sure to fix your grip on the Quaffle.

Alicia trailed after you, and you dove under Angelina to avoid her grasp. They were both trailing after you now. Alicia was nearly taken off her broom by a Bludger, and risking a glance upwards, you saw Fred’s triumphant smile. It was lucky that Fred was on your team for this practice because George had a nasty habit of failing to block Bludgers from hitting you.

Nearing near the goal post, you easily wound your arm back and sent the Quaffle right past Oliver. He slapped his gloved hands on his broom and sent you a proud smile.

The practice continued, and you weren’t hit with a Bludger the whole time, no matter how many George sent at you. Fred was always there to send them off, and send you a wink after he did it. You won the practice scrimmage, but Alicia put up a good fight.

“We have this,” Alicia said, beaming at you as she shed her heavy robes in the changing room.

“If we don’t I think Oliver’ll have an aneurism,” you joked, pulling on a loose t-shirt.

Angelina chuckled, and Alicia continued to beam.

“Really lucky Fred saved you from all those Bludgers,” Katie Bell teased from behind you.

“George has got it out for me,” you said nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Yeah, but, Fred sure kept you safe,” she continued to hint, but it went over your head.

“Well yeah, we can’t have an injury two days before the match,” you said, closing your locker and shuffling the combination.

Alicia rolled her eyes, and Angelina laughed.

“Yeah, that’s why,” Katie said, giving up.

You walked up the path to the castle and saw a clan of black robes walking down the path. You saw blond hair that matched yours peaking from one of them.

“Draco!” you called to your brother, breaking into a jog to reach him.

“Hey,” he said, breaking off from his Slytherin teammates.

“Are you guys ready for the match?” you asked excitedly.

Draco huffed out a defeated sigh, crossing his arms.

“No,” he admitted, glancing over his shoulder to make sure his housemates couldn’t hear him, “we bloody suck.”

You fought the cheeky smile that crept onto your face.

“Oh, that’s rotten, Draco,” you said, beginning to walk back down the hill with him, “I’m sure you’ll play your best.”

“I’ll try,” he said, beginning to shoo you off, “go do your homework.”

You rolled your eyes at your brother and waved him off, setting back up the castle.

The day of matches was always nerving, but it was even worse when it was against Slytherin. It felt like everyone in the school wanted you, needed you, to beat them.

You and Oliver sat shoulder to shoulder, both trying to get the other to eat something for breakfast. You both claimed to be too nervous, and then the other would say “that’s ridiculous, you have to eat!”.

Walking to the pitch, Harry Potter trailed behind all of you. You watched the twins stop to reach him, each wrapping a comforting and brotherly arm around his shoulders. You smiled to yourself, slipping into the changing room with the rest of the girls.

The crowd was roaring. It had never been this loud. Various chants sounded off, and you soon realized that someone in the Slytherin crowd learned a charm to louden their voice. Hateful words about Harry spouted from the green stands, and boos countered the Slytherin statements from the blue, yellow, and red bannered stands.

Taking the field, you hovered in front of Adrian Pucey as you had hovered in front of Alicia. Alicia was much nicer to look at, you thought, and she was a better player.

Pucey was barely moving before you soared off with the Quaffle tucked under your arm. You avoided the Slytherin chasers easily, twisting and ducking on your broom with the Quaffle on you like it was a third arm attached to your body. Cheers sounded off as you faked out Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey, making them dive into each other and nearly sending them off their brooms.

You looked back, seeing Alicia wide open behind you. You glanced forward, the Slytherin keeper braced for your shot. You slowed, allowing Alicia to come to your side. You made a seamless pass to her that the keeper hadn’t noticed, and while he looked at you, Alicia came from the left and scored. You met her to high five, your arms outstretched.

Fred dove to you, following a very determined Bludger. His bat was nearly touching it, nearly about to send it off its path towards you. He was just about to reach it when you dove. Fred and the Bludger soared past you, and the Bludger redirected itself. Doing a loop, and seeing that you were no longer there, it went for the next best thing. Alicia barely had time to brace herself before the Bludger knocked her shoulder out of its socket. The painful injury only caused a short interruption, but she had some choice words for Fred and George for failing to hit the Bludger sooner.

After that one incident, the game continued in the same fashion. You and Alicia flew circles around the lacking Slytherin Chasers, and Oliver blocked nearly everything they sent at him.

The cheers from the crowd stayed consistent for the entire match. There was never a silent moment from any house. A renowned gasp fell across the crowd, though, as Draco changed direction quickly. He turned the end of his broom straight up, and with an outstretched hand, Harry was breathing down Draco’s neck. You watched your brother, his blond hair flying off his face, his long arms reaching out into the sky. You didn’t feel bad for rooting for Draco, because even if he caught it, you were so ahead it wouldn’t have mattered.

Draco’s pale fingers eventually did wrap around the snitch, and without thinking, he let go of his broom in the haste of catching the little thing. He began to fall from the sky, and you watched as his legs and arms flailed around him. His broom fell faster than he did, and you flew to him. You were pulling your wand from your boot when someone had beat you to it. Draco hung suspended in mid-air, his body limp. He raised his head, and you saw his ghostly cheeks flushed pink. He looked around, patting his body to check if he was still alive. When he realized he was, he raised his hand into the sky, showing the golden snitch. The green section roared with laughter, but Lee Jordan’s voice halted them.

“Just a reminder! The Gryffindor team still wins!”

Cheers from every other section sounded off, and you felt a pang of guilt in your heart. You could be a Slytherin, you should be a Slytherin, and here you were apart of one of the houses that cheered for your brother's losses.

You flew to Draco, watching as he tucked the snitch into his robe pocket. You hovered, and he climbed onto the back of your broom. You looked around to see who had saved him, only to see Fred’s smug smile above you. George hovered next to his brother, scowling at Fred. You watched Fred tuck his wand back into his robes, giving you a shy wave. You smiled back at him, a silent thanks for the help.

You flew Draco to the ground, where he collected his broom.

“You were great, Dray,” you said, clapping him on the back, “really.”

“We lost,” he spat at you, cringing from your touch.

“Yeah but that’s not your fault.” you consoled him, watching his face soften, “You did your job, you caught the snitch.”

Draco nodded at you, offering you an appreciative smile. You wrapped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed briefly, then sending him off to his sulking Slytherin team captain.

Oliver was already running towards you, arms outstretched.

“Y/n!” he called, and you smiled widely at him.

“You were amazing, Wood,” you called to him, letting him envelop you in a hug.

He pulled you over to the huddle of your teammates, and they were all beaming.

“Wasn’t Potter this time, was it?” Lee Jordan called from his place in the spectator box, “Y/n Malfoy, the best Chaser Gryffindor’s got!”

You blushed wildly at Lee’s exaggerated praise, ducking your head as your teammates all cheered for you.

Fred and George came tumbling from the sky, landing ungracefully on the ground.

“Think this calls for a party?” Fred asked, and everyone’s cheers increased.

The common room was transformed into an even more red and gold haven. Maybe red was growing on you.

You were standing at the center of a huddle, everyone’s glasses raised. Oliver had just made a quite longwinded speech, to which you cut off with:

“Let’s drink to that!”

Cheers came from everyone around you, and you brought your firewhisky to your lips.

“I still don’t get why you did that,” George shouted at his brother, his words slightly slurred. George never could handle his liquor.

“It was her brother, mate!” Fred shouted back.

“He’s a Malfoy! And so is she! Freaks, the lot of them!” George yelled, and the statement trailed over the crowd and to your ears.

You turned to look at the twins, meeting George’s disgusted face.

You pushed through the crowd and put yourself between the brothers, bringing your face to George’s.

“What’s your problem?” you shouted, and he cringed away from the loud noise.

“You!” he shouted back, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“You’re a prick,” you said to him, sounding poisonous, “a drunk prick.”

George scoffed and brought a hand to your shoulder. He shoved you away, and you tumbled into Fred. Fred’s arms were around you before you could lunge at George as if he read your mind.

“Let me go!” you shouted to Fred, thrashing against him. George stood in front of you, taunting you. He waved his drink around, his drunken expression full of arrogance.

“I can’t!” Fred called out to you, then to George, “George, stop!”

George rolled his eyes and tossed back the rest of his drink. He stumbled off to somewhere else, leaving you in Fred’s grasp.

He felt your heavy breathing against his chest, your warm arms in his hands.

“You alright?” Fred spoke into your ear, his mouth moving against your hair.

“Yeah, I’m fine, you can let me go,” you said, wiggling from his grasp.

Fred hadn’t wanted to let you go, but he figured it would be odd if he kept you pulled against him.

“He didn’t mean that,” Fred started, but you waved him off.

“Yes he did,” you said. starting to walk away.

Fred reached out for you, pulling you back.

“I’m sorry,” Fred said, his eyes searching yours.

“Stop, Fred,” you said, pulling your arm from his hand again, “None of you Weasley’s have liked me since the day I was sorted into Gryffindor. It didn’t even matter who I was.”

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed at your statement, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything but sympathy as he looked at your hurt expression.

“That’s not true, Y/n,” he started, but you turned again. He didn’t stop you that time.

Your mood was ruined. You filled your cup with more firewhisky, but at the bottom of each glass, all you could see was George’s disgusted face.

You had never done anything to the Weasleys, but that never stopped the redheads, or their friends, from sending you glares any time they saw you. You felt torn, torn by the unnaturalness of you being in Gryffindor, being away from your brother. You were torn by the fact that you felt weren’t even wanted by Gryffindor. No matter what you did, it was never right.

You remembered watching Draco get sorted, his baby-faced wonder as he sat on the stool with his legs crossed at the ankles. You had hoped, you had even prayed, that Draco would be sorted into Gryffindor. When that house was called out, though, the table of green erupted, and you watched your brother be swept off by your rivaling house.

George would never understand this, he would never see you as anything but a Malfoy, a pure-blood supremacist. You weren’t what your family was, you didn’t care about blood status, but no one cared.

Your anger seethed, watching George having fun, dancing with Angelina. Your grip on your cup tightened, and you wanted more than anything to go up to him and throw what was left of your drink into his face. You started over to him.

Fred intercepted you, having been watching you intently the whole night.

“You don’t want to do this,” Fred said, trying to calm you down as he blocked your path to his brother, “wait ‘till morning, then you can scream at him all you want.”

You could only shake your head, trying to move pasted Fred. You didn’t want to do this in the morning, you wanted to do this now, while the warm anger moved through your blood as fast as the whiskey did.

Fred’s hands gripped your upper arms, holding you in place.

“Let me go, Fred,” you mumbled, teeth gritted.

“I can’t, Y/n,” he said, searching for your eyes like he was begging you to look at him.

“He can’t always get away with it,” you whispered, feeling your anger turn into sadness. You had refused to cry about George or anything he said in your first year, but it seemed that now was your breaking point.

“He won’t, I promise,” Fred whispered back, trying to sound reassuring. He found it hard, his heart hurting at the sight of you so upset.

“He always does!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking. Your eyes were still dry, but the pounding in your chest felt like a heart attack.

“Well, he won’t this time,” Fred replied, bringing his face to yours so you had no choice but to look at him, “I’ll make sure of it.”

You met his eyes, and he saw the hopeful glint in them. He offered you a kind smile, his lips stretched across his face. You nodded at him, relaxing in his grasp. You didn’t try to move from it, and you didn’t want to. You felt safe in Fred’s arms.

“Oi!” George called from behind Fred.

Fred turned, putting you behind his back and himself between you and George. You pushed and pulled, trying to get in front of him and to George, but he was too strong.

“Fred, when are you going to get over this?” George asked his brother, downing the last of his dark drink.

“Shut up, George,” Fred warned, trying to push you and him away from George.

“I’ve told you a million times, mate,” George started, “Malfoys and Weasleys don’t belong together.”

Fred was on top of George in seconds. He was wrestling him to the ground and putting him in a headlock.

You put a hand over your mouth, watching as they fought. You replayed George’s words, “Malfoys and Weasleys don’t belong together”. Was this simple brotherly teasing, or did Fred have feelings for you?

Katie and Alicia found you in the crowd, and you hadn’t even realized what you were doing as they pulled you off of Fred and George. You had grabbed Fred’s shoulders, trying to pull him off his brother, but they thrashed against your grip.

Alicia and Katie were guiding you up the girl's dormitory stairs, pushing you towards the bathroom as your face became green with nausea. Katie held your hair, rubbing your back as you emptied your breakfast and what looked to be an entire bottle of firewhisky.

You groaned, moving to rest your back on the wall in front of the toilet. Katie flushed the vomit, closed the lid, and sat in front of you.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her kind voice inviting you to tell her all about your insecurities and worries.

Alicia came in right at the part of you feeling guilty for not being Slytherin, and Angelina stumbled into the dorms at your conclusion of what George said about Weasleys and Malfoys.

The girls consoled you, assuring you that you had every right to be in Gryffindor and that George was just a prick.

“What’d you think he meant by that?” Katie said, testing your reaction, in reference to what George said.

“I dunno,” you grumbled, moving yourself to lay down on the ground. Alicia moved, grabbing your shoulder and making you stay upright.

“Could it mean Fred,” Alicia spoke like a kindergarten teacher, and your drunken self giggled as she spoke, “likes you?”

You gasped, your head falling back to hit the wall.

“No way,” you mumbled, and when Katie started giggling next to you, you did too.

When Fred finally made his way up the girl's stairs, bypassing the detouring charms, he heard loud and manic giggles coming from your dorm. He opened the door but found the beds empty. The door to the bathroom was open, and the sound came from there.

“Hello?” he said, rasping his knuckles on the door frame.

The four girls on the ground, all looked up at him with bright smiles, all saying at the same time: “Fred!”

Fred’s eyes went to yours immediately. He smiled as his name fell from your drunken lips, admiring the twinkle in your silver eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked, moving to crouch in front of you.

The other girls got the hint, and filed out of the bathroom, all mumbling something of good luck to you.

“Yeah,” you replied, still smiling.

Your eyes focused on his face, and you saw a nasty cut on his lip. It bled a little to the corner of his mouth and down his jaw, stopping just above his shirt collar.

Your smile dropped, and you brought a hand to his jaw, “Are you alright? You’re bleeding, Fred.”

He brought a hand to his lip, and when he pulled it away he saw blood. You pushed yourself to your feet, wobbling a little as you stood. You got a wad of toilet paper and wet it a little in the sink. You put your hands on Fred’s shoulders, telling him to be still.

He closed his eyes as you dragged the paper over his jaw and dabbed at his lip. Once you got the blood off, you got a dry piece of toilet paper and ran it back over his jaw again. He suppressed the groans he wanted to release, forcing his hands not to reach out and grab your waist. Once the trail of blood was gone, you used a finger to tilt his face up. You ran your fingers over where the blood had been, making sure you got it all. Fred’s mouth opened a little at the touch, and he sighed heavily. You let his face drop back to yours, and looked at him. His mouth still had some blood in the corner. You wet the pad of your thumb with your tongue and cupped Fred’s face. You brought your thumb to the corner of his mouth and swiped your finger across his lip. This time Fred wasn’t able to suppress the moan that came from his chest. Your hand still rested on his shoulder, and your hand still held his jaw.

“Did George do this?” you asked, fearful of his response.

“Must have,” Fred whispered back to you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, dropping your hands from Fred and turning your back to him, “I shouldn’t have gone over to him.”

“Hey,” Fred said, wrapping a hand on your waist and pulling you into him, “George deserved that. You should see the shiner I gave him.”

“I can’t let you fight your brother like that,” you whispered, putting a hand on his chest and feeling his beating heart, “you two don’t fight like that.”

“I don’t care. I’ll fight him every day until he gives you a chance,” Fred replied, bringing a hand from your waist to the back of your neck.

When he began to pull your face closer to his, you pulled back a little, still in his embrace.

“I can’t kiss you,” you said, a teasing smile on your face.

“Why not?” he pouted.

“I just threw up, it’s gross.”

Fred dug in his pocket for a second and pulled out a tin. It was one in the packaging of one of his products, but he assured you they had yet to be charmed to make people’s tongues swell.

“I don’t know,” you dragged, twisting the small mint in your fingers.

“Why would I prank you right now? You have no idea how much I want to kiss you,” he took the mint form your hand and put it in your mouth for you.

He was right, it was just a regular mint. The taste of vomit was gone, and after you chewed it, Fred barely wasted a second before he pulled you into him.

He kissed you hard, despite having a busted lip. When you ran your tongue over it, he winced, and you pulled back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, bringing your hand up to it and touching his lip. His hand grabbed yours, and he placed gentle kisses to each of your fingertips. His hand moved to your palm, to your wrist, and up your arm. His mouth ran over your shoulder, which he pulled your shirt back from, and up your neck. His lips finally connected with yours again, and you let out a pleased moan.

Fred pushed you against the counter of the sink, and you wrapped your hands in his hair. The feeling of nausea hit you very quickly, and you pulled away from Fred. You doubled over, trying to will yourself from throwing up.

“Oh god,” you started, and Fred rushed to your side, “I’m gonna throw up again.”

“What? Was it the mint? Are you alright?” Fred protested as you pushed him on his back out of the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind him.

You threw open the toilet seat and emptied what was left in your stomach. Flushing, you closed the lid and sat on it. You pulled your wand from your waistband and unlocked the door. Fred came in hesitantly, and when he saw you were fine, he lifted you off the toilet by the hand.

“Come on,” he said, guiding you out of the dorm.

“I don’t wanna go back to the party,” you mumbled, pulling his arm closer to you as you held onto it.

“You’ve been up there for ages, the party’s long over,” Fred assured, pulling you down the stairs.

Cups littered the ground, and abandoned streamers hung from the ceiling. A banner Dean Thomas had made hung lopsided on one side of the room.

Fred pulled you to the couch, bringing a blanket over you.

“Do you want anything?” he asked, and you laughed at his nurturing actions.

You were about to say no, but the rumbling of your stomach convinced you otherwise. You had emptied everything you had eaten, and you were hungry.

Fred snuck to the kitchens easily, making the same trek he made nearly every other night. He brought you back some sandwiches, but when he slipped through the portrait hole, he found you asleep on the couch.

Your breathing was even, and your mouth hung open a little. You curled into the couch, tucking your legs up to your chest.

He put the sandwiches on the table next to you and moved your body to the left. He curled up next to you, pulling the blanket over the both of you. He spooned you, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. He wrapped his arm around your waist, and your hand found his under the blanket.

For the first time, you felt at home in the Gryffindor common room.

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

It’s You (Nico Hischier Imagine)

Y’all, I’ve been so busy lately! I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted, but hopefully this and the Matty imagine coming soon will make up for it :)

Rating: G

Pairing: Nico Hischier/fem!reader

Words: 3047

Warnings: minor language

Requested: yes/no

Prompt: “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Summary: “ Nico Hischier, fluff prompt 2, and the couple trope where they’re both dense af and don’t realize how cute they are together. The third wheelers that wanna smack their foreheads? Nico’s entire team. “

Knowing that you’re in love with someone is different than accepting that you’re in love with someone.

You’ve known that you love Nico for years. It wasn’t anything special that made you realize, really. It was during one of your semi-regular movie nights, when he was tossing popcorn into the air, trying to catch it in his mouth. He hit himself in the eye with a piece, and you’d laughed at him so hard that he shoved his cold feet under your leg in retaliation, and as you yelped in shock, it had hit you. You never wanted to hear anything but his laugh ever again, and you’d suffer worse than some cold feet for that.

It wasn’t until last year that you truly understood how far gone you are for him, and actually accepted what being in love with him meant. Despite being annoyingly sure that you and Nico were meant to be together, your friends had tried to set you up with someone. Their reasoning was that you hadn’t made a move, and probably never would, so they decided you needed to meet someone else to get over him. It was the second blind date when you realized that as well as you meshed with the guy, all you wanted was to be at Nico’s place watching some stupid show cuddled up on the couch. You didn’t want anyone else, and you never would.

That was the part that scared you at first. You’re never going to love anyone like you love Nico, and you didn’t have any desire to try. He’s everything you want, and the only thing you want. And he would never want you back. The prospect of a life without romantic love was terrifying, but after a month of near-constant panic, you were able to accept it. You have friends, and so much in your life that makes you happy, and that will be enough. You’re not excited to see him fall in love with someone else and get married and start a family, but having him in your life is enough. It’s enough. It’s enough.

You wonder sometimes, though. When he turns down invitations from the guys to spend time with you, when he holds you close on the couch, when he curls up next to you in bed after a bad game. The wondering is the worst part. You know he doesn’t feel the same as you, that they’re just best friend things, but sometimes you can’t help but to let yourself believe in the possibility.

The guys used to tease the two of you about “being in love”, but in the past year or so, it’s started seeming less teasing and more genuine. Frustrated, even. Between the guys and your friends, it seems like everyone thinks you should be together. That’s the second worst part.

Today, Nico has saved you a ticket for the game, since you can actually make it after work. When he’d gotten the captaincy, he’d gotten you a new jersey with the C on it, so you wear it to the game over your favorite sweater. A few of the WAGs came as well, and you’re excited to catch up with them. They’d adopted you as an honorary WAG a couple years back, considering how close you are with Nico.

The first period goes well, Nico scoring a beautiful wrister six minutes in. He looks up to where he knows you’re sitting after collecting his fist-bumps, though you’re sure he can’t really see you.

The second period is a little rougher, the Rangers scoring two goals, separated by a tip-in from Nico. He looks to your section again, and it makes you smile every time. Having him on hatty watch is exciting, and the game is dynamic enough that you’re cheering maybe a little too hard to be respectable. Luckily, the girls think it’s endearing, and know to expect it from you.

During second intermission, you chat with Nicole. She’s still beaming with pride from Travis’s thousandth game the other day, and you love to see it. She asks you about work and family and Nico, the conversation casual and comfortable. The only thing that bothers you is the way she looks at you as you talk about Nico, smile small and gentle, eyes almost pitying. The other girls still occasionally urged you to make a move on Nico, but Nicole had stopped around the time that you accepted your love for him. Now she just looks a little bittersweet when you bring him up. It’s kind of annoying, honestly. But she’s your friend, and she means well, so you don’t mind too much.

The third period is dynamic, the puck flying between zones, both teams feeling the pressure of the impending end of the game. The atmosphere in the arena is electric, everyone shouting and leaning forward in their seats, enraptured by the action. Because of the way the team has been struggling in the past few years, most of the Devils fans that are left are the die-hards, and it shows in the passion filling the Pru.

It’s looking like they’re going to go into overtime, the score still tied with only two minutes left in the game. Neither team pulls their goalie, probably trying for overtime so that they get at least one point. At 1:47, Nico gets a breakaway, and you jump out of your seat along with the rest of the crowd, throwing a fist into the air and cheering at the top of your lungs. Nico reaches Georgeiv, fakes a five-hole shot, and when Georgeiv hits the ground to block it, Nico flicks the puck up toward the top shelf. Georgeiv flings his glove up to catch it, but he’s just a moment too late. The puck hits the top left twine, coming to rest in the back corner of the goal.

The arena explodes.

Your hands are in the air as you jump around, screaming in unfettered joy. Even the WAGs are shouting, the shot beautiful and coming just in time. Nico collects his fist-bumps, then looks toward your seat yet again. But this time, he points toward your section, and you’re sure he’s pointing to you. You place a hand over your heart, the other clenched in a fist in the air. The pride is overwhelming.

The last minute and a half are a desperate rush of the Rangers trying to even the score back out, and the Devils doing all they can to keep their lead. Kreider, Zibanejad, and Buchnevich make a fantastic first line, and they’re doing a great job of bringing the puck into the Devils’ zone over and over, but Ty and Damon are on fire, clearing the puck every time it’s brought in. When the buzzer sounds, you and Nicole hug, excited to see your boys succeeding.

Nico will have to talk to the media for sure, considering his hat trick, in addition to the cool down, game debrief, and getting changed. It adds to the time you’ll have to wait before you see him, but you’re so happy for him that it doesn’t even faze you. He was amazing, and you’re looking forward to having a late dinner and cuddle session with him.

After a moment of consideration, you resolve to make him his favorite post-game meal. That means you’ll have to stop at the store, so you decide to forego meeting him outside the locker room in favor of grabbing the ingredients and getting the food started. You have a key to his apartment anyway, and the doorman knows you, so you don’t have to wait for him to let you in.

You stop at Shoprite on your way to his place, grabbing everything you need, along with some snacks to stock his pantry. He forgets to keep them in the house sometimes, so you like to make sure he has something to nosh on when he doesn’t feel like cooking. When you get to his complex, the doorman greets you happily.

“Roger!” you greet in return, giving him a quick hug, “It’s great to see you. How’s the family?” The two of you chat for a few minutes, catching up since you have a bit of time. He lets you into the building, and you take the elevator up to Nico’s floor. You unlock the door and drop your keys and bag on the table in the entryway. After dumping the grocery bags on the counter, you put on some music and start unpacking.

You stash the snacks in the upper cabinets, setting aside the things you need now. You set to work, singing along to the music as you cook. There’s a lull while you let the chicken cook, so you check your phone. You’d sent Nico a text before you left, letting him know you’d meet him at home, so you wanted to make sure he saw it. He’d sent back a thumbs-up, so you don’t have to call him. You have a couple notifications, and a text from Nicole. After checking the notifications and replying to a snapchat from your friend, you open Nicole’s message. It’s just a link, so you tap into it, and a video pops up. It’s Nico’s post-game interview. You don’t usually watch them, because he tells you about the game afterward anyway, but if Nicole sent it, there must be something special about it.

The pride on his face brings a smile to yours. You listen to him give some pretty standard answers to some pretty standard questions, waiting for whatever made Nicole see fit to send it to you. The reporter asks about his hat trick, and the flush on Nico’s face grows. He’s so damn cute.

“Well,” he begins, huffs half of a laugh, continues, “There was a special girl in the audience, so I wanted to do something special for her.”

“Oh, trying to impress somebody?” the reporter asks, the smile evident in her voice.

“Yeah,” Nico replies, clearly embarrassed, “She’s the most important person in my life, so…” He trails off at the end, but the intent is clear.

Your heart stops.

It’s unbelievable, what you’ve just heard, and it’s inconceivable that it could be about you. You try your best to think of everyone who was in the family and friends section, anyone in Nico’s life that he could be talking about. You were the only one there for him tonight, unless someone else was in a different section. You try as hard as you can, but you can’t think of anyone that Nico’s talked about lately that he could be interested in. You try to convince yourself that there’s someone he hasn’t told you about, but you tell each other everything. If there was someone, he would have told you.

Shit.

You want to call him, ask him what the hell that was, hear him tell you that it was for someone else. You’d already accepted that you’d never be together, that you’d never have love, and the possibility of your greatest desire being obtainable throws you off so hard that you have to take a moment to lean on the counter and breathe.

You manage to resist the urge to call him, knowing that he’ll be home soon anyway. If you keep focusing on the interview, you’ll have a panic attack, so you force all of your attention to finishing the food. The chicken is still cooking, and usually you’d just let it sit, but this time you’re spooning the sauce over it with very intentional focus. Anything to keep yourself stable.

Once you’re sure it’s cooked through, you turn the heat off. The broccoli is already done, but the rice takes another minute to finish. You plate the sides next to each other on the dishes, placing the chicken on the bed of rice and dousing it in the rest of the sauce. The sauce is Nico’s favorite part, so you make sure to give him extra.

Once the plates are set on the coffee table in the living room, you hear the doorknob turn. Your heart skips another beat, and you take a deep breath to settle yourself. He calls your name as he comes in, and you swallow hard so that you can tell him you’re there without your voice cracking. He rounds the corner and walks straight to you, wrapping you up in his arms. You hug him back, face buried in his neck. You know that you’re tense, and that he’ll probably notice, but you hope that he doesn’t ask about it.

Luckily, he only gives you a worried look. You smile back instead, and you can feel how fake it looks. To avoid the question, you start asking him about the game, leading him over to the couch to sit and eat. Nico stops when he sees the meal, a soft look overtaking his face. He always got soft and sentimental when you did thoughtful things for him, and his appreciation brings a real smile to your face. Your heart settles in your chest, and you remind yourself that this is Nico. At the end of the day, this is Nico, and he’s your best friend, for better or worse. There’s no reason to be afraid; there’s never a reason to be afraid around him.

You turn on the TV, navigating through until you can start the episode of The Good Place that you’d left off on. Even as you eat, you take pauses to make small comments about the show. Nico laughs at all of them, even if they’re not that funny. Once you’re both finished eating, you pause the show and take the dishes into the kitchen. Nico trails behind you, slipping between you and the sink at the last moment, close enough that you bump into him.

“You cooked, I wash,” he says on the tail end of a laugh.

“Then at least let me dry,” you reply, smile shining through your voice. He gives an over-dramatic sigh and an “I guess” before his smile returns. You bump your shoulders together and grab the towel off of the drying rack. Nico has a dishwasher, but you always wash the dishes by hand when you eat dinner together. It’s just a little tradition at this point, a way to spend a quiet moment together, to extend the time you stay. To increase the chance of you just staying over. Well, it’s not really a necessary motivation any more, but it is a handy excuse.

As Nico starts the water and soaps the sponge, you turn on the bluetooth speaker at home on the island and choose some chill music. There’s just something about this time together that always gives you a special feeling, something that you don’t get anywhere else. Something that relaxes your shoulders, softens your jaw, turns the edges of your lips up just enough that you realize your face has been resting in a frown all day. Your life is perfectly fine, but being with Nico makes you realize that it could be better. That you deserve better. That as long as he’s by your side, you have better.

Washing the dishes is calming, silent save for the clink of the silverware and the soft melody floating from the speaker. Once all the dishes are dried and back in the cabinets, Nico steps into your space, resting his hands on your waist. It takes the breath from your lungs, until he starts swaying you and you realize you’re dancing.

Your hands had landed on the curve of his shoulders without your conscious decision, thumbs gently propped along the tendons on either side of his throat. It feels too intimate that way, so you move them to join behind his neck instead. The more traditional position is less uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally.

You have no idea what song is playing now, too caught up in the weight of his hands, the baby hairs at the base of his skull running between your fingers, the unbearably fond look in his eyes. He’s looking at you like he’s just as happy to have this as you are, like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. Like he loves you.

“I saw the interview,” you say, not meaning for the words to slip out. You knew that it would ruin the mood, but you had to know. You had to know.

“Oh, um,” Nico stutters to a stop, though he doesn’t remove his hands from your hips. He tightens them, actually. No matter how much you want to cup your hand around the curve of his jaw, you leave them where they are. You don’t want to assume, just to embarrass yourself later.

Waiting patiently, you keep an eye on Nico’s face. He’s cycling through so many emotions that it’s difficult to catch them all. His face has gone pink, cheeks nearly glowing as they continue to redden while he thinks. You give him as much time as you can bear.

“Who were you talking about, Nico?” you ask, needing him to say it. You need to hear him say it. His breathing has gone a bit ragged, and he takes a gulp of air to steady himself. His cheeks are still bright red, and it somehow makes him even more beautiful.

“You,” he says simply, eyes locked on your own.

Your heart stops.

“Yeah?” you ask, the barest hint of a smile starting. Nico ducks his head for just a moment, huffing a laugh before angling back up to look at you again, eyes soft instead of determined.

“It’s you,” he replies, “It’s always been you.” Your breath catches in your throat as he says the words you’ve been dying both to hear and to say. It’s you. It’s all for you.

“Well, that’s convenient,” your smile is blooming wide, “Because it’s always been you, too.” Nico’s face springs into a bright grin, and you let your hands come to his face. Your fingertips wrap below his jaw, your thumbs resting on his cheekbones.

“You should kiss me now,” you say, pulling a dazzling laugh from him. He leans down, pressing your lips together in what you hope will be the first kiss of many.

[julemmaes]

The Seven Of Us

Cassian and Nesta Archeron modern au - morning cuddles

A/N: THIS. WAS. HAARD. AS FUCK TO WRITE. BUT IT IS FLUFF. A LOT OF IT. AND IT’S FOR MY ONE AND ONLY GIRL, NINA. I LOVE YOU HONEY AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN, I HOPE THIS DOES SOMETHING TO SHOW YOU HOW MUCH I APPRECCIATE YOU AND GUYS SEND PROMPTS FOR THIS AU CAUSE I’M ALREADY IMAGINING EVERYTHING POSSIBLE IN THIS UNIVERSE SO YEAH, ENJOY!!

Word count: 3,584

Nesta liked to sleep in late on the weekends. Especially on Sundays, when she was sure they wouldn't be busy and she could lounge in bed, under the comforter, without the dread of hearing her phone ring at any moment.

What Nesta didn't like was her insistent husband of no less than sixteen years caressing her bare side at an hour far too close to dawn after he'd had the audacity to keep her up all night for a good time.

"Cass." Nesta gave a first warning. She heard him chuckle behind her, but kept her eyes closed.

When the feather-light touch didn't stop tracing its path across her skin, tickling her side, she sighed, "Cass, stop."

She felt him move closer and the warmth radiating from his body was already starting to wrap around her. She could have fallen back asleep in half a second, but he had other plans. Her hand snapped to grasp his wrist and Cassian chuckled again, saying in a sleep-filled voice, "Sweetheart, you're squeezing too hard." with that he moved his fingers over her skin applying more pressure and up to her armpit, where she was particularly ticklish and Nesta jerked, accidentally making the back of her head collide with her husband's nose.

The reaction from both of them was instantaneous. Cassian grunted, turning away from her, bringing his hands to his nose, while Nesta whimpered, raising herself up on one elbow so she could glare at him.

He burst out laughing, trying not to make too much noise, but when he turned back around, his eyes were glazed with tears and he was rubbing the bridge of his nose, squeezing it between his thumb and forefinger.

Nesta felt a little guilty. But only a little.

"I get that you like pain, but I thought you'd be a little more forgiving after tonight," he joked in a muffled voice from his hand, with an amused glint in his eyes. Nesta knew there would be an arrogant grin under that hand, showing the purely male satisfaction for what they had done.

The frown on her face deepened, but her cheeks flushed nonetheless at the memory of him blocking her airways to prevent everyone from hearing her come for the umpteenth time even down the street.

After all, as he had reminded her several times during their little game that lasted hours and hours, they weren't alone in that house either. She still insisted after so many years on receiving those lonely and sacred hours together with her husband, and Cassian always told her that they both deserved it, that with all the work they did during the week, they needed to feel the hands of the other on their bodies without anything or anyone disturbing them. The fact that they had to take advantage of the nighttime hours between Saturdays and Sundays didn't mean they would ever give up sex.

Nesta pressed her lips together in a thin line, "I would have been more forgiving if you hadn't decided to wake me up by torturing me," she whispered.

Cassian made a bewildered face, chuckling softly, "I was giving you an under arm massage, no torture." he pretended not to understand. Then he moved his hand to her side once more, pulling her flush against him, and that cocky smirk appeared on his lips, "Although you didn't seem to mind the torture so much last night either. I don't see what the big deal is about doing it now."

He was teasing her and she knew it.

Nesta let her head fall forward, pushing her forehead against his chest now resigned that she would never sleep through that morning, "Please stop."

His other arm wrapped around her waist as well, pulling her even more until she was completely lying on top of him. Nesta pouted upon feeling that he'd put on his pajama pants and, casting a quick glance at her body from over her shoulder, she noticed she was wearing a tank top and underwear.

She turned around smiling shyly at Cassian, "Thank you for putting clothes on me."

It often happened that their recreational activities would end up exhausting her and she would fall asleep soon after, too tired to even slip into a pair of panties and t-shirt for the night.

He smiled back at her, "I would never want anyone to walk into the room and be traumatized for life by seeing us naked and tangled under the covers."

She looked away, beginning to trace the lines of his tattoos, "Although," she brushed one of his pecs with her lips, "right now I would love for you to be naked."

Her mouth left faint kisses and bites in the places she knew were sensitive, and as she began to slide lower, with a clear goal in mind, she felt Cassian catch his breath before releasing the air through his nostrils.

His hands began to caress her back, in a very different way from what he was doing a few minutes before, "We can't." he murmured with a longing voice, taking her hips and blocking her thrusting movements.

Nesta lifted her head, breathing irregularly despite the fact that they hadn't even come close to her goal, and when she met his gaze, she knew what he was thinking. She sulked again, groaning, "I just want to be able to have sex whenever I want, how long until all this shit is over?"

Cassian's chest jerked repeatedly beneath her as he laughed, "Legally speaking, in fourteen years, my love." he pulled her up until their noses were touching. He caressed her cheek, brushing her mouth with his, "Realistically, it'll never end."

Nesta shook her head, "I hate you when you use logic." she whispered, kissing him properly. His lips parted and he moaned against her when Nesta made their tongues collide.

They broke away suddenly when they heard a laugh coming from down the hall. Cassian cackled as he saw Nesta's terrified expression, "If you hadn't been so sure of yourself eleven years ago, the sex would only be three years away now," he murmured, hurrying to speak when the sound of three pairs of rushing feet began to echo throughout the house, getting closer and closer.

Huffing annoyed that Cassian was right again, she pulled herself up on his lap, pressing her hips against his just out of spite and he groaned, biting down on a fist and closing his eyes. She smiled in satisfaction, shifting from on top of him.

The second Nesta settled back into her side with her back against the headboard, the door swung open and three little girls came screaming in excitedly. A beaming smile spread across the woman's face as she opened her arms wide, ready to welcome her daughters.

"Mommy!"

"Dada!"

Andra, oddly enough, was the first of the group and was the first to reach the bed, but with her only four years of age, she was still too short to make it onto the bed and Cassian, who was smiling mischievously at her and was ready to get up and help her, thanked every saint in heaven for his third-born, Nora, when she pushed her onto the mattress.

Celia, the second of the girls, was already at Nesta's feet and was now climbing through all the blankets to reach her mom.

"Come here, Lia," Nesta said to her, extending a hand. The little girl's tiny fingers tightened around hers and then the two were hugging each other in a bone-crashing hug, "Good morning mommy." murmured the little girl. Nesta kissed her forehead over and over again.

Nora was still helping Andra to walk on that unstable ground when Cassian pulled himself up to sit down - too impatient to wait until they would get to him on their own - and grabbed them both by the waist, pulling them onto him. The two little girls burst out laughing immediately when their daddy started giving them the same attention their mother was giving Celia.

"I had the strangest dream daddy!" cried the oldest one.

Cassian's eyes lit up at those words and as Celia settled herself astride Nesta's legs and laid her head between her breasts, wrapping her hips with her short arms, Andra had managed to escape her father's grasp and was smiling at her mom. She extended her little hands toward her and Nesta reached out to take the latest addition to the Navarro-Archeron family as well and settle her behind her older sister on her lap, but not before showering her with kisses.

"Oh yeah?" asked Cassian, turning Nora around so that she was looking at the other three as well, "Nothing bad I hope." he joked, looking at them all quickly with a funny grimace on his face.

Celia giggled and Cassian's head snapped in her direction. His smile grew even bigger and Nesta suddenly remembered why she had asked her husband for a second child almost eleven years ago. And then another. And another. And another.

Because of that look the man of her life reserved for each and every one of their children.

"You didn't give me any kisses, cutie," he pointed out to her. Celia pulled away from Nesta's chest and leaned in just enough for Cassian to leave a kiss on her nose. When everyone was back in their seats, Nora nodded excitedly.

"We were supposed to have a competition," she began, "and I was in the group with Ezra, Lia, and Dad, while Andra, Mom, and Cal were on the other team."

Now that the commotion was over and no one was moving on the bed, Nesta could get a good look at them. All three of them had what they called the barely-awake-wig on and she felt like laughing, but she restrained herself because she knew full well that if she even made a sound, Nora would start over to tell the dream.

In the common language it could be translated into "my hair is so tangled and knotted that it looks like a bird's nest" and the sight of their three daughters entering their room every Sunday looking like a bunch of strays never ceased to put a smile on Nesta's face.

"...And then Ezra called these huge animals that flew though they had butterfly wings and of course we got there first." she said proudly, high-fiving Cassian who had just raised his hand.

Nesta shook her head, "I'm sorry honey I didn't get where we were going?"

Nora huffed annoyed, crossing her arms over her chest and wearing a twin expression to her own, "To Terrasen, Mom."

Cassian nodded beside her, giving her a faux-offended look, "Yes, Nes, to Terrasen of course."

"Sorry potato, mom's just really tired," she brushed a hand across her face, "because dad kept her up all night," Nesta reminded, widening her eyes slightly at her husband.

Celia pulled herself up sharply, knocking Andra off balance who was leaning over her and fell over Nesta's legs, "Did you have a sleepover?" squealed Celia.

Cassian chuckled, reaching out to grab Andra and the little girl smiled at him in amusement. She started crawling towards him and Nora, "I don't have a dream." stammered the littlest one.

"Me neither baby." said Cassian to reassure her as he sat her down between him and Nesta.

Celia waved her little hands in midair, risking hitting her mom in the face and getting everyone's attention, "Why do you guys always have sleepovers and we never get to?"

Nesta frowned, "What do you mean you never have them?" she asked in amazement, "You're always at Aunt Gwyn's and Uncle Azriel's house." he pointed out to her.

Celia shook her head, snapping her tongue against her palate, "Yes but we never have them with you." she pouted, "Can we have one tonight?" she asked hopefully. Nora and Andra began to nod frantically as well. "And let's watch the princess and the frog!"

"I don't think so," said a voice from the door, "We own the television tonight and we have to watch that new movie on Prime."

"Good morning guys." Nesta smiled affectionately at her two sons, both obviously just waking up with their eyes half closed, as they leaned on each other for support.

Cassian burst out laughing at his daughters' shocked expressions.

Celia was shaking her head indignantly and stood up on the mattress to retort to her brother.

Nesta already knew how this was going to end and casting a quick glance towards her husband, she knew Cassian was thinking the same thing.

"Noooo!" shouted Celia. Andra stood up in turn, keeping a small hand on Cassian's shoulder so she wouldn't risk falling. "The TV is ours."

Ezra yawned as he stepped forward into the room and sat down at the bottom of Nesta's feet, before falling face forward onto the mattress and muttering something incomprehensible.

Cal had remained standing next to the bed on his father's side and was looking at his sister with an equally combative expression, ready to defend his and his brother's TV night, "No, Celia," Cassian grimaced at the use of his full name, "It's Sunday and TV is ours to have. You girls got it last night."

"I want to have a sleepover!"

Cassian loved all of his children equally, but Celia's tone of voice was too high for her to be allowed to speak on Sunday mornings before ten o'clock and if he didn't intervene, that high-pitched squeal would turn into a cry and he knew it wouldn't take them even half a second to throw themselves at each other's throats.

Casting a quick glance at all the children, he saw that Andra seemed just as convinced as her older sister and Nora was sighing so frequently that it didn't take a genius to figure out that she, too, didn't want to hear them fight so early. Ezra seemed to have fallen back asleep with his head in his mother's lap and Cassian felt a surge of affection for his son.

They were the perfect family picture.

When Nesta had told him she'd gotten pregnant almost sixteen years ago, he hadn't believed it. They had only been married a few months and weren't exactly trying to have children. Not that they were taking precautions to avoid it, but it had been unexpected. He had cried at the prospect that in only nine months he would be a father.

Then Ezra had been born, his hair the same shade as his mother's and his gray eyes the exact copy of those of the woman he loved, and Cassian had fallen completely in love all over again. In love with that tiny little creature who already had so much power over him and who he would have died for without a blink. And he hadn't been able to stop himself from thinking that he wished he had more. That if Nesta wanted, they would give Ezra a brother or sister as soon as possible.

As he had held him for the first time, crying as if his life had just begun, Cassian had thought that the love he felt for his son was too much, that the feeling would overwhelm him one day if he didn't find a way to share it and give it to others. For that reason, when Nesta had announced her second pregnancy to him three years later, he had been relieved that he would finally be able to share his love for Ezra with a second child.

He'd been wrong.

Cal was born when Ezra was four and was the exact physical copy of his father. Dark eyes and hair the exact color of Cassian's and the love had only doubled and totally crushed him. He had become as much a slave to the feeling as an addict to the next fix.

Nesta had joked that they were finally even, one child each, a genetic copy of both of them, and for two years all had been calm. Cal and Erza were growing up as fast as any other child and to Cassian it seemed like life was perfect, complete.

He'd been wrong again.

Nora had arrived three years after Cal and Celia only the year after Nora and Cassian had cried for days. Crying in front of those beauties so pure. And they were his and Nesta's. It was he and Nesta who had given life to those little balls of black hair and dark eyes that jumped on their bed every morning, welcoming them into the world every day with love and affection.

However, Nesta had never seen Cassian cry as much as he did the day Andra was born.

Andra, the last of the girls in the entire family, even smaller than the children of their brothers and sisters, had been born only four years earlier, three years apart from Celia.

Nesta had been shocked to see Cassian's reaction when he had first held the baby girl in his arms. She had been seriously worried when his body had started to shake with sobs and she had had to beg him to tell her it was okay, to give her a sign that he wasn't about to die choking on his own tears.

Cassian had looked at her amidst the crying and smiled, sniffling, "She looks just like you."

At that point, even Nesta hadn't been able to hold back her tears and had joined him in the land of the hyper sensitive parents.

It was true. Up to that point, for ten years, only Ezra had acquired physical features from his mother. The other three, though from a character standpoint they were the farthest thing from their father there could be, were the exact physical copy of him. Cal, Nora, and Celia had been mistaken for twins more times than Nesta could remember.

And although Cassian saw his wife every time he looked at his children, especially their first child, when Andra had arrived, the resemblance had been such that he'd simply burst.

Now they were complete.

A frustrated scream interrupted his train of memories and he felt Andra's tiny hand squeeze his shoulder.

He focused all his attention on Celia, who was trying to climb over him to reach Cal with her arms stretched forward - surely intending to rip her brother's face off.

The son had a grin identical to the one Nesta had when she teased him, and he took a deep breath, thinking that no one would really blame him if he accidentally knocked all his kids off the bed.

A smack on the arm made him turn to Nesta, who was looking at him hard, "Either you stop dreaming about throwing your kids out of bed and make yourself useful by stopping the upcoming fight or next Saturday no sleepover for you." then, before he could retort by saying she could stop them just as easily, she pointed to her legs pinned down by the growing body of their fourteen-year-old son, who seemed completely undisturbed by the sisters' high-pitched screams as they circled Cal, "I'd do it, but I'm stuck."

Cassian sighed as he stood up, making his way through the three little girls who seemed to be chanting some satanic ritual and picked up his son, saving him from what would have been certain death. The boy wrapped his arms around his neck and smiled down smugly at his sisters.

"That's enough." he instructed in the authoritative tone that only a father could have, "We have three TVs in this house." then he turned to the three pink and white girls, each with an adorable pout on their faces, "Tonight it's Cal and Ezra's turn to use the one in the living room and I'm sure you can all watch whatever they choose together." he took a deep breath, "But just in case not, you can come over to mom and dad's big bed and watch the princess and the frog here, okay?"

Celia looked on the verge of tears, always the most temperamental of the five, but she nodded once.

Nora took her hand and told her to follow her to their room and Cal wriggled out of Cassian's grasp, following them silently. Surely in five minutes he would have to get up and split them up again, but he cared little as he scooped Andra up off the floor and lay down on the bed holding the little one in his arms.

Nesta was stroking Ezra's hair absentmindedly and looking at him with such feeling in her eyes that Cassian only realized an in later that he had spoken.

"I love you, too," she replied, looking up at him from under her lashes.

Andra flapped her small hands laughing, "Me too."

Cassian looked at her smiling widely, "Come here baby."

The little girl burst out laughing, begging her daddy to let her go and Ezra stretched, extending one arm towards his mom and the other towards his dad.

He looked confused when he opened his eyes, but grunted something gibberish and closed them again soon after.

Nesta's hand stopped in his hair, "What did you say love?"

Ezra pulled himself up on his elbows, looking at her with eyes bright with amusement and Cassian knew immediately that whatever was going to come out of his mouth, he wasn't going to like it.

"Next time you have a sleepover, remember to close the window as well."  

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[anxioussweasley]

Back In The Hospital Wing

Pt.1 Masterlist

Summary: things have changed between you and Fred, but it isn’t until he ends up in the hospital wing that you take the next step.

Warnings: Mentions of injury, Maybe cursing? Idk, shitty writing, terrible summary

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: Hi babes! I really felt like In The Hospital Wing needed a part 2. I’m not sure I like this though. The summary sucks.

Things between you and Fred had been different. Ever since that night in the hospital wing, where you and Fred had admitted your feelings for eachother, things had been different. Even though you both stated you didn’t want to be just friends; You had decided that jumping into a relationship after years of rivalry was a bad idea. And Fred, however sad, agreed with you. He understood that after everything he had put you through, you couldn’t just forgive him in a day. You needed to know that things were really going to change. So the two of you had decided to go back to being friends first, and although Fred’s heart yearned for you, it was enough for him.

“Hey, love,” Fred greeted, as he came up behind you in the hall. George and Lee appeared at your other side, arguing over the application of some new joke product the twins had made.

“Hey, Fred,” you replied as you made your way down the hall. You were on your way to the quidditch pitch, to prepare for your game against slytherin later today.

“Ready, to get your ass kicked?” Fred laughed. You gave him a weary glance, the wounds of your old rivalry flarying up a bit. Fred immediately sensed your discomfort. Grabbing your hand and pulling you to a halt, George and Lee continuing towards the pitch.

“I’m only joking, love,” Fred assured, squeezing your hand a bit. Fred didn’t let go until he was sure you knew there was no meaning behind his teasing words. After a smile from you and a nod, he started pulling you down the hall again, releasing your hand along the way. And you found yourself surprised at how much you missed his touch.

“Are you excited for the game?” He asked, as you made your way outside of hogwarts.

“Of course I am, Fred. The only thing I’m not looking forward to is those cheating slytherins trying to kill me with bludgers,” you laughed.

Fred let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh c’mon! You really have that little faith in me? I can’t believe my best girl thinks I’d let a bunch of slytherins kill her!” Fred exclaimed, laughing. Your face turned beet red at that. Of course Fred had called you nicknames before, mostly love, or darling. But now he was calling you his, and you couldn’t help the fluttering feeling in your stomach.

“You’ve never bothered to save me from them before,” you chuckled. Fred knew you meant it to be joking, but the truth behind it struck him. Fred had never saved you from a bludger, your rivalry had already been solidified when you both made the quidditch team. Besides, George was your friend, and he had always been there to bash away any rouge bludgers. Still Fred felt a sense of guilt at the realization. Was he really that indifferent towards you?

Fred grabbed your hand again, waiting for you to meet his eyes before speaking. “I’d never let anyone hurt you,” he breathed. You gave him a large smile, and this time when he went to pull his hand away, you held on. He looked at your interlocked hands for a minute, before looking back at you with a smug smile, squeezing your hand, before leading you the rest of the way to the quidditch pitch.

The game was going well. Despite the slytherins very obvious attempts of cheating. Gryffindor was up by 50 points, and you were in possession of the quaffle. The crowd was going wild as you weaved your way past the slytherin chasers, passing the quaffle to Angelina, who passed it to Katie, who passed it back to you when you were clear. You could hear Lee cheering the three of you on over the loudspeaker, his promise to be “impartial” be damned. You quickly approached the goal, Angelina and Katie blocking the slytherin chasers. You threw the quaffle with all of your might, watching as the keeper tried to stop it from making the goal, but it was too late. The ball made it through the hoop, the gryffindor crowd going wild as le shouted out “Y/N Y/L/N scores! 10 points to Gryffindor!” You took a moment to bask in your glory, listening to the cheering of your fellow students, then hearing the completely unmistakable voice of Fred Weasley.

“That my girl!” You heard Fred’s voice. You quickly turned to look for the ginger, an addictingly giddy feeling in your stomach.

You didn’t get the chance to see him, before, you heard another voice, George’s this time shouting, “Y/N! Look out!” You quickly turned around, eyes landing on a bludger heading right for you, seconds away from impact. George was far too distant to save you, and you braced yourself for the coming impact. But it never came, instead you heard Fred shouting your name, a loud round of gasps, and the sickening sound of bones cracking. It only took a second to realize what had happened. Fred had put himself between you and the iron ball, but he hadn’t had enough time to hit the bludger away. Instead he took the hit for you, and now he was tumbling off his broom.

You were quick to action. Diving down as fast as you could, but Fred was already too far away. You heard Magonnagals voice in the distance over the speaker, as she quickly recited a spell, slowing Fred to a gentle stop as he landed on the ground. You rushed to him nonetheless abandoning your broom and the game as you ran over to the boy.

“Fred!” George shouted running over to the two of you. Fred was lying on the ground, clutching his right arm.

“Freddie? Freddie are you okay?” You asked, tears brimming in your eyes. Fred looked up at you, wincing at the slight movement of his arm. You could tell he was in pain; still his face broke out in a large grin.

“You haven’t called me Freddie in years,” he chuckled, “I have to say I quite like it.” Fred winced again, clutching his arm tighter.

“Fred Weasley you are completely mad,” you laughed with him.

Madam Pomfrey came then, taking Fred to the hospital wing, making you and George stay behind. Angelina and Katie landed next to you as you and George walker your way to the locker rooms. When you got the Wood was jumping up and down with excitement holding onto to Harry’s shoulders. “Oh Merlin, he’s finally lost it hasn’t he, I told Fred if we lost another game he would probably try to drown himself in the showers,” George remarked.

“What are you talking about Weasley?” Oliver shouted. “We won!” Oliver informed with great enthusiasm.

“Wait what?” You and George shouted in unison.

“Oh you didn’t hear?” This voice came from behind you. When you turned around you were met with a fuming Draco Malfoy. “Potter caught the snitch just as Weaslbees dimwit brother here decided to fall to his death!” Draco hissed.

“Fred is not a dimwit!” You replied harshly.

“Oh, since when do you care Y/n? Thought you and the weasel hated each other,” Draco laughed.

“Shut up, Malfoy!” George growled at the blonde. Draco didn’t even bother to look George’s direction. He noticed he had touched a nerve in you and he wasn’t planning on letting it go.

“So what are you in love with the weasel now? I mean it’s just like you to fall in love with someone who hates you” Draco teased, his face far to smug for your liking.

“Shove off, Malfoy!” You shouted back, ignoring the boy as you walked into the gryffindor locker rooms. After a moment, you started to get cleaned up so that you could go see Fred in the hospital wing. You couldn’t stop thinking about what malfoy had said. Were you in love with Fred? You knew you had more than platonic feelings for Fred, you had since first year. Even when the two of you were rivals. But now Fred was different. He gave you warm smiles, made cute jokes, gave you cute pet names, held your hand. You realized that your silence in light of the question was answer enough. The fluttering feeling in your stomach, a dead give away.

When you got to the hospital wing George was already there sitting on a bench across the hall from the door. You moved to sit next to him, plopping down and letting out a loud sigh. “Madam Pomfrey said that he’s fine and we could see him in a minute,” George informed.

“You know I’m glad the two of you are getting along but I never thought the git would get himself killed for you,” George laughed. You laughed along, slightly wishing everyone would stop talking about Fred dying.

“How was I supposed to know he would do that,” you chuckled.

“To be honest with you I’m not surprised he did it. He never shuts up about you, y’know. Anytime I used to mention you he would just roll his eyes and change the subject, but now he won’t stop talking about you. It’s getting annoying, but I am glad you two are friends again.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “friends.”

“You sound awfully sad about that,” George commented, “especially since it was your idea.”

“He told you about that?”

“I’m his twin, Y/n, he tells me everything. Besides I am the one who told you to give him a chance. So when you get married; I expect to be your maid of honor,” George joked, with a loud laugh.

“Never gonna happen Georgie!” You burst out laughing, “besides I think you’ll be too busy being Fred’s best man.”

“So you admit you want to marry him?” George teased with a smug smirk.

“Oh shove off,” you laughed, cheeks burning as you elbowed George in the arm.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey opened the door to the hospital wing and led you and George inside. Fred, ever stoic, was sitting up, smiling brightly when he caught sight of you.

“How you feeling Freddie?” George asked, nicking on Fred’s good arm with his fist.

“Oh I’m all better now that Y/n’s here,” Fred replied with a smirk, causing George to roll his eyes. You on the other hand were blushing like mad.

“Oh lay off Fred, how’s your arm?” You asked, moving to stand on the other side of the bed and ruffling your finger through Fred’s messy hair.

“It still hurts a bit, but madam Pomfrey fixed all the broken bones,” Fred answered, his voice was bright but you could tell he wasn’t entirely joking. You gave him a sympathetic smile, picking up his hand in yours before you even stopped to think about it. Fred’s smile only grew and he gave your hand a soft reassuring squeeze, you noted that it was starting to become a habit of his.

George looked between the two of you, rolling his eyes but grinning nonetheless.

“I think I’m gonna go tell Ron and Ginny you're doing alright. I’ll come by after dinner, okay?” George said.

“Okay, see you then, and don’t do anything stupid while I’m stuck in here,” Fred chuckled.

“How can I? I’m leaving all the stupid with you,” George snickered as he made his way out of the room.

“So, this feels familiar. Although you’re usually the one in the bed,” Fred joked looking up to you.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny.” You scoffed.

There was a moment of silence, neither one of you quite knowing what to say. So you found yourself thinking into Fred’s words. This feels familiar. You and Fred had so much history in this room now, from the weeks he spent here with you first year, just a couple months ago when you and Fred finally admitted that you liked each other, to now, not quite friends but not quite something else either.

“You really scared me today,” Fred broke the silence.

“I scared you? You got hit with a bludger and fell out of the sky!” You exclaimed.

“A bludger that was aiming for you,” Fred added.

Before you could give him a reply he said, “Y/n I know we said that we needed to just be friends for a while, but I don’t think I can anymore. I want to be with you. Bloody hell I think I love you.”

You gave him an understanding nod as you processed his words moving to sit on the edge of his bed. “I think I love you too,” you finally spoke. Fred’s face lights up at your words. “And I want to be with you too,” you added before he could say anything.

Fred’s smile must have doubled in size as he squeezed your hand again before sitting up further and connecting his lips to yours. The kiss was full of years of pinning, years of misplaced annoyance, years of wanting more than either of you could stand it.

“Y/n, will you be my girlfriend?” Fred asked when you finally pulled apart.

“Absolutely.”

[writing-on-standby]

time of dreaming (pt one)

Summary: Soulmates meet in their dreams from the age of 16 until they meet for the first time. Once they meet, they share their physical and emotional feelings with one another until they die. Tom Holland was just starting to learn how to take over the family business and ignore the urge to find his soulmate when everything changes and he’s found face to face with you. You’ve always wanted to meet your soulmate and spend the rest of your life with them, until you actually meet yours and life changes forever.

Warning: blood, language, violence, angst (this story is gonna be dark so prepare yourself)

                                          part one: the encounter

Tom knew from a young age that his family’s business was dangerous. He knew that he needed to keep what his family did a secret because his family could get hurt if outsiders knew. His father engrained it into Tom’s head that the family business went ahead of everything ever since Tom was a kid. Tom vividly remembered the time he asked his father to come to Career Day at his school. Tom’s father had never hit Tom harder.

When Tom turned thirteen, his father began teaching him how to conceal his identity in dreams in preparation for meeting his soulmate. Tom knew never to argue with what his dad wanted and instead started to train with his father and experts in the field of dream manipulation. He learned from a young age that even though he wanted to meet the person he was destined to be with, he couldn’t, not unless he gave up his family’s business, but he wouldn’t turn his back on his family. It was all he had.

On Tom's sixteenth birthday, he prepared to see his soulmate. He tried to ignore the butterflies that he felt as he fell asleep, excited to see the person who he'd meet every night. Despite knowing that he could never be with his soulmate, he was still shamelessly excited for the possibility of having a friend in his dreams, no matter what he did when he was awake.

He didn't meet his soulmate that night.

In fact, Tom didn't meet his soulmate until a couple months after he turned eighteen. He figured it was due to an age difference, but he didn't care to focus on the why or the logic of dreams. All he could focus on was the excitement of meeting his soulmate even though he knew he shouldn’t feel anything.

"hello?"

Tom felt as though he was floating. He knew he was standing on the familiar pink floor he always stood on when he dreamt. His dreams were lonely, but tonight, he heard you for the first time. He knew that your voice wasn't distorted and he had to ignore the slight flutter he felt when he heard your timid voice. He focused all of his available energy into masking his voice. "Hi."

He turned around, looking for you. His dream world was always the same, but he never knew how to describe it other than being in a soft pink cloud. He stood on a flat pink surface and was surrounded by a warm pink haze. He turned, one more time, and stopped when he saw his soulmate standing in front of him.

He couldn't make out details, but he didn't care. He could see your hair cascading around your face and falling beautifully. The color of your hair was fluctuating and your face was foggy, but he could see your vague features shift into a smile. "I can't believe you're here," you whispered.

"Likewise," Tom spoke, but he didn't recognize his voice. He knew it was the voice you heard, yet it still sounded weird. He ignored the slight tinge of guilt that rang through his heart at the thought of disguising himself from you. He knew he had no choice, but it still hurt him.

"I've been waiting for this moment for years. What took you so long?"

Tom did his best to ignore the ding his heart echoed. He tried to ignore the sadness that ricocheted out of your vocal cords and into his heart. "I've been here."

A soft sigh escaped the vague lips Tom could see. "Me too."

Tom awoke the morning after first meeting you in the best mood he'd been in in what felt like years. He had to physically fight the urge he had to smile as he walked down the stairs for breakfast. He felt light, airy, and happy. Your voice was angelic and the conversation you had echoed around his heart for the rest of the day.

The two of you didn't always meet every night. Tom chalked it up to different sleep patterns or just not being able to remember every dream he had. He could tell that you wanted to meet him, but he kept brushing those hints off. Usually the two of you were only together enough to say a few sentences back and forth, but he cherished his time with you just the same.

It had successfully been almost six years since you first appeared in his dream without meeting you. Tom had officially decided that you didn't live in London. You couldn't have, he reasoned, but the nagging thought in the back of his head reminded him that your accent was exactly the same as his.

Tom eventually came clean to his family that you had met in his dreams. Tom's father was stressed, but Tom assured him that the pair would never meet, despite every part of Tom's body aching to touch you. Tom knew that his family and his business came first. It also wasn't a secret in the Holland Mansion that the reason why his father was so adamant against soulmates was because of the death of their mother, but no one talked about it.

No one talked about anything.

Tom was just starting to learn how to take over the business when everything changed. He was barely getting the hang of ignoring the pain of getting his ass beat. He was barely getting used to ignoring the guilt of killing enemies and breaking the law. He had just figured out how to ignore the thought of one day meeting you and had just stopped craving the small interactions he'd get with you every night.

But the universe was funny in that way.

"Tom," Harrison breathed, heavily. Tom looked up from the computer he was typing on and looked at his best friend. His blue eyes were burning into Tom's. "It's your dad."

Tom knew the tone was too distraught to be anything good. He knew Harrison wouldn’t barge into the study without reason. Tom ran his rough, calloused, and dry hand over his face with a sigh. He tried to prepare himself for the news he expected to get ever since he had started taking over the business. HIs body grew stiff and cold as he tried to prepare for what he knew was coming, but it wasn’t that easy. Life was never that easy.

“He’s dead.”

*

“I saw him again last night,” Jazmin hummed as she carefully stabbed the lettuce in her bowl. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders, despite her being on call for a shift at the emergency room, downstairs. Her brown eyes looked up to you as she smiled. Her eyes were always warm, but somehow always pierced through the defense layers you built. “Have you seen yours in a while?” She carefully raised one of her arched eyebrows as she waited for your response.

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to remember the fact that you hadn’t seen your soulmate in three weeks. “No,” you whispered. “I know he doesn’t want to meet me. Every time I ask for any information, he leaves.” You picked at the leftover pasta you brought for the impromptu date you and your best friend could fit in your busy schedules. The nagging voice in the back of your mind reminded you that not only did your soulmate refuse to give you information to find him, but he also was hiding his face and his voice from you. It wasn’t uncommon for soulmates to be able to hide parts of their identity, but it was difficult to master the ability to disguise both your face and your voice. When you noticed that your soulmate had disguised both features, you reciprocated by disguising your face to the best of your ability. You hadn’t told any of this to Jazmin, though, because you were embarrassed at the thought of your soulmate refusing to even show you his face or his voice.

“I know he wants to meet you, y/n. Why wouldn’t he? He’d be absolutely lucky to have you,” she spoke, matter-of-factly.

You shrugged. You had always loved the idea of having a soulmate and being meant to spend the rest of your life with someone. It was always a goal of yours to be able to meet your soulmate, but after the first few dreams with your soulmate, you could tell that this wasn’t his intention. The two of you rarely met and it was usually once a month that you would have an overlap in time and meet. “I don’t know, Jazmin. I just -“

Before you could finish, you were interrupted by the scream of an ambulance. You looked out the window you sat by and sighed. By the time you looked back at Jazmin, she was already getting called into her shift. The two of you had both started internships at the same hospital, but in different departments. You usually had a laidback schedule in the Psychiatric Ward, but Jazmin was always busy with her shifts in the Emergency Room.

“Sorry, y/n. I’ll see you later, okay?”

You nodded and began packing up your things. Your shift ended thirty minutes ago, but you stuck around to be able to spend time with your best friend. Once all of your belongings were stuffed into your purse, you stood up and began walking to your car.

Since you worked downtown, you almost always had to park a couple blocks away from the hospital. You usually welcomed the walk as it gave you time to prepare for your shift and decompress afterwards.

Tonight, the sun was setting over the horizon, painting the world a hazy pink. You smiled, softly, thinking of the dream world you always seemed to meet your soulmate in. Every place that soulmates met was unique to the couple. You were shocked when you met your soulmate in a beautiful, warm, pink world. Seeing the real world mimic your dreams caused a tug in your stomach.

As you entered the near-empty parking lot where your car sat, you noticed a tense exchange occurring. Three men stood, facing another man not too far away. You saw your car on the other side of the group of three and began making your way towards them. You pushed away any feelings of anxiety and tried to push forward to your car. It was a long enough day and it didn’t need to be longer.

“Tom, now is not the time or the place,” the man on the left spoke. He had piercing blue eyes, but you quickly looked away from the group and instead pretended to send a text.

“I don’t care,” the man named Tom snapped. You could hear the pain in his voice, causing your eyes to find him. You recognized the grief that screamed through his words. His large brown eyes were bloodshot and tears were stained on his cheeks. His hands were clenched into tight fists and you noticed the blood caked on his knuckles. Your heartbeat sped up as you slowly walked closer.

“What’s wrong, Tommy boy? You not ready for the crown? Pathetic,” an Irish accent mocked from behind you. You were close enough to the group to now be in the middle of the commotion. You tried to pick up your pace, not wanting to be in between this intense exchange.

“Shut the fuck up, Luke,” Tom growled as he took a step forward.

“What’re you going to do, Tommy boy? Shoot me? Try. I dare you,” Luke chuckled. Before you could register what was happening, rough hands gripped at your arms and you were pulled roughly against the Irish man, identified as Luke. Fear danced from the man’s fingers and up into your chest. Your heart pumped the fear through your veins and into your bloodstream. The man gripped you tighter as you felt a cold metal dance along your arm. You tried ignoring it, but the fear was bubbling up your throat and into all of your thoughts.

You closed your eyes, trying to think of the man you had met in your dreams. The man you were destined to spend the rest of your life with. The man that was your soulmate. “Let her go, Luke.” Your eyes opened and your gaze was locked with the man named Tom. His eyes were cold and calculated, but you noticed that him and his two friends took a step closer to you. Your heart was racing and you tried to say something, anything to get this man to let you go, but the fear swallowed any attempt to speak.

“Come and get her, Tom. Or are you going to let another poor innocent person die today?”

Before you could process what was said, a searing pain exploded from your chest. You looked down and saw a large and deep gash that started from the center of your chest and followed the line of your collar bone to your shoulder. Blood began pooling out of the wound as you cried out in pain. Your head began growing lighter as you shut your eyes in pain. You heard the men in front of you yell various threats and insults to the man who was holding you hostage. Your brain began to process that you were in a life-and-death situation. Without thinking, you threw your foot into the stranger’s knee and kicked as hard as you could. The man groaned as his grip loosened. You threw your elbow back into his stomach, causing his grip to completely disappear. You took a few steps away from him, but your brain was clouded with the pain of the massive gash on your chest. Blood was dripping down your arm and onto the cement, but you didn’t care. All you could think about was getting as far away from this man as fast as possible. 

Despite moving as fast as you could, the man caught your right shoulder and yanked you back. You heard a pop as more pain erupted from the same shoulder he had cut. You knew it was dislocated, if not broken. Panicking at the thought of being killed, you started throwing your fists at this man, but your vision wasn’t focusing on anything as the blood was pouring out of you. You knew that it wouldn’t be long before you lost enough blood to be damaging. The man gave you sickening laugh as you felt his knife sink into your stomach. You screamed in pain, feeling his knife pierce through your skin and into your organs. You had enough training in the hospital to know that pulling the knife out would cause more damage, but your hand still groped the handle of his knife as you stumbled back. A warm feeling danced up your throat as you coughed blood on the cement.

You turned and stumbled further away from the group, but your feet were heavier than cinderblocks. You began to fall to the cement. Before your shoulders and head could hit the ground, you were caught. You looked up at the man who had stopped the impact and saw those blue eyes you had connected with earlier. You blinked a few times, growing tired and pained. “Hey, hey, look at me,” the man whispered. “It’s okay, you’re safe. Just focus on me and nothing else, okay?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were instead interrupted with another cough. You knew it was blood so you turned your head and spit onto the cement. Sure enough, a dark sticky substance hit the ground next to your head. You looked back at the man in front of you. Your head was spinning and you were struggling to ground yourself in reality. You lifted your hand and put it on the man’s cheek. You noticed the blood that covered your hand and your arm. You gasped at the sight and dropped your hand to your side. The man chuckled, but the sight wasn’t comforting since you had covered half his face in your blood. “It’s okay, hon. I’m Harrison, what’s your name?”

“Y/n,” you croaked. Speaking hurt, breathing hurt, everything hurt. Your eyelids slipped shut and you heard the man above you asking you to open your eyes. You forced your eyelids apart and looked back into his piercing blue eyes. “So hard. So sleepy.”

“I know, y/n, help is on the way, okay?”

You looked up at Harrison’s blue eyes and felt safe. You nodded, slowly. “I never met my soulmate,” you murmured. “I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t,” Harrison spoke with a smile. “We won’t let you.”

You slowly nodded. Before you could respond, the man referred to as Tom sat down next to you and Harrison. “EMT’s are about a minute out. Luke’s taken care of.” Tom’s voice was beautiful and strong as he spoke to Harrison. He looked at you with his bloodshot and pained eyes. “You’ll be okay.”

You sighed and slowly gave up on the fight to stay awake as your eyelids slipped shut. Maybe you would meet your soulmate. Maybe you wouldn’t.

                                                     part two

[yelenasdog]

talk to me? (spencer reid x fem reader)

genre: fluff 

summary: cold nights and warm coffee can be so compelling.

words: 2.2k 

warnings: mentions of having intrusive thoughts and spence being insecure, reader and spencer sleeping in the same bed. that’s all i can think of, lmk if there’s anything else!

a/n: yo! so uhhh i kinda love the start of this and dislike the end of it, but idk i think it’s still pretty snazzy!! also SPENCER IN GLASSES HAS MY HEART ok bye enjoy!!

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

It was the type of cold where no matter how brightly the sun was shining, you could still feel the fresh molecules of coolness linger on your skin, hiding under the tip of your nose. It made horribly irritable little dry patches that would have to be remedied with some form of lotion, but that wouldn’t quite return back to complete normal until the end of the winter time.

But despite this, Y/n and Spencer were out and about, doing their jobs in total normalcy.

Minus being stationed in France, that is.

Although it was rare that the BAU was called overseas, Emily had needed the team’s help, and who would they be to decline a trip to the beautiful France, no less to see Prentiss as well.

So after a grueling day of blood and bad-guys, the pair made their way back to their Parisian hotel room, walking (quite wobbily, Y/n would add) along the cobblestone walkways, both of their boots clicking loudly against the rain coated stones.

It was ironic, as Spencer had attempted to wear his converse, but was denied by a worried Y/n, hearing her say “You’re going to get those things soaked, and you’ll freeze your toes right off, Dr. Reid!”

And as not to disappoint the girl, never wanting to see her mood turn as gloomy as the French sky, he complied begrudgingly. Though Y/n could swear she always saw a hint of a smile at her telling off.

Spencer was also advised by her to wear his contacts, to avoid the fogging up of his readers, but he refused, not wanting to bother with said contacts. He grew to regret that as he walked, every so often and reaching a large hand up to wipe his glasses, almost like the wind shield wipers of the bug that had been driving them around.

He chuckled at the not so distant away memories, thankful for the girl and her requests, as it turned out.

The hotel was far different from the usual dingy motels the team usually occupied when traveling, that was for certain. This one happened to be a master suite with ivory walls and silky sheets, quite opposite from the thin and scratchy yellowed covers they usually made do with.

And even though It was early in the day, the mixture of odd sleep schedules and just the heavy weight of sleepiness pressing down heavily on their shoulders, they opted to go to bed at the oh-so late time of 1:37 PM.

Daredevils, those two are.

Ignoring the first bed by the door, Spencer made a beeline for the plush queen size mattress he knew Y/n and himself would be sharing in an effort to cuddle up for warmth, sinking down into it. (After removing his shoes, of course.)

He was originally donned in just a grey Caltech shirt and some blue pajama pants, but due to the chillier weather (that he couldn’t quite seem to shake despite the thermostat in the hotel room being turned up to 76) he layered on a maroon MIT hoodie, one that he was aware Y/n would try to thieve from him, perhaps even sneaking it back in her own suitcase.

Y/n walked out of the bathroom in pale green shorts and a large and worn Led Zeppelin shirt, earning a very confused stare from Spencer. She simply shook her head and continued on her way over to the large window that was currently projected bright streams of melted gold through the glass, that would have been heated if it wasn’t for that damn cold.

“I get warm when I sleep, it bothers me.”

He nodded, watching intently as she opened and shut the blinds a few times, soft krrrrs and clicks sounding through the room as she did.

“You doing alright?” He asked, his eyeline never faltering. She turned and he picked up his copy of “A Farewell To Arms,” something she had been the one to reccomend to him, ranting on and on about Ernest Hemingway and his precious 6 toed cats. 

It was one of Spencer’s more realistic goals in life to take Y/n back to Key West to visit the Hemingway House, after her having said a childhood trip there was one of her happiest memories.

He quickly flipped to a random page, not wanting her to catch him being what he considered to be creepy, even though Y/n thought it was quite adorable.

She bit back a giggle and a smile, settling on leaving the window half open half closed. She padded over to where Spencer was, laying back onto what she imagined a cloud would feel like.

She reached over, taking the blue colored book from his hands and his thickly rimmed glasses off from where they were resting on his perfect button nose. 

She smiled to herself fondly at the items in her hands, particularly at the novel. She placed them on her bedside table (why hers and not his, Reid wasn’t too sure, but also was not going to complain), and then moved to slide between the slick tightly-tucked sheets.

“Our options were A, not be able to sleep because of Mr. Sun being out right now, or you freezing to death because Mr. Sun was blocked totally by the curtains.”

He looked over at where she had been messing around with the heavy drapes.

“I see you went in between.”

She smiled graciously, which Spencer returned immediately.

“That I did.”

A few more awkward moments of silence (not including the occasional yelling and honking from those riding on motorbikes below) passed, before she finally settled into the sheets.

She turned to the side table to her left and tugged on the chain of the old timey lamp. The room went quiet, but the pair’s minds were anything but.

Y/n’s head was swimming in intrusive thoughts, while Spencer’s was a hazy cloud of self deprecations and his own voice keeping him awake, staring at the painted ceiling.

“Spence?”

“Mmhm?”

“Can you talk to me?”

Spencer’s brows furrowed. He shifted around in the creme sheets of the bed, finding a cold spot quite quickly.

“What do you want me to say?”

Silence.

“Anything.”

She turned over to now be facing the lanky boy, their noses nearly touching. She held her breath, sucking in a bottom lip.

He looked to her eyes, to her lips, and back to her eyes again, quickly gathering a list of things to ramble about.

“Well,” he began, “Paris was originally founded in the 3rd century BC, and was a Roman city called Lutetia, and to prove it, there’s even remains of Roman ruins in the capital. And speaking of monuments, in total, there are 1,803 of them, and 173 museums in Paris alone- Y/n?”

To his surprise, Y/n’’s idea had worked. Spencer looked over to see a sleeping Y/n, a peaceful expression resting upon her features.

He smiled at the idea that he had played some role in that, closing his own eyes. The cloud that was previously keeping him from long awaited slumber was now a light film, nagging at the back of his head quietly. 

He simply told the voice to quiet down and was then able to lull himself to sleep, Y/n’s presence calming him to no end.

It wasn’t until 8 hours later that they had woken up, first Spencer, followed by Y/n. She peeked open her eyes, pleasantly surprised by the lack of light shining through the curtains. 

She wiggled around, stretching from her neck down to her toes. Spencer smiled at this, finding her resemblance to a cat who had been sunnapping, quite endearing.

She moved to her side, placing a hand under her chin to get a better look at the Doctor who was nearly finished reading her copy of “A Farewell to Arms”.

“Did you at least mark my spot?” She asked, voice raspy from sleep.

He scoffed, flipping to and then showing her the bookmarked page of the story.

“What do you think I am, a monster?”

She chuckled, sitting up next to Spencer.

“I mean, I don’t know, sometimes it seems like it”.

He rolled his eyes, setting down the read and hopping out of bed.

“What are you doing, Spence?” She asked, not amused in the slightest by the idea of having to get out of bed.

“We are going to get coffee.”

She shook her head of messy hair, the wispy bits flowing around her like a halo in the hotel room lighting.

“You can go get us coffee and bring it right back over here, alright? Thanks, you’re a doll.”

He did that thin lipped smile that seems to be his equivalent of a smirk, grabbing a hoodie from the inside of his suitcase that was perched on top of a dresser.

“Come on, we’re going on an adventure. Use this and the idea of coffee as an incentive.”

He tossed her the hoodie, the jacket landing by her feet with an audible plop.

She loudly groaned, shrugging it on and pulling herself out of bed. She also managed to tug on some jeans and an overcoat, as well as her boots, shaking her head at Spencer’s lack of preparation for the cold temperatures, as always. 

“Spencer, I am not about to go to this and have you complain about being cold the whole time, put on your coat, please.” She gestured to where it was hanging in the closet with her hand still concealed by her trench coat’s pocket, her eyes shutting and her head lolling to the side.

“If you insist.”

“Yes I do, put it on, lets go.” She said drawing out the “o”.

Spencer’s eyes widened and he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “My apologies, good morning to you too.”

She only rolled her eyes and smiled, opening the door to the room and leading the way.

By the time she had found a coffee shop on Yelp that she had deemed satisfactory, (which was extremely difficult due to the language barrier) the time had passed even later, and the temperature was even lower.

The lights on the streets sparkled, reflecting in the puddles of the water that lined the asphalt. Y/n was quite enchanted by the little light shows, slowing the journey to the shop significantly. Spencer didn’t mind, though, he enjoyed every second he got to spend with her to the absolute fullest, and found her fascination with every part of life inspiring.

When they finally reached the quaint little coffee shop, they walked inside, finding refuge in the warmth of the establishment.

Spencer ordered for them, and Y/n found a table (as that’s what they always did, taking turns between ordering and scouting a place to sit).

She located a cozy little corner by a window, a perfect place to observe those who bustled about at night, watching them and coming up with back stories, whatever they may be.

She enjoyed doing that, it made her believe she had a better understanding of the world around her, why those she works on catching every day behave in the manner they do.

And what better place to do so than Paris?

So she flagged Reid (who now was in possession of the two drinks) over, taking hers from his hand. 

“Latte with two creams and 4 sugars for the lady.”

She smiled graciously, allowing the heat of the cup to spread through her system.

“And what did you get? Let me guess, a shot of espresso with 12 sugars?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, not wanting to admit she was more correct than he had hoped.

“Ha ha, very funny, Y/n.”

She smiled over her small mug, quirking a brow.

“Oh, I know.”

He shook his head and glanced out the window with a low chuckle, watching as people from all walks of life went about their business, some with dogs, some with children, some of them even walking along with a cup of coffee in their hands, similarly to Spencer and Y/n. Some of them, in fact, had all three.

As the two sat observing, sipping away at their respective concoctions, Y/n spoke up, her voice soft, although considering they were the only two in the shop, it didn’t need to be.

“Spence?”

“Hmm?”

Only then did she tear her glance away from those on the street, her full focus now on Reid. She admired his bone structure, in awe over the way the soft light reflected off his strong jaw and high cheeks. At that moment, he looked like he belonged in the Louvre.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” He finally looked towards her, his hand never moving from where it was positioned under his chin.

She simply shrugged, wrapping her coat tighter around herself.

He darted his eyes to the table and then her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

She smiled and nodded at once, satisfied with his response.

While she looked out the window once more, she began to wonder about those around her. If they felt the same strong emotions that she did, if they held the same hope and desire for the future that she did.

And as she took another sip from her drink, closing her eyes and slowly was drifting off with the sounds of the city, she could only hope that they did.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

i hope u enjoyed that bc i feel like the imagery in the first paragraph was immaculate 😁 also! i ask that in the reblogs no cussing (and on my blog now in general) is used for personal reasons :) kk luv u bye bb! go take an electronics break and drink some water+ eat some protien (cashews, cheese, whatever ur feeling!)

xx hj 

[blingywitch]

Good feelings

Ohmygod hi!! Long time no see—well, in the form of something I’ve written anyways. Here is something that has been in my drafts for forever that I finally got around to finishing.

It’s a O’knutzy coffee shop au! I’m not sure if this has been done before but I tried to switch mine up as much as possible... so yeah that’s that. For some context, Finn and Leo still play for the lions (along with the rest of the team) and Logan... well, you’ll see what he’s doing with his life :))

This will be multiple chapters and now that I think about it I probably should have waited until I had some of the them written— or even planed out for that matter— before putting this out but I was just too excited.

Sorry for the long ass introduction, I think that’s all I wanted to say. I hope you enjoy this little story I’m writing :)

Full Masterlist & Good Feelings Masterlist

Characters belong to the lovely, @lumosinlove

CW: mentions of food

“C’mon!” Finn singsonged as he dragged Leo by the hand down the street.

A new coffee shop had opened up in downtown Gryffindor recently and being the coffee Addicts they were, Finn and Leo had gotten up bright and early and decided that they would go try it out. So slipping on their shoes and coats the couple set off in search for the warm beverage.

“My god, Finn how do you have this much energy right now?” Leo questioned, having to jog slightly to keep up with him. Stifling a yawn he continued, “Before your coffee?!”

“I don’t know.” Finn shrugged. “I’m just- excited? I have a good feeling about this place.” Finn slowed his pace, and wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. “...and I want a croissant.” The redhead admitted.

Leo chuckled and pressed a kiss to Finn’s temple. “Of course you do.” Finn just smiled.

A couple a blocks and a right turn later the two had reached their destination. In front of them was a small building, made of tan coloured bricks and with glass windows covering just about the entire front of it, an open sign shining in one of them. There was a few sets of tables and chairs outside shaded by a striped canopy and Leo could hear soft music coming out of the open door. Finn looked around, searching for the name of the place until his eyes landed on a sign to their left, ‘Tremblay’s’ it said, in elegant cursive.

Finn pointed the sign out to Leo, “Tremblay’s huh?” Leo paused, taking one last look over the place. “Sounds cool, let’s go.”

The blonde took the lead and walked forward, stopping just before he walked in. Moving to the side he said, “After you.” and motioned for Finn to go ahead.

Rolling his eyes playfully Finn walked through the door, Leo following his actions.

The pair were immediately taken by surprise; despite the openness of the coffee shop, from the inside it felt quite small— a good small. It felt warm and cozy and had a weird sense of home. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling and sat in the corner, a record player—Playing the music Leo recognized from earlier.

The place smelled like fresh baked goods and Finn could faintly make out the smell of vanilla, he wasn’t normally a person for sweet things but whatever was causing that smell he wanted immediately. Turning to Leo he said, “Nice place.”

“Yeah,” Leo looked around and spotted a table in the corner and took Finn’s hand in his. “let’s go sit down.”

After pulling a chair out for his boyfriend the blonde took his coat off, draping it over the back of his own chair and sat down. “So,” he asked. “What are you ordering?”

Finn leaned his elbows on the table and looked down at the small menu set before them. It consisted of pastries and breakfast sandwiches and of course, coffee beverages of every kind. “I honestly don’t know, everything looks so good.”

“Let me see?” Leo asked softly.

Finn handed the menu over to him and in the process of doing so, reached over and laced their fingers back together over the table.

It still felt strange, being able to do this in public. Kiss and hold hands and be more than just teammates, be a couple. Sometimes one of them would forget and freak out when the other gave them a kiss after a good goal— or save; or a hug that would last longer than what would be considered “normal”. They would soon realize though, that they could do this now. They were out to the world, the league, and they couldn’t be happier about it.

They looked at their options for a little while longer, pointing out things that they thought they would like, which to be honest, was basically the entire menu. “Why does everything look so fucking good?!” Finn had said. Then followed by asking if they could just order one of everything. He received a scolding for that, Leo saying as good as that sounds it definitely was not on their diet plan.

“Oh, this looks good! Look,” Leo was about to point something out to Finn but before he had the chance to respond he was interrupted.

“Bonjour, welcome to Tremblay’s,” The new voice said, “I’m Logan. What can I get for you two?”

Finn looked up at the stranger and my god he didn’t think he would ever want to look away. This stranger— ‘Logan’ his name tag said— was gorgeous. He had green eyes, the kind you could get lost in if you stared for too long and brown curls that were mostly covered by a snapback but Finn could see they ended at the nape of his neck. He wanted to run his hands trough them— “No. Stop it,” Finn thought. “That’s weird.”

“Holy shit.” Was the only coherent thought in Leo’s head when he met the boys eyes— he’d heard him introduce himself as “Logan”. Leo discovered he liked that name; he repeated it to himself in his head, “LoganLoganLogan— Finn.” Shaking his head slightly to get rid of the sudden thoughts Leo took a final look at Logan, he was definitely shorter than himself and Finn but he was broader, shoulders and arms straining against his t-shirt— Okay Leo seriously had to stop. This was getting creepy.

Logan screwed up his face a little, like he was getting uncomfortable and it was just then that the two realized they hadn’t said anything yet.

Leo cleared his throat. “Oh, um... sorry. Finn?”

Finn’s head snapped back to his boyfriend— his boyfriend. The redhead internally scolded himself for having those thoughts about this boy. He had a boyfriend— one that he loved. “Right, uhh, I’ll have....” He trailed off, ordering, Leo right after.

Logan nodded, “Alright, sounds good. I’ll be back with that, you guys sit tight.” He smiled politely and made his way back behind the front counter and trough a door that must have been to the kitchen.

Finn took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from where Logan had disappeared. “You okay?” He asked Leo, concerned.

“Hm? Oh. Yeah.” Leo replied. His bottom lip was between his teeth and he was wringing his hands together on top of the table— having since let go of Finn’s hand— eyes cast down on them. He looked similar to how Finn felt.

After a couple minutes of slightly uncomfortable silence—which was really strange for them. Nothing was ever awkward or uncomfortable with them, not since they got together anyways— Logan returned with their food and drinks.

“Okay, so, we have the breakfast sandwich and the black coffee for you.” Logan placed Finn’s coffee and sandwich in front of him—made with a croissant instead of a bagel of course. “And just the medium two sugar two cream for you.” He handed Leo his coffee.

“Thanks.” Leo said, looking up at Logan.

“No problem!” Logan replied, emerald eyes tearing into Leo’s baby blue.

Logan abruptly looked away then, and when he turned to smile at Finn the redhead could have swore his cheeks had turned a light shade of pink. Finn gave him a polite smile of thanks and Logan turned around, he watched as walking away, the boy took his hat off and ran his hand trough his curls, only to put it right back on.

Having their morning coffee it seemed, eased whatever weird silence had fallen over the couple. In no time the two were back to their normal selves. Sipping on their coffee they talked about anything and everything; from their predictions for the upcoming hockey season or just what they were going to do later today.

Soon enough though, stomachs full and cups empty, Finn and Leo were ready to leave. A girl who’s name they found out was ‘Noelle’ had come around and handed them their check and then the couple was off, putting their coats back on and dropping their cups in the trash on the way out.

“So,” Leo spoke up, leading them out the door. “Was your ‘good feeling’ about this place correct?”

Finn brought a hand up to his chin and put on a face of fake thought. Staying like that for a couple seconds he removed his hand from his chin and placed it on Leo’s, pulling him in for a kiss. “Yeah,” he said, pulling away. “I think it was.”

What they didn’t know at the time was that the ‘good feeling’ was not from what they thought it was.

[glassessence]

PGR - OC

I got so inspired by everyone’s creativity that I created my own OC ^^” Even though she’s a member of the Purifying Force, I hope she’ll still be received warmly. Special thanks to @punishing-gray-raven-ocs​ for their detailed posts about character creation that really made me think about Lydias! 

Warning: I may have gone a bit overboard with the detail. It’s a long read! Also, I threw in a not-so-subtle reference to the most traumatic Memory Rescue mission lmao. So proceed with caution, I guess HAHA

Name                          Lydias: Umbral

Type                            Offensive Support-type Construct

Service time              1 year

Psychological age    24

Activation date         15 March

Height                         167 cm

Weight                        59 kg

Vital fluid type          O

Faction                        Purifying Force

Rank                            A

Weapon                      Chakrams (preferred) /  Gun

Damage type             70% Dark, 30% Physical

Lydias is a support-type Construct modelled after Watanabe’s Astral frame. She has extreme stealth capabilities and excels at tracking, making her ideal for the execution of rogue and infected Constructs.

Her missions mostly involve infiltration and spying, although she’s also been deployed on assassination missions. Those orders come straight from Nikola and their records are kept top-secret, inaccessible even to Bianca.

Her frame is designed for long-range sniping and comes equipped with visual accuracy enhancements and superb calculative powers. However, Lydias prefers to engage her targets in close combat. Killing Constructs from afar feels cruel and cold, like they really are meaningless machines instead of former comrades.

She truly believes in the good of the Purifying Force, but hates the things she has to do. She doesn’t feel like she belongs, but also can’t see a future for herself anywhere else.

Her fighting style is very graceful, featuring a lot of spins and flips that are reminiscent of a dance. Her signature move is called “Blade Dance.”

B A C K G R O U N D 

Lydias was born to a wealthy family in Babylonia. Her mother joined the war effort as a Commandant shortly after she was born and is known as the leader of the elite task force, Cybele. Since then, Lydias has always wanted to follow in her mother’s famous footsteps.

Originally a Commandant of the Black Wolves, a certain incident caused her to give up the position and apply for reconstruction. Despite having low compatibility for Tantalum-193, her application was approved after negotiations with Nikola. Following her surgery, she was transferred to the Purifying Force.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Shows affection through actions rather than words. Bakes cakes for the humans of Babylonia in her free time

Philosophical, often ponders on the nature of humans and of the war

Likes to make dirty jokes and tease others

Obedient to a fault because she doesn’t trust her own judgement

Comes across as cold, but is just awkward with introductions

Doesn't think very highly of herself. Ignores it when other Constructs call her "traitorous hunting dog" but secretly thinks they're right

Loves the sea and the fathomless depths yet to be explored. Likes to go swimming at every opportunity

Prefers to work alone, but overprotective of her comrades when in a team. Frequently throws herself in harm’s way to shield her teammates. Knows it’s not good, but is too haunted by her past

Trusts easily, but is very guarded with her heart

Knows how to dance a lot of old-school styles like ballroom and ballet, but is too shy to ask anyone to practice with her

S E C R E T S

Has memorised a lot of poetry from before the Punishing Virus outbreak

Gets intensely lonely and jealous when seeing close squad camaraderie like Gray Raven’s

Avoids Kamui because he reminds her of someone she’s lost

Has spied on Watanabe extensively under Babylonian orders and is deeply fascinated by him

Doesn’t trust Nikola, but is unable to disobey his commands

Secretly harbours doubts about Babylonia’s mission to reclaim Earth

Has obtained special permission to download the data of the Black Wolves and often reads the records to keep them alive in her heart

V O I C E   L I N E S

“Team leader? No, I refuse. You’re making a grave mistake.”

“I’m not suited for protecting people.”

“My opinion on the Forsaken? They’re hardworking, loyal, and--Nevermind. We seem to share a similar goal.”

“The Black Wolves? Where did you hear of that name?! Don’t mention it again!”

“I baked a cake today. Would you like some?”

“Yes, I can dance. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell the others…”

“I can teach you to dance. Privately, if you’d like. Haha, just kidding.”

“Becoming a Construct was a decision I made rashly. I don’t necessarily regret it, but…”

“Are we really doing the right thing? This endless war… All these years… What have we really achieved?”

INTERLUDE

D U S K F A L L

A voice cracked over the intercom. “...dant…Com...ant...Commandant, do you hear me?!”

Lydias blinked. The urgency in his voice caught her off guard. Ferdinand kept his cool even in the most dire of situations. Something was very wrong. “Tell me, Ferdie.” Static. “Ferds? Come through!” Nothing. Communications had been poor ever since they’d entered this area, but they’d managed until now. For it to suddenly fail like that… it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Shit,” she said, turning to the other two Constructs with her. “On guard, guys. Something’s coming and comms are down.”

Ilya grimaced. “Sure it’s not one of Ferdinand’s pranks again?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Flora offered, even as she tightened her grip on her lance. “Pesky little bastard would find it hilarious.” Lydias said nothing. She was too tense. There was a taste in the air, a metallic tang that churned in her belly. Sweat dripped into her eye. Suddenly, a hand slapped her on the back. “Relax, Commandant,” Ilya chuckled. “We’ll protect you like always. No need to be so scared all the time.”

Something in her loosened, just a bit. “Shouldn’t I be the one protecting you?” she retorted, trying to project confidence. “You guys with your fragile little M.I.N.Ds?” Flora laughed, a deep-belly rumble that Lydias loved. The knot in her stomach unravelled some more. “You do that, Commandant,” Flora said. ���We’ll just twirl our pointy sticks at the bad guys.”

Lydias was just about to say something snarky when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. She swirled, gun at the ready. There was still no word from Ferdinand. “I’m sensing a large Corrupted force in our perimeter,” Ilya reported. His voice had lost its casual lilt. “They’ve got us surrounded.”

Lydias cursed. “How’s that Memory retrieval coming along?”

“Slowly,” Ilya replied unhappily. Flora clicked her tongue. The Corrupted were visible now. They weren’t like anything Lydias had seen before. They carried advanced weapons - chainsaws and spears and bows - and seemed to be organised into phalanxes. Dread coiled in her belly. “We’ve been ambushed,” she breathed in horror. “Ferdinand tried to warn us. They must have blocked off comms.”

“Well, shit,” Flora grunted. The Corrupted army was within gunshot range now. “When the fuck did they get so smart?”

“Someone must be leading them,” Ilya said. “How did the information leak?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lydias said. “We need to retreat. Now.” A bullet flew by her head, burning the shell of her ear as it passed. Her heart hammered. “Back off,” Flora growled. She twirled her spear, eyes flashing as she impaled the Corrupted soldier. Beside her, Ilya stepped forward, fast as a flash, and stabbed one through the neck. Lydias fired off three shots, watching in grim satisfaction as two buried themselves in the heads of two infected Constructs.

The scene descended into chaos just as Ferdinand’s broken voice sounded in her ear. “...n...way! Comm...ant!”

-----------

Flora stumbled back. She was breathing heavily. Vital fluid leaked steadily from several places, staining her coat a rich purple. Ilya was behind her, grimacing. His left arm was gone, torn away at the shoulder. Sparks flew from the exposed wires within. Beside them, Lydias swayed unsteadily. She clutched at her stomach. Red blood seeped through her fingers. All their attempts to break through had failed. Things were looking more hopeless by the minute. 

“Commandant,” Ilya said, voice strained. “Turn off my pain receptors.” Flora nodded. “Same here.” Lydias coughed wetly. Her vision was growing dim. “It’s dangerous,” she admitted, wishing she could shut off her own terrible pain. “But there’s no other choice.” She authorised the command. Her team’s face relaxed immediately. She met their determined gazes and nodded. “We’re all gonna go home. Together.”

Ilya smiled. Flora grinned. But there was a sadness in their faces Lydias didn’t want to acknowledge. Her connection with Ferdinand was still blocked. He could be dead for all she knew. She turned away from the thought. Just survive, Lydias. And take the Wolves home.

Together, the Black Wolves rose. Ilya with his dagger and Flora with her spear. Unseen by Lydias, they nodded to each other. An agreement, a pact. A promise. Renewed, they threw themselves at the Corrupted like cornered animals. Slowly, inch by painful inch, an exit was being forced open. Corrupted weapons dug into their bodies, but they pushed on. 

Lydias fought beside them, swinging her chakrams haphazardly. Her gun had run out of ammo long ago. She stumbled, half-blind, and almost skewered herself on the end of a Corrupted sword. She could hardly think straight; blood loss was making her weak. Suddenly, a voice crackled in her mind. “Commandant!” Ferdinand’s voice tumbled through her hazy thoughts. “The signal jammer is gone. What’s your status?!”

Her heart soared, bringing with it a brief burst of clarity. “Ferdie! It’s an ambush. We need support!”

“I’ve already informed Babylonia,” he said urgently. “Reinforcement is on the way. I’m coming to you, Commandant. Just hold on!” His signal blinked to life, moving rapidly towards their location. Lydias smiled grimly. Ferdinand was on his way. Support was coming. Surely, they would be okay. They would make it out of this. She just had to hold on for a little longer. 

Flora’s signal pulsed unsteadily and Ilya’s grew fainter with every breath. Lydias clung with desperation to the unstable M.I.N.Ds of her Wolves. I will protect you.

-----------

“Coming through!” A ray of energy tore through the Corrupted wave. Lydias spied Ferdinand’s face through the sea of blades. She almost wept with relief. “Retreat,” she said hoarsely, struggling to stay conscious. “Black Wolves, retreat!”

On cue, Ilya and Flora rushed through the tunnel, half-carrying Lydias with them. Between one ferocious breath and the next, they’d broken through the Corrupted circle. She tumbled bonelessly into Ferdinand’s open arms. He took a brief moment to survey her and paled. “The meeting point isn’t far,” he said. “Support will be there.” He picked up Lydias and turned to run, but Ilya and Flora didn’t follow. 

“Sorry, but this is the end of the road for me,” Flora said wryly. “Didn’t think it’d end like this.” She spat out a wad of purple fluid. “At least these fuckers will go down with me.”

“And you get the privilege of dying by my side,” Ilya said primly, readjusting his grip on his dagger. Flora laughed, an edge of sadness in her voice. “Yeah, old man, I guess I do.”

Lydias stirred in Ferdinand’s arms. “No,” she said, forcing herself to meet their gazes. “I won’t allow it.” 

“Unfortunately, Commandant,” Ilya said. “This time it’s not up to you.” He raised his remaining hand in a salute. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“Go on,” Flora growled. “We’ll make sure nobody pursues you.”

Ferdinand pursed his lips, but nodded tightly. Lydias fought in his grip. She hardly even felt the pain. “No!” she screamed, or tried to. It was hard to tell where her voice was. “Don’t! I forbid it! That’s an order!” He started running. She watched helplessly as the distance grew. “Stop! Go back, we have to help them! Stop!”

In the fading light, Ilya fell and was immediately consumed by a horde of Corrupted hands. His signal weakened then blinked out. A scream tore itself from her throat. She thrashed in Ferdinand’s grip and felt his hold on her loosen. White-hot pain shot through her body as she tumbled to the ground. Mad with grief, she crawled forward desperately, mind blank except for the desire to be with her Wolves. 

Strong arms lifted her up. Ferdinand’s lively voice was dull. “Please don’t do this, Lydias.” 

“Let go, Ferdie,” she said angrily. “We have to--” Flora’s signal flickered out. Lydias felt her spirit break. “No,” she cried. “Please, no.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Words abandoned her. The world seemed to shrink, compacting to a single thought: she had failed. 

-----------

She woke to white light. Something beeped steadily beside her. Tubes ran from her body to several machines like the tentacles of some deep sea creature. Her entire body hurt. Immediately, she reached for the Black Wolves, but their signals were absent, leaving her mind uncomfortably empty. Panic settled like ice in her veins. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. 

Surely, they had recalled their consciousnesses. Surely, she’d simply woken up early. And where was Ferdie? Gasping, Lydias stood, dragging her broken body to the wall of windows. She brought a fist to the cool glass. Nikola watched her from the other side. “Where are they,” she croaked. “What happened?”

He shook his head sympathetically. “They didn’t recall their consciousness. According to our records, Ilya and Flora died protecting you from pursuit. Ferdinand was infected.” His eyes were grave. “He guarded you until reinforcements arrived.”

She didn’t know if she could bear the answer, but she asked anyway. “And then?”

Nikola studied her for a long moment before giving in. “And then the Punishing Virus took over his M.I.N.D. He escaped because we prioritised your survival.” A desperate hope sparked to life within her. “So he’s still alive? Then there’s still a chance! Please, let me find him!”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” 

“Please,” she begged. “Please.”

He turned away from her. “The Purifying Force has already been sent after him. I’m sorry, Lydias.”

-----------

Three weeks later

“Are you sure?” Nikola asked, studying her with intensity. “Your chances of success are only 47%.”

Lydias stared at him blankly. “I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow it. Commandants are valuable to Babylonia. Perhaps even more than Constructs. Few possess the will and compatibility to stabilize M.I.N.Ds. Someone as experienced as you is not expendable.”

“Then I quit being a Commandant. I refuse to lead another squad.” She looked away. “I couldn’t protect any of them. Not a single one.” Her voice broke. “I’m not… I don’t think I can--I just can’t.”

Nikola considered her with some pity. “What do you want then, Lydias?”

“You know what I want. I’m not afraid of dying.”

“I know you’re not afraid, but it seems to me like you seek it.”

She said nothing. Nikola sighed. “I’d rather not lose you completely. You have experience and ability. The Black Wolves were specifically chosen for that mission for your competence. Aife will increase our combat power significantly against the Corrupted.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s unfortunate, but these things happen at war.”

“Say whatever you want,” Lydias said stubbornly. “But this is my final decision.”

“Fine,” Nikola said. “Your attempt at redemption is admirable. I’ll grant your request, but if you survive, you’ll work directly under me. Is that acceptable?”

“Perfectly.”

INTERLUDE HIDDEN CHAPTER

F A D I N G   L I G H T

Flora: Fairfrost - Voice Log 

*sounds of fighting* I hope this reaches you, Commandant. I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer and… *grunting* I just wanna say goodbye. The old man’s already gone. I felt his signal die out a while ago. He went down taking a blade for me, can you believe it? Even though I’m the Attacker Construct. *panting* You know what his last words to me were? “It hurts.” As if our pain receptors weren’t turned off. I know what he means though. *blades clashing* After all, we all wanna go back home with you. But life’s a bit unfair, eh? For once, I don’t mind. Protecting your back… it almost makes me feel like a hero. That ain’t something you experience every day, y’know? *metal tearing* I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you. For being someone worthy of love. *crash, wet coughing* It’s been my honour and privilege to have been one of your Wolves, Commandant. You’ll remember me, won’t you?

-----------

Ferdinand: Aegis - Voice Log 

Lydias… This will probably be my last communication with you. I never would have thought this would be how it ends, but… Well, I’m just glad that I get to spend my final moments with you. I can feel my M.I.N.D. slipping, but Babylonia will be here any second now. They’ll take care of you, the way I wish I could. *sigh* Ah, there are so many things I want to say. I have nothing to lose anymore, so I hope you’re ready to listen. *deep breath* I love you. The way you laugh at my jokes and tease me. The way you can talk about anything. Your smile, your lips. I love the way you kiss me. And of course, I love our late night activities… Such as you trying to teach me to dance. *short laughter* Were you expecting me to say something else, Commandant? You--*grunt, glitching* Looks like my time is running out. I should go, but promise me one thing, Lydias. Promise me you’ll keep your heart open, so that someone else can love you as you deserve. I--You--*glitches*

DATA CORRUPTED.

[gldie]

✰ ⊰ GOLDIE: ❛ 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐏.

A year after her departure from KPWR-FM, 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄 has scored a career as being a television host for BET. In this interview, 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 took the time to drive right on down to Westchester to ask her all the questions that people want to know about her rise to fame and how she’s juggling it along with motherhood and her love-life. 

━━  ❛ 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃. ╱ 

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: Goldie mfn’ Forde! How are you doin’ on this beautiful afternoon? Your house looks great, by the way. I love it! Thank you so much for havin’ me. 

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: Holli Hoooood! I’m doin’ great, actually. Just tryna’ get used to being on the opposite end of an interview. But, no. Thank you for takin’ the interest in interviewing lil’ ol’ me. ❜ 

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: Well, we gotta interview the hottest women in the game right now and your talk show THE GOLDEN HOUR has been killing it as of lately. You should be proud! You workin’ your ass off and still make time to be a mother. I must say your little boy is the cutest. [ The woman gestures at the little boy who is sleeping on her mother’s lap. ]

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: Aw, gosh. [ She blushes with a wide smile on her face and she glances down at him, running her hand along the baby’s back. ] I don’t know what else to say but thank you. All these compliments makin’ me blush! [ She laughs softly before looking back at the interviewer. ] Workin’ my ass off is in my blood, though. I gotta from my momma. She don’t play that lazy sh*t. Doesn’t he look just like his momma, though? I need that on the record just in case someone tries to say that he looks like his daddy. ❜ 

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: He sure does, y’all look like twins. Woulda’ swore that you had that baby on your own, honestly. [ The interviewer chuckles before placing her hand on the notepad she held. ] But how are you liking motherhood? Is it a hard transition? 

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: [ The smile on her face doesn’t fade doesn’t fade until she hears the last question that she asks. Sighing softly, she looks up at the sky as she tries to find the words to answer. ] In the beginning it was actually. I struggled a lot trying to get use to being a mother and not letting it consume who I am. Like of course, I’m a mother before everything, but I’m also a sister, friend, business woman, you know stuff outside of that. [ Looking back at the interviewer, she continues with a soft smile on her face. ] I also kinda’ struggled to connect with my child. I felt like I wasn’t going to be the best mother to him, I felt lonely, the whole nine. But now, we’re good. He’s my whole heart. Who I do it for, my everything. ❜ 

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: That’s beautiful, Goldie. I know a lot of women struggle with Post-partum depression after having their first child. I know it must be hard trying to balance your career-life and being a mother but you make it look easy. 

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: Whew, girl when I tell you it takes a village and that’s the only reason it looks so damn easy. [ A laugh emits from her lips before she feels her child shift in her lap. Mouthing the words oops, she picks him up in her arms before looking over her shoulder for her mother. ] Mommmyyyy, can you get your grand-baby? [ She speaks softly so that she won’t disturb him before pecking his cheek repeatedly. Once her mother walks over and takes him, she turns around to finish the question. ] Without that woman, wouldn’t be no Goldie on television. My mother and father, his father along with his side family help me out so much. He’s on set with me sometimes, but most of the time I want him to be somewhere quiet and not too rowdy. ❜ 

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: Wow! You seem to have the ideal support group. Why happened to you and ZION’s father?

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: [ A dry chuckle left the woman’s lips as she stared at the interviewer’s visage, swallowing the lump in her throat before she shifted in her seat some. ] Uh, lack of communication and failure to reason with one another. Yup. [ She finished with a soft head nod. ] But co-parenting is great. You know, our focus is completely on our son and what’s best for him. Next question, please. ❜ 

━━ ❛ 𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒. ╱ 

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: Alright, Goldie. What achievements from last year are you most proud of? 

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: My greatest achievement is Zion Israel Powers. I mean, with all the struggles that I experienced with pregnancy, I couldn’t be more grateful that God granted me the opportunity to be his mommy. [ She couldn’t help but to beam when she spoke about her child. ] The second great achievement of last year was putting myself first and leaving a job that didn’t serve my purpose. I will always be grateful to KPWR, but leaving a job that stifled my creativity was the best decision that I ever made. ❜ 

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: I know that’s right, Goldie! We leaving everything that doesn’t serve us in 2020, okay!? [ She laughed with a point before moving on to the next question. ] And what about the achievements of this year?

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: And neva’ eva wrong. [ She laughed back while pointing back at the woman with her index finger. ] Uh.. I’m proud of the fact that I overcame a dark time in my life and I found a new part of myself that I never really got the chance to know. I’m happy with... uh... I’m happy with my life. Yeah. I’m making the kind of money that I want. I achieved two of my biggest dreams, I’m more secure in my body and I’m happy. Yeah. ❜

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: We love seeing black women happy, sis. I know a lot of people have been trying to steal your shine and happiness in the blogs. Do you have anything to say to the former talk show host that you replaced? She’s been in the media outlets throwing shade and subliminals a lot. 

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: [ A short chuckle leaves the woman’s lips before she scratches her nose with her acrylic nail, pursing her lips up slightly. ] Mm... Not really, if it’s not direct, it doesn’t get acknowledged by me. I truly wish her the best in her future endeavors, though. I know it’s hard seeing someone else win while you struggle. I been there myself, but hating on the next woman isn’t going to change anything so.. ❜ 

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: Well said. Very professional! I’m over here tryna’ be miss messy boots and you curvin’ it. You sure you haven’t had any media training? [ She snickers before moving onto the last question of this segment. ] Okay, lastly, what goals do you have for next year?

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: None whatsoever. I’m just good like that. [ The woman speaks with a small smile before tilting her head to the side while she listens to the question asked. ] Goals for next year? To keep growing my brand, girl. Hopefully create my own app, merch, go on a talk show tour, maybe write a book? Who knows! I’m most definitely putting my momma and daddy in a new house, though. I know that. [ She said with a nod before clasping her hands together and shrugging. ] I’m letting life take me on this journey and I’m just ridin’ the wave. I pray it takes me in the right direction. ❜ 

 ━━ ❛ 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄. ╱ 

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: Now this house, what made you choose a house like this? Especially in a neighborhood that you’re not used to.

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: It was definitely a change from my apartment in Crenshaw. I’m still in Inglewood but I’m not on the same block that I’m used to be on. I’m not doing hair out of my apartment to make some extra money. You know, I’m in the rich neighborhood and sometimes, you know I feel left out. But when I saw this house, I knew it was the one for me despite the neighborhood change. I needed a space that could accommodate me and all my needs along with my family. ❜

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: Can we get a tour? I mean, a house this beautiful needs to be viewed by the people and I’m sure your fans would like to see how you livin’. Don’t you think?

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: This isn’t my dream house, but it’s definitely an impressive STARTER HOME, ya’ know? It’s very spacious for family events and my family like to link all the damn time, so. I like it a lot. It’ll hold me over until further notice. I got everything baby proofed because I just know this lil’ boy gon’ be something else when he starts getting more a handle on this crawling thing. ❜

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: The entire house is flawless, but let’s get into this STACKED WARDROBE. You take this fashion sh*t serious, don’t ya’? Let me borrow some of these clothes. Or at least show me how you do it, chile. 

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: I really don’t know what I’m doing with this fashion shit, I just know what looks good on me. Which is damn near everything. [ The woman speaks cockily, letting a laugh follow soon after before she looked over her closet. ] But I think I take a lot of my looks from old models and vixens of the 90s and 00s. Lately, I’ve been getting a lot of brands and clothing lines reaching out trying to get me to wear something from their lines. So, I’m excited about that. [ She says in a sing-song tone before doing a little dance. ] If you ever want me to give you some pointers, be sure to watch my show for my fashion tips segment. The girls really like that. ❜

❛ 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃: I’ll be sure to tune in for that, girl! Thank you so much for this wonderful interview. You’ve been a pleasure to interview, honestly. [ The interview reaches over to shake her hand with a grin on her face. ] I told you it wasn’t going to be that bad. You guys be sure to tune in THE GOLDEN HOUR feature the gorgeous GOLDIE on BET everyday @ 5/6 ET. 

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄: Thank you so much for having me! You were great, made me feel so comfortable and everything. [ She compliments the interviewer while she shakes the woman’s hand then she looks directly into the camera lens. ] Listen to the woman, y’all. She know what she’s talkin’ ‘bout. Kisses, see y’all lata’! ❜

[gamerwoo]

Mingi: Child’s Play (Part 2)

Characters: Mingi x female reader (featuring stray kids) ((also yes i know the first part was gender neutral but i wrote this not knowing if i’d be writing smut so))

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, angst, fluffy-ish ending, little bit of crack, implied smut

Word count: 2,313

Summary: Your pack and Mingi’s pack both want the two of you to get along despite both of you refusing to. So since you want to act like children, they’re going to treat you as such and put you in time out until you work out your problems.

a/n: everybody wanted a second part and I said I’d only do a second part if Romi asked for one so everybody say thank you @songmingki​ ❤ (even though it took me m o n t h s to actually get it done) ((i also truly had no idea for what to do for a second part that i haven’t done already for other fics so........this is what happened)). 

Tags: @philopatris @sensiblebutch​ 

Part One

San didn’t want to be down $25. That was the only reason he was pushing for Mingi to make up with you -- well, that, and the fact that Mingi would literally die if his mate denied him or he kept himself away from you. But Mingi was stubborn about some childhood rivalry that he would do exactly that, not caring if it killed him.

Yeah, it looked like San would be out some money. But he had until Sunday. Two days to get you and Mingi to hate-fuck each other. Definitely a weird goal to hold your pack brother to, but a goal he was determined to get him to.

But if he knew how you saw things, he would know how impossible that would be.

“We’re not fucking doing this,” you told Chan, pointing your finger at him.

“_____, you don’t have a choice,” Chan told you with a shrug.

“But--”

“Wasn’t this like, years ago?” Minho asked. “What do you hate this guy for, anyway?”

And if you were honest, you didn’t even remember anymore. You and Mingi had hated each other for so long that you’d forgotten what you hated him for in the first place. And the fact you were silent as you racked your brain for the answer had Chan crossing his arms over his chest.

“Exactly,” he huffed. “I’m sorry, _____, but you need to get over this dumb enemy thing. Not even just because we have to help them, but because you’re going to end up killing yourself just because you hate a guy and you don’t even know why you hate him!”

“Yeah, we don’t want to lose you, _____...” Hyunjin’s voice was quiet as he gave you a sad, almost desperate look.

You let out a deep sigh, the crease between your eyebrows not going away, much like the unhappy look on your face as you grumbled, “Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to start picking out headstones.”

-

“What’s the plan?” Chan asked as the two packs sat around the dining table in Hongjoong’s pack’s house.

The other alpha ran a hand through his hair as he began to explain, “The hunters already tried to corner Seonghwa, so we know they’ll probably attack again soon. Our options are to either show we have larger numbers now so they can’t mess with us, or we just have to somehow get rid of them.”

“Get rid of them?” Woojin spoke up, surprise clear in his voice and on his face. “Isn’t that pretty ballsy?”

“What else are we supposed to do?” Yeosang shrugged. “Wait around until they get rid of us?”

“How many of them are there?” Chan continued.

“Twelve,’ Hongjoong replied. “That’s why they targeted us, because we have smaller numbers than them.”

“Now we have seventeen,” you pointed out, looking between the alphas. “Five more than them, but considering we’re werewolves, we count as even more.”

“It’s still unsafe,” Mingi grumbled, refusing to even look at you despite he’d just acknowledged you by replying to your statement.

“Yeah, no shit,” you scoffed. “I’m just saying--”

“Well don’t,” he spat, finally looking across the table at you to send you a glare. “Why don’t you leave it to the alphas.”

Mingi was lucky that Jisung and Minho were quick, because as soon as you lunged across the table, the two were up and already blocking you from your mate so you wouldn’t tear him to shreds. Mingi, on the other hand, stood up so quickly that his chair fell backwards, growling and baring his teeth as his golden eyes began to spot red.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Yeosang sighed under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Come on, you two are mates!” Seonghwa shouted over the commotion the two of you caused.

Both of you paused and looked away from each other to look at the dark-haired wolf, “We are not!”

And then you both looked back at each other, going back to snarling and growling because you didn’t like that you’d said the same thing at the same time. Was it childish? Yes. But this whole feud stemmed from your childhood, anyway.

“_____,” Chan said sharply at the same time Hongjoong barked, “Mingi!”

“Can you cut the shit?” Chan glared at you as he put a hand on your shoulder and pushed you back into your seat.

“Yeah, I’ll put a shock collar on you if I have to,” Hongjoong warned as Mingi’s defensive stance reluctantly relaxed.

Wooyoung stared at the table as he mumbled, “Kinky.”

“You know what,” Chan began as he looked at Hongjoong, “I think the two of you need to be forced to learn how to get along. And if you want to act like children because of some stupid childhood issues you don’t even remember, then I’m going to treat you like children.”

“But Chan--���

“Go to the living room!” he barked. “Sit on the couch.”

You sent a glare toward Mingi as Jisung and Minho let you go, the two of you trudging to the living room as you both mumbled blame to each other.

Chan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “She’s impossible.”

“Yeah well, Mingi hasn’t been such a peach lately, either,” Hongjoong grumbled. “Thank you, by the way.”

As the two alphas walked into the living room, the two packs followed behind -- with San rubbing his hands together because he’d be getting his $25 in no time. They found the two of you sitting on opposite ends of the couch, softly snarling to the other how it was the other’s fault that you were in trouble.

“Cut it out!” Hongjoong shouted, even making the rest of his pack flinch. “All of us are sick of the two of you acting like babies.”

Yunho shrugged, “I don’t know, it’s kinda fun--”

He stopped himself with one glare from his alpha.

“The two of you realize you’ll die right?” Chan asked, looking between the two of you. “I get you say you’re fine with it, but are you really willing to lose your lives because you’re too petty to admit neither of you remember why you’re mad and just love each other like your instincts tell you to?”

“When I say I’d rather die,” Mingi began in a bored tone, “I mean it.”

“And if he dies,” you piggybacked off his statement, “then you won’t have to worry about me dying, will you?”

“_____!” the way Chan shouted your name definitely reminded you of being scolded by a parent.

“Wow, it is as bad as you said,” Minho whispered to Felix, who had reported to the rest of the pack that your arguing was very dark and very immature.

“Until you two can stop being fucking morbid toward each other,” Hongjoong began, “you’re going to sit here and talk your shit through until it’s fixed!”

“So...we’re in time out?” you asked slowly.

“Act like kids, get treated like kids,” Chan shrugged with a fake sweet smile.

“The adults, will be in the kitchen making a plan,” Hongjoong told you. “So if you misbehave, we’ll know. And if I have to come in here again, you will be sorry.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared of a shock coll--”

“He’s not kidding,” Yeosang told you as the wolves began filing out of the living room now that the show was dying down.

With you and Mingi left alone on the couch now, you fell into an uncomfortable silence. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just normal uncomfortable silence where you didn’t want to be near him and you wanted nothing to do with him so you just sat there and listened to the murmurs coming from the kitchen. No, this was uncomfortable because your brain wanted Mingi to be even farther away from you, but your heart wanted you to scoot your ass closer to him. It was uncomfortable because your hand actually twitched to rest on top of his that was resting on the right edge of the middle cushion. Your instincts fought against you, and that what made it uncomfortable.

And Mingi felt the exact same way, but neither of you would admit it.

“You can’t even remember why you hate me?” Mingi scoffed under his breath. “Then why do you still have a stick up your ass after all these years?”

You whipped your head around to glare at him, “Neither do you!”

“Do so,” he frowned.

“Oh yeah? Then why do you hate me?”

Mingi opened his mouth, but no answers came out. You raised your eyebrows with a smirk, causing his frown to deepen before he lowly growled for you to shut up.

“You can’t tease me when you don’t know either,” you told him.

“I didn’t ask,” he snapped.

“But you did open your mouth for no reason,” you pointed out as your fingers mindlessly played with the strings of the rips in your jeans by your knees.

“Yeah well, you--”

You suddenly gasped, eyes widening, “The slide!”

“...Excuse me?”

Your fingers had grazed over the scar on your knee that was shaped like where you had bled when you badly skinned it in first grade. After Mingi had shoved you down the slide when you had sat down to go. You had always remembered how you’d gotten the scar, you could just never quite remember the person who had run up behind you and pushed you. But with that memory quickly flashing through your memory feeling the scar, and Mingi sitting beside you, you remembered it clearly now. Through teary eyes as a little five-year-old, you had looked up at the top of the slide to see Song Mingi scowling down at you, with Choi San watching from beside him.

You slowly turned to look at him once again, looking offended like he’d just insulted your mother, “You shoved me down the slide, you fuckbag!”

“Fuckbag?” he repeated, completely ignoring your statement.

“You pushed me down the slide in first grade, Mingi!”

You could see the gears turning in his head as the memory began to come back to him. But his look of slow realization suddenly halted and turned to one of confusion, “Wait, what? No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did!” you insisted, vividly remembering what happened. “And then you stole my snack and ate it so Mrs. Kim didn’t believe me!”

“I ate your stupid snack because you told Mrs. Kim I shoved you down the slide. She made me serve lunch detention for a week, and she called my parents.”

“Because you pushed me down the slide.”

“No I didn’t.”

You let out an annoyed huff, your head dropping back against the back of the couch. You were getting nowhere, but you didn’t understand why Mingi wouldn’t just admit he started it. He shoved you for literally no reason! And then he had the audacity to steal your snack and eat it!

“Wait...” he mumbled, staring off into space. You rolled your head to the side to look at him as the gears churned in his head again, trying to remember that day.

“Can you just admit you did it?” you groaned. “You were like, glaring at me at the top of the slide.”

“No, I was squinting down at you because the sun was in my eyes,” he corrected, speaking to you like you were stupid. “San pushed you and then hid behind me. But you told Mrs. Kim it was me, and she called my parents and I got in trouble, plus I had to serve lunch detention for a week. That’s why I don’t like you.”

“San was there, but-- ...Wait,” You lifted your head, realizing what Mingi had realized, “So...it really wasn’t you.”

Mingi pressed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head, “Nope. It was San. I didn’t even think that he unintentionally framed me. Wow...”

“Wow indeed,” you nodded slowly as you tried to process the fact that your childhood rivalry from first grade was with the wrong person. Your head whipped around to the doorway to the kitchen, “San!”

-

The next day was Sunday, and hearing the incessant banging of Mingi’s bed against the wall made everyone else cover their ears and groan. Everyone except San, who was smirking to himself as he held his hand out expectantly to Felix.

“Pay up, bud,” he said, curling his fingers a few times.

“Technically, it’s not hate-fucking, though,” Felix pointed out before cringing when he had the displeasure of hearing you whimper out Mingi’s name.

“Technically it is,” San countered. “Mingi and _____ both hate me now and still haven’t gotten over it--”

“Well it’s only been a day,” Seonghwa pointed out.

“So they technically are hate-fucking, and they always will be as long as both of them hate me,” he concluded with a bright smile. “It makes sense if you don’t think about it.”

Knowing San would manage to twist this no matter what, Felix sighed and fished out the 25 dollars. But San wouldn’t hang onto it very long, because later when you and Mingi would venture downstairs to get water and laugh because neither pack could look you in the eye right now, San would get cocky and show off the money he made off of the two of you going at it in Mingi’s room upstairs. To which Mingi would quickly snatch the money that his brother was waiving in your face.

“Hey!” San whined.

“This makes up for the recesses I missed in first grade,” he nodded, shoving the cash in the pocket of his sweatpants. “And all the moaning is going to be payback for the years ______ and I spent hating each other when she really should’ve been hating you.”

“Never too late to start, though,” you grinned, following Mingi out of the kitchen -- but not before whacking San in the back of the head.

[vampire-named-gampire]

Carry On Countdown - Day 8

Hello! Here’s my fic for the @carryon-countdown. It’s longer than what I’d usually post on tumblr, but I haven’t really decided if I want to continue it or not and I don’t really have the time to decide since uni is kicking my butt this week.  It’s un-beta’d so sorry for any grammar mistakes or just general messiness of it

Prompt: Rain Word count: 1669 Rating: Teens and up Summary: 

Baz drags Simon out to play football, despite the stormy clouds looming above them. 

SIMON

Baz insists that I play football with him. He says it’s so that he doesn’t get out of practice, but I know it’s because he’s trying to assure I get enough exercise. Apparently, it’s good for depression.

I do usually feel a bit better after our games, so I haven’t said no yet. (Even though he beats me every time.) Plus, sometimes it’s easier to compete with him than it is to be soft and do all that romance stuff, so I think it actually helps us. A bit.

I mean, it’s still hard sometimes. Being touched. Being kissed. But football is almost like fighting and we all know fighting makes things easier for me. Besides, Baz looks beautiful on the pitch. And he’s brilliant at football. And when he gets sweaty, he wipes his face in his shirt and I’m usually left staring at the faint trace of muscles in his stomach. (This must be a vampire thing – I’ve never seen him do crunches.) (Maybe he does them in secret.)

I think he’s noticed me staring and he does more of that on purpose now. I’m not complaining. I’ve stopped complaining about our football matches too.

Well, except today. The sky is grey and heavy with clouds and this is England, so it’s definitely going to rain. Baz knows this, yet he’s still dragged me out to the football field. Honestly, when I see him in shorts and a tight, Under Amour turtleneck under his t-shirt, I nearly stop complaining.

Nearly.

“We’re going to get soaked,” I announce as we get out of the car. Somehow, the sky has gotten even darker on our way from my flat to the football field.

“You’re not made of sugar, are you?” Baz says, grabbing his football ball.

“I’m going to leave puddles in your car. You wouldn’t like that.”

“I’ll spell you dry. Or I’ll make you sit on a towel.”

Damn, it was worth a try.

“Look, we have the whole field for ourselves,” Baz says as we pass the squeaky metal door onto the football field. It really is completely empty – usually, there are multiple groups playing at once on one field and it drives Baz up the wall. He says half of the blokes who come here don’t even have a basic grasp of ball control.

“Yeah, because everyone else is reasonable and can see that it’s going to start pouring any minute now,” I huff.

“Listen, if it starts raining, we can always go back. Now come on, warm-up.”

He makes me do warm-ups too. Five laps around the pitch and then some quick stretches. The first time we went, I was near death by the third lap, which is ridiculous, considering I used to fight monsters. (I guess a year of lying on the sofa will do that to you.)

The first time we went, I nearly doubled over at the sight of Baz stretching his calves. That hasn’t changed. My ability to run has. I can now almost keep up with Baz’s human speed, although he does sometimes tap into his vampire powers just taunt me. (As if his long legs weren’t enough.)

Getting better at running makes me feel slightly better about myself. Like my life is moving forward – like I’m actually improving at something. (I’m not. I used to be faster, stronger – I’m merely getting some of myself back.) And it usually helps me sleep.

 Once Baz deems us sufficiently warmed up, he passes me the ball.

“What do you say, Snow, do we play across the whole field?” he asks. Sometimes he’ll teach me some technique after warm-up, but today, we’re apparently going straight to the game.

“Okay, but you can’t use your vampire strength.”

“When have I ever used my vampire strength?” Baz feigns being offended. I roll my eyes.

“I could think of a few instances.”

“I can beat you even without the vampire strength, love,” he smiles. “Come on. You can start.”

 Playing across the whole field is exhausting. I finally manage to steal the ball from Baz, but it feels like it takes me forever to sprint across the pitch and towards my goal. Baz tries to steal the ball back, but the tip of my tail is pressed against his chest, holding him at distance. Huh. This has never happened before. Usually, I tie my tail around my waist when we play, but that’s uncomfortable so I just untied it when I saw nobody was on the pitch.

Still, it’s helping me. If it wasn’t for my tail, Baz would’ve stolen the ball from me already.

“If I can’t use my vampire strength, you can’t use your dragon parts either,” he calls just as I send the ball flying towards the goal. The net shakes. Score!

“I’m going to let you have that one, just because I know I’ll still beat you,” Baz says, jogging to get the ball.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, darling!” I call after him, even though I am pretty sure he’s going to beat me. He always has.

The first raindrops fall just as we get back into the game.

“Do you want to keep going?” Baz asks as he dribbles the ball, effortlessly avoiding all my attempts of stealing it from him.

“Yes,” I say, trying once again to snatch the ball from him. It’s hard work, especially when I’m also trying to keep my tail in check.

Not even a minute later, it’s full on pouring. My shirt is clinging to me, cooling me down, and Baz’s hair is falling around his face in wet strands. He must be cold, but he keeps playing, confidently leading the ball towards his goal.

I chase behind him, trying to block him, or whatever it is that I should be doing, but the grass is wet and I don’t have posh wanker football shoes like he does, so I end up slipping, knocking both of us over in the process.

He ends up on his back, with me half on top of him.

“Ouch, Snow! This isn’t American football, you’re not supposed to tackle people, you know?” Baz immediately starts complaining.

“It was an accident!” I say, rolling off of him, so that I’m also on my back.

“Troll’s arse, it was. This deserves a penalty kick at least. Maybe two because you got my shirt all muddy,” he laments. I roll my eyes at his theatrics.

“Nobody’s stopping you from getting up and spelling your shirt clean,” I say.

“I am severely injured. I might die any second.”

“Oh, come off it, you’re a bloody vampire,” I laugh.

“So this is how it ends; a Chosen One straight to the chest.”

I’m beginning to get worried, but he lets his head fall in my direction and I see a teasing smile stretched across his face. The tosser is just messing with me. Of course he is.

“You’re a git, you know that?” I growl, grabbing him by his waist and pulling him closer to me. He barely has the time to react before I kiss him.

I’ve kissed Baz before, many times, but snogging on a football field in the middle of a downpour is new. He’s cold – too cold – and I pull him on top of me. Baz makes a sound of surprise against my lips at that and I think he might pull away, so I tangle my hands in his hair, holding him closer. I’ve never touched his hair when it’s wet before. It slips through my fingers with ease and clings to his face.

I think Baz has worked through his surprise now, because he catches my lower lip between his teeth and tugs at it, his hand travelling down my side and settling on my hip. My shirt is so wet there’s almost no friction to his movement and it feels amazing.

I try running my own hands up and down his back and it makes his breath hitch. Moments later, his lips are by my ear, kissing and nipping at my earlobe.

“Is this okay?” Baz whispers, his breath so close to my ear that I can hear him despite the rain. Usually, this is the point where I’d start feeling panicky and uncomfortable, but today is different, for some reason. Maybe it’s the thrill of it all – I mean, kissing in a rainstorm is proper hot. I nod feverishly and I can hear him smirk against my ear before he starts kissing down my neck.

I take the opportunity to slip my hands under his shirt because if I’m feeling confident today, I might as well use it. Baz loves it when I run my hands up and down his stomach, so I do just that. (I don’t do it often enough. Usually, I’m scared.)

His reaction makes me forget why I was ever scared to do so in the first place. He practically melts against me, a small gasp escaping his throat before he comes back up and starts kissing me with even more vigour. It’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so good.

Thunder rumbles in the background and Baz pulls away. I look at him with a puzzled expression.

“Come on, let’s go,” he says, scrambling to his feet.

“What?” I sit up, still trying to comprehend his sudden change of pace, anxiety rising up in my chest. Did I do something wrong?

“Thunder, Snow. We’re in an open field. It’s not safe.”

“Oh.”

He offers me his hand and I let him pull me up. Then he kisses me again, like he can’t resist himself. (He probably can’t.)

“Can we…” I fumble, trying to find my words. I expect Baz to jab at me, but he just waits while I compose my thoughts. (I should snog him more often if it makes him stop being a prick.) “Can we, uh… continue this at home?”

His lips curl into a smirk and he takes my hand.

“You know we can.”  

[wendimydarling]

Worship (Chapter Three)

Title: Worship

Summary: August puts on a front, but he finally receives the care that he truly needs.

Pairing: August x First Person Reader

Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five |

Word Count: 3175

Warnings: Sex. There is sex. NSFW, 18+, you know the drill.

A/N: So this one was tough. I delved more into the psyche of it all, and had to determine exactly what it was that I was writing if I wanted to continue the story. Thank you to @brexrif for the lovely chat, and to @littlefreya​ and @agniavateira​ for letting me bounce ideas off of you. COMMENTS are my DREAM, leave me all your smutty fantasies. Enjoy!!!!

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CHAPTER THREE

We settled into a routine. August would come over to my apartment every Friday, sometimes leaving, sometimes staying till morning. I’d laid out a couple of ground rules, the most important ones being that he did as I asked, he wasn’t allowed to sleep with anyone else while we were doing this, and he wasn’t allowed to masturbate. I had no desire to share him with anyone else, and that included his hand. 

Over the last month I’d treated him to something different each of those nights, all intent on getting him to experience a different kind of gratification than he was used to. I wanted August to feel important, to feel worthy of admiration. I’d yet to let him pleasure me; I wanted to establish some trust first.

Friday night, I was getting myself ready for the evening I had planned for him, applying the finishing touches to my makeup when I heard a loud banging on my front door. He’s early, I thought, striding over to chide him for being rough with my property. When I opened the door, August brushed past me straight into my house, not even bothering to say hello. I could see his back rise and fall as he stood on his mark, clearly agitated but waiting for me to speak. I walked into the kitchen for a bottle of wine and two glasses before addressing him.

“Rough day?” I asked, pouring the red liquid into their vessels. August glowered at me as I brought the drinks and the bottle to the couch, gesturing for him to sit. He said nothing as he joined me, downing his wine in one fail swoop and setting the glass on the coffee table. He put his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. I poured him another serving and offered it to him, placing my hand on his shoulder as I did. August recoiled at my touch, jumping away from me. I frowned.

“Talk to me, August.”

“You don’t understand. No one understands,” August muttered, head still down, rubbing the back of his hair with his hands. I put the wine down and tried again, putting my hand on top of his.

“August, may I t--”

“NO!” He roared, grabbing my wrist with one hand and locking his other hand around my throat, pressing me into the couch with his weight. “I don’t want you to touch me; it’s my turn. I haven’t fucked in over a month; I need it.”

I remained calm as I watched his rage boil over, his eyes sparking and his lips pressed into a firm line. I could feel how hard he was, see how desperate he was to get off, but he was waiting. Waiting for permission. That was a big step in my book, one that needed to be rewarded, only on my terms. But first, I had to let him see his way was wrong.

“Okay,” I told him, licking my lips and parting them, “Then show me. Show me ‘The Hammer’.”

August didn’t need to be asked twice. He instantly crushed his mouth into mine, plunging his tongue into its depths. His hands roamed my body roughly, uncaring. He ripped my clothes off, and I let him use me, making mental notes as he worked. He kissed my body, but he didn’t linger. One area was his goal, and once he found it, he stayed there. He was talented, and he soon drew moans out of my body, despite my resolve to only observe his skill. 

“You like that, pet?” He mumbled around my mound. I nodded, gasping as he shoved two fingers inside of me. Damn it all, woman, get a grip!

Through my pleasure I couldn’t help but wonder one thing: why? He said he fucked hard, said he needed it, so why was he bothering with my needs? Why did he want to get me off first? Why all this attention to detail?

August brought me close to the edge. It felt good, but my mind was reeling with a million questions, so I still had control. I put on an act, pretending I was ready, squirming and mewling in an attempt to get him to reveal his game. I could feel August smile against me, his arm pinning me to the couch.

“You wanna come, baby girl?” he said, twisting his fingers deeper within me. I closed my eyes, crying out as he struck gold.

“Go ahead, pet. Beg for it.”

There it is. A power play. August wanted the control. He said that’s what he needed, but I knew better. My body was screaming at me, my mind told me to give in, but against everything I took a different road.

“No.”

His fingers hooked around my pelvic bone and yanked me toward him, danger dripping from his icy tone.

“No one tells me no.”

“I believe I just did.”

I watched August’s brow furrow, processing what I’d just told him, and he attacked my pussy with fervor, doing everything he could to get me to beg for it. Every suck, every lick, every scissor of his fingers brought me closer and closer to the point of no return. I wanted to give in, but I was on a mission now; I refused to beg. I wanted to know what he would do. I had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t like it very much.

I was right. August growled as I refused to cave, undoing his pants only enough to shove his very large erection inside of me. My eyes grew wide and I gasped as he struck into me repeatedly; he knew exactly the right angle to turn me into putty. He had me right where he wanted and he held me there, but I wouldn’t give. He was rutting into me for his own pleasure, but he couldn’t do it. When August was in charge, he couldn’t come, not without having made me want it first. In a bold move on my part, I laughed at the knowledge, and the sound that August made was utterly terrifying. He flipped me over and grabbed my throat again, pressing me hard against him as he fucked into me without care. My insides throbbed; I was so fucking close. I wouldn’t come though. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“What’s the matter August; can’t come unless you make me your bitch first?”

August shoved me into the couch, yelling in anger as he walked away. He did up his pants and headed for the door, but I grabbed a blanket and bolted in front of him, blocking his escape.

“No, August. I want you to stay.”

“FUCK!” he screamed. “Why do you have to make this so fucking hard?” he turned away as I wrapped the blanket around me. His voice came shaky, soft. 

“Why don’t you want me?”

“Do you really think I don’t want you?” I asked him incredulously, standing behind him. “Do you really think so little of yourself?” I hovered my lips over his back, not touching, but close enough he could feel my breath, my words a low whisper.

“You think I’m not grateful every morning at work to find a granola bar on my desk? You think the way you look when you’re naked doesn’t send a thrill down into my core that I can’t satisfy on my own? You think I don’t spend the next hour and a half after you’re gone fucking myself into oblivion, picturing how amazing you look when you come?”

August shook his head, and I knew a scowl I couldn’t see was etched firmly into his features.

“But you never let me touch you.”

I sighed.

“August,” I said, running my hands down his arms and gently linking one of my fingers with his, “Would you like to touch me?”

He turned around slowly, his jaw clenching as he looked at me. I could see the battle raging behind his eyes: what he was used to versus what he truly wanted. August looked at the floor and nodded slowly. What he wanted won out. I caressed his face, planted a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, and walked backward until I was against the wall, pulling him with me. 

“Then get on your knees, please. If you can get me to close my legs, then you get to come.”

August looked taken aback, as if he couldn’t believe that I would deny him what he wanted. He complied slowly, falling to his knees and staring as I dropped the blanket. I let him look, completely naked before him, and August waited; he was in new territory here. I laced my fingers into his curls, spreading my legs far apart and tilting my hips forward, positioning my pussy directly in front of his mouth.

“What you were doing before, with your mouth and your fingers?” I instructed him, “Do it again.”

August raised an eyebrow at me, ducking his head at once to comply. His tongue slipped into my still swollen folds and I gasped, hands planted firmly against the wall. He had me squirming in seconds, that talented muscle in his mouth greedily working my sensitive nub. August wrapped an arm around my back to hold me forward and brushed his other hand softly over my thigh, grazing his fingertips along my skin. My body hitched as his fingers found my wet heat, spreading me wide and teasing my entrance. 

“August…” I moaned, and this made him grin. I forced myself to hold still as he licked a line over my slit, slipping two digits into my core. He crooked them just right and all at once, my body was engulfed in pleasure. I cried out, a desperate and lengthy moan. The muscles in my legs flexed hard, desiring to close around his hand. I curled my fingers around his locks, tugging them hard as he pulled my orgasm from me. August kept going. And the fact that I wasn’t moving made it feel so damn good.

“Bed,” I rasped, quaking around his fingers as my muscles continued to constrict. August grabbed my thighs and hooked my knees over his shoulders, his arms returning to my back for support as he suddenly stood. I yelped, pleasantly surprised at the ease with which he carried me. He made his way to the bed and dropped me on the mattress, his mouth relentlessly sucking my pussy the entire time. 

Once I was horizontal August went back to work. I put my hands above my head and spread my legs, pretending I was his prisoner, and I let him do what he wanted to me; that was the game, and he did not disappoint. The amount of strength that man has in his tongue should be illegal. The agility in his fingers should be outlawed. The ideas and thoughts that roam around in his head… those should be carbonized and kept safe in a library somewhere forever. I gasped and moaned, pleaded for more, trembled and shook, but still he played, lying between my legs lazily. It occurred to me that he was waiting. Waiting for permission.

“August, fuck me,” I stated, making it seem like I was asking. He looked up at me then, his chin glistening, his fingers still moving.

“Would you like that?” he smirked as he worked my core. I could only nod; he had four fingers in me now, sliding them in and out as if he were a machine. His other arm pressed my hips into the mattress.  Every fiber of my being desired to close my legs but I fought the urges, remaining still. 

“How badly would you like that?” he asked softly, blowing a gentle gust of air on my slick folds. I arched my back and whimpered, refusing to move. 

“It wasn’t a request, August.”

He looked at me again, stilling his hand and challenging me with his gaze. I challenged back; this may have been different from our norm, but he still knew the rules. 

“Strip, please.”

August removed his hands from my body and sat back on his knees, unbuttoning his shirt as I watched. I greedily took in the sight of his rippling musculature, the lines in his shoulders and the well toned definition of his abs. He got off the bed to remove his pants, undoing his belt and his zipper agonizingly slowly; the smirk on his face and the cock of his eyebrow told me he was teasing me. I’ll allow it. 

Once he was free of his clothes, August crawled back on top of me. I hadn’t moved, drunk on the power I had over him. 

“Kiss me, August.”

August obeyed, bending his head to latch onto my lips with his own. I could taste myself, and I could feel his fingertips trail deliciously from my elbow to my waist. He’s learning. The kiss was slow, sensual, and deep, and it filled my body with an aching desire. August swept my hair back with his hand, cupping my face as he drew me into his embrace. He moved his lips to my neck and his hands to my breasts, worshipping my body similarly as I had done to him in the past. 

I brought a hand down between us and gripped his hardened cock, lining it up with my entrance. August moaned into my shoulder as I pushed just the tip inside. I pulled his hair gently so that he would look at me, but firm enough that he knew I meant business.

“You’re going to fuck me now, August, but remember: you are not allowed to come unless you can get me to close my legs.”

“Fuck,” he cried, sheathing himself inside me. “This game is rigged.”

I chuckled a little.

“No love, you’re just playing against the master. Move, please.”

August did as he was told, thrusting into me wildly at first. I came near my orgasm but all of a sudden he stopped, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. That’s it, think. He pushed hard into me, grinding in a circle, then pulling out at a torturously slow pace, only to do it again. It was enough to get me nearly there, but it wouldn’t send me over. He knew it too. 

The whole game I’d proposed was to get him to learn my body. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think he could win, and I wanted him to win, I really did. That type of victory while still being obedient to my requests would be so healing to his poor, broken soul; a mind so confused that it didn’t know what it wanted. There was a way for him to achieve victory, but I wanted him to work for it, I wanted him to find it. Come on, August, find it.

August continued the slow ministrations, his mouth on my neck teasing me mercilessly as I squirmed. He’s never gonna get it that way.

“That’s not fucking!” I cried out, as he did it again, smacking his shoulder. He laughed then, rich and deep, and the sound took my breath away. Oh August. I would do anything in my power to hear that laugh. That beautiful, carefree, melodious--

“Ohh!!” My thoughts were interrupted as August slammed into me, pausing when he was at his deepest. He pressed firmly against my cervix and fucking hell, that was it. He pressed harder and an endless stream of curse words poured from my mouth as pleasure shot through my abdomen. August took to my nipples with his mouth then; soft, wet kisses burning into my secret weakness. Oh god, he found it. I tried to smack him again but he just grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the bed. I shook my head, writhing and cursing and grinning profusely at his intelligence. I was ready to close my legs but I couldn’t, his hips had them pinned open. I was trapped.

“Do you want to close your legs?” He murmured, switching to the other nipple and thrusting again. Damn, he’s good. I keened as he licked a circle around the highly sensitive nub of my breast, flicking it with the tip of his tongue before engulfing in his mouth. 

“August…”

“I’ll do as you ask. You want to close your legs, don’t you?”

There you go. Good boy. He was right, that’s what I wanted. And since, in our arrangement, he did what I wanted, he would let me close my legs. He had won, and I was ready to reward him. I looked at him softly, shivering as his attention to my nipple sent goosebumps barreling into my cheek and down my entire right side.

“Let me close my legs,” I whispered to him. He looked up at me, that goddamn smirk plastered on his face.

“What was that?” he asked, hips sinking further into my core. I closed my eyes, biting my lower lip as I grinned; I was so proud of him. And so turned on. August lapped at my nipple again.

“Let me close my legs!” I shouted, laughing in frustration at the sensations pouring through my body. 

“If you insist,” he shrugged, letting go of my wrists and rising effortlessly into a plank. I snapped my knees up to my chest, eyeing him with searing determination.

“Now fuck me, Walker.”

I watched as August’s demeanor changed from playful to serious. He vigorously pounded into me, his thick girth striking the spot he’d been pressing into with every thrust. The orgasm he’d denied me from erupted at once, and stayed true until he was done. I held his face in my hands as I came, forcing him to open his eyes and look at me.

“Come for me, August.”

It had become our code phrase, and it was all August needed. He came roughly, loudly, his forehead pressed into mine. Rolling off of me to settle he closed his eyes, panting from his high. I immediately rolled over, running a hand down in his arm as I whispered in his ear. 

“August, may I touch you?”

He nodded, and I went to work, worshipping his body and praising him for such a good job. I laid my body on top of his, muscle for muscle. My fingers matched his fingers, my arms and legs pressed onto his arms and legs, my head rested gently on his torso. I listened to his heartbeat slow before licking the sweat from his chest. 

“So good, August,” I praised, kissing from his jawline to his temple. “You did so good; made me feel so good. I’m so proud of you.”

I saw the corners of August’s mouth turn up slightly, and my heart fluttered. I loved doing that for him. Before he drifted off to sleep I made sure he was clean, and underneath the blanket. My other plans for him would have to wait. Morning will be here soon enough.

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Chapters: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five |

Tags: @littlefreya @sciapod @thiccgeralt @fucking-hell-cavill @brexrif @peakygroupie @viking-raider @constip8merm8 @daniig95 @elinalfrida @hell1129-blog @oddsnendsfanfics @agniavateira @dearlybelovedluke @sofiebstar @wanderinglunarnights @omgkatinka