#the flash 750

[stellasolaris]

[eroticdemon]

Your Chance to get $750 to your Cash Account!

Rewards US is giving away $750 to lucky winners! 🤑

How to Win:

Join Rewards US: Sign up for free today.

Complete Simple Tasks: Earn points by completing easy activities. Redeem for Cash: Once you've reached the required points, cash out directly to your account! Don't miss out on this amazing opportunity! 💰

[jdfitzroy]

Writing Challenge | "Nyt Manifold"

A 750 word short story challenge taken from the centre of an imaginary novel.

by JD FitzRoy Write a 750 word fragment as if taken from the middle of a bigger story or novel. Science Fiction. ‘You got that, synth?’ the general asked. ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied. I’d seen the voikit in use, all the organics had one. It was as common among them as yawns and toilet breaks. He’d turned the cube over in his ancient, leathery hand. They got so old, so quickly, momentarily drifting.…

[donaldoo234]

CONGRATS Collect your Cash Gift $750 Voucher per person if you interested click here https://urlis.net/as3f4ign

[mocchii-writes]

could you do a thanos x reader fic (squid game), where the reader is dating thanos already but is apart of gi hun's group in the games and is really sweet and kind. so then when thanos approaches her the boys (especially dae ho and jung bae) get all protective ready to fight: only to be absolutely shocked when the reader reveals that's her boyfriend.

I hope nobody catch us (but I kind of hope they catch us)

Paring: Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x fem!reader Summary: Your boyfriend just wants to see you. Unfortunately, your friends aren't in the loop. Words: 750 Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death? lmk if there's something ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

A/n: pleaseeee send requests!! I have writer's block grr. Hope this is alright, anon! ♡

~🍡🍡

This place was terrifying. Obviously. Almost 100 people died. You're lucky, and you know that. Not just because you survived, but because you aren't alone. You met Su Bong, or as people call him, "Thanos" before the games, dating soon after. Neither of you had any idea the other was coming, but here you are. You noticed him easily; it's not like he's very inconspicuous. You didn't think he had seen you, and you were a little too busy at the moment to approach him.

See, the second reason you're so lucky is because of the people around you currently. You would like to call them your friends, but some seem a little friendlier than others. 456, or Gi Hun, seems to be the leader. To nobody's surprise, though, because he's apparently done this whole charade once before. After just barely scraping through Red Light, Green Light, you were approached during the team-making for game 2 by Dae Ho and thus migrated into this odd little family. They all seemed to like you, as you were very kind and lightened the group's mood.

The food didn't look the best, but you didn't have a lot of choices, so here you sat, listening to the light conversations. You had become a close-knit bunch after game 2, and you got along very well with Jung Bae and Dae Ho, joking around after brief introductions. You wanted to check in on Thanos after you saw him lose a fight before game 2, but your two groups seem to have some disputes, you thought it best to wait until you could briefly slip out of the group.

You hear the announcement of lights out soon, and some people in your group rise to clean up the litter around them from dinner. You join Jung Bae and laugh at something he says, walking over to dispose of the trash. You hear a voice behind you as Dae Ho's face unfamiliarly hardens.

"Hey, my flower, why didn't you tell me there was an angel right in this room?" Thanos calls to you. You smile and turn around, but Dae Ho's voice stops you from responding.

"Get out of here, she isn't interested." He calls. You can tell he isn't used to the confrontation, but he's soon backed up by Jung Bae, walking next to you.

"We don't want people like you around us, get lost." He demands, and you feel your confusion pouring out. Dae Ho nods and walks in front of you. Thanos is almost taken aback but is quickly calm again, shooting a response.

"Who do you think you are, bro?" He approaches Dae Ho, challenging him. "Stopping me from seeing my girl? You jealous? You don't stand a chance, man." Dae Ho laughs, but you can tell he's a little scared.

You can see Nam Su walking, at least you think that was his name. He promoted a club you had been to before and was fairly friendly. Unlike now, looking like he wants to murder something. You can also see Gi Hun approaching the situation with the rest of your group, and you finally snap out of your spectating haze, biting your lip.

"Guys, wait! wait!" You say, swerving around Dae Ho to intersect the confrontation, "Don't fight! This is just a misunderstanding." You flash your sweetest smile, and your friends look at you, confused. Dae Ho is still glaring at Thanos, but he's probably listening. "Thanos isn't creeping on me. We're dating."

There's a thick silence that ensues. Lots of glances between you and the boy behind you, until someone finally speaks.

"What...?" Jung Bae says, smiling. "You're dating this guy?" He laughs.

You smile, "That's not the point." You laugh as you look at Thanos, noticing his shoulders relaxing a bit more. "I'm sorry for not telling you guys sooner, I didn't think it would be very good news."

You press your lips together and then stifle a laugh as Dae Ho responds, "It's not. I just- never would have guessed." He smiles at you. You notice others in your group nodding as the tension dies down. You laugh and shrug, feeling a hand on your wrist and walking away with Thanos, mouthing a brief I'll be back! as you talk to Thanos, laughing.

"You could've warned me your friends were such bitches." He teases you, smiling.

"I'm sorry, baby. Don't call them that, at least in front of me." You hear him chuckle as your fingers interlace, him glancing back one more time before moving on.

Hope this works ♡ lmk if I misunderstood or there's any mistakes!

send requests!!

[mywritersmind]

WINNING KISS - LN4

summary : lando isn’t used to being a human mirror, but when a pretty girls tells him to hunch down and let her fix her lipstick in the reflection of his glasses, he’s more than happy to oblige.

listen up : no warnings!!

word count : 750

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I can practically feel the music through my veins. The lights of the club are flashing and my friends are laughing and swinging shots back.

I won today. Singapore has been fucking amazing honestly. Besides the whole drowning in sweat thing.

“So…” Max Fewtrell claps a hand on my shoulder, “Taking a girl home tonight, winner?” He teases me as I roll my eyes and sip my drink, “What- You too tired?” he fakes a frown. I didn’t really want to go out tonight but decided it’s sort of a one in a lifetime thing.

“Go find your girlfriend, idiot.” I eye him.

He throws up his arms and laughs, “Gladly!” As he walks away I feel a hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I’m surprised who did it had such force for being so small.

A girl stands in front of me, a pencil in hand and for a second I think she’s going to ask for an autograph, “Bend down a bit!” She tugs on my shirt and I do as I'm told because I'm genuinely so confused and the pretty girl means business.

She takes the sunglasses from my head and pushes them over my eyes, looking directly into them and bringing the pencil to her lips.

The ‘pencil’, I now realize, it’s a makeup product and deposits a dark color to her lips as she uses me as her mirror.

As she’s stood in front of me, my eyes can’t help but analyze her. This club is stuffy and smoky but she’s so close I can see everything she has on.

She’s got messy brown hair, silver jewelry, a mini skirt, a fur jacket, and a white corset top. Something about her feels magnetic. She’s stunning.

My eyes go to her lips which she smacks together before pulling out a proper lipstick, as she runs the makeup over her lips I start to smile a bit. She finishes quickly and doesn’t pauses as she starts to place the makeup back in her back.

I slide the glasses down to hang around my neck, I see the recognition appear on her face, “Shit.” She says confidently, “You’re that guy!”

I laugh a bit, standing up straighter and looking down at her, “Nice to meet you too.”

“Sorry! Everyone’s been talking about you today!” My tongue runs over my teeth, smiling a bit, “Thanks for being my mirror. And- congrats, I guess?”

“Thank you. And no problem, I’d never deprive a pretty girl of her lipstick rights.” This makes her laugh and fuck I want to keep her laughing.

She gets a look in her eye, her arms behind her, and her eyes staring up at me, “Well I appreciate it. Like it?” I look at her lips again and I’m beginning to think this is a trick just to make me want to kiss her.

“I do. It suits you.” Her lips pull into a wide smile and she steps a bit closer. “You know- people are talking about me for a reason.” I say, building myself up a bit.

She squints, “Right… A win?” I nod, “You’re celebrating then?”

I nod again, “A bit boring though… if only there was a girl to make my night better.”

She scoffs, “Suppose you want a winning kiss then?” I eye her, sipping my drink once more. My eyes flick to her lips but she doesn’t stop looking at me.

“I mean- your lipstick would look great on me.” I say smugly as she stops herself from smiling, humming and nodding.

“Would it?” She says into my ear, the club getting louder with the music.

“Suppose we’ll have to check and see.” I say in her ear this time and when I pull back, I can tell she’s trying to figure me out.

She hums again, leaning in close and slipping her hand onto my neck. Her cool rings practically sting my hot skin. She turns my head slightly, I feel her stand taller to softly kiss my cheek.

When she pulls away, I’m smirking again, “Let me get your number.” I don’t even ask it as a question.

She pulls the lipliner out of her bag once more, uncapping it with her teeth and taking my arm. She scrolls the numbers slowly against my arm, holding me close.

When she’s done and there’s red numbers up my arm, she closes the product and smiles kindly, saying “Congratulations, winner.” before walking away.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Deep in the Forest [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just a short, smutty, imagine. You and Loki in a tent having feelings. Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Mild angst. (w/c 750)

Loki’s lips brush down the delicate skin of your throat; kissing slowly in time with his thrusts. You can feel your pulse inside his breath, flooding the sliver of space between you as his mouth comes to rest on your shoulder with a whisper of praise.

Quiet. You have to be quiet.

The way he moves inside you, the muted whimpers he stifles with every drag of his cock to the tip—if you could absorb a moment, wrap yourself in it forever, it would be this one.

Moments ago, his fingers burst through the thin bottom of your tent. He was willing himself not to explode, or moan so loudly the foxes would begin to howl. Either way, it amounts to the same.

They curl deep in the earth as he roots himself: his digits in soil, his cock in your cunt. The other hand plays with your breast, thumbing the nipple, and his sighs grow heavy while the humidity rises. “Darling,” he murmurs, and you comb damp straggles of hair from his face. His sapphire eyes find yours in the gloom of smothered torchlight; hooded, fogged with a desire he can never name. But you can: ‘love’—and so will he…eventually. The others are in tents dotted around yours.

Cap said, explicitly, ‘no, late night shenanigans’ while looking directly at Loki. And Loki had smiled, innocence swelling in his eyes as he pressed a palm to his chest: wounded. But he came, like he always does, because he can’t resist what you are together. He never can. “Darling,” he chokes again, as another liquid rock of his hips makes you forget your own name. Your legs tighten around him, pushing him deeper, and the torch rolls from its forgotten nest in the sleeping bag. “Shit, Loki…” you hiss, fumbling a hand towards the traitorous torch. Cap'll be all over that like nettle burn. He snorts against your hair, and in a flash, the clunky object vanishes. And with it—the sniff of light. “Hush,” he soothes, making you clench around the root of his cock. For some fucking reason his voice is even more devastating when you can’t see his face. “You wouldn’t want me to be discovered, would you? Deep inside you; deep in the forest of a strange land.” A shiver wrenches down your spine and makes your hips jolt.

Loki groans, stifled by a well-timed kiss. His tongue nudges deeper, a contented sigh rumbling in his chest as you arch into him and his palm slides under your head. Slowly, slowly, he rolls upwards, tugging your clit with his pelvis. It’s inevitable, now.

Climax sparks and begins to blossom outwards, licking between your thighs, tightening every muscle beneath your waist with pure pleasure. It’s inevitable, you think—as he pants quietly in time with your quickening breaths, as he smothers the need to spur you on with loud, filthy commands. A short whine slips between his teeth, and his back muscles tense. “Cum with me, Loki,” you whisper, and his heartbeat hammers against your chest. Long curls pool in your collarbone as his lips find yours in the darkness and Loki of Asgard groans his orgasm deep into your throat.

It’s inevitable, you think again, as your hand slides down his damp back, over the curve of his unbearably hard ass, clutching the twisted sleeping bag in a fist. The two of your are right together, and the world makes sense. He kisses the side of your nose as your silent gasps of orgasm ebb; the tip of your cheekbone, the shell of your ear. Loki's nostrils puff quietly in the humid silence. A droplet from the tent fabric drips onto your leg as you unwind from his body and he shifts to the side. He slips from inside you, seed hot on your inner thigh, and you miss him immediately: a particular kind of emptiness. You wonder if he feels it, too.   “I should go,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t want to. Resistance strings through the syllables like dew on spiderweb. You wait, just in case there’s something else he wants to add to that statement. A confession of love, perhaps. But in the pitch black, the only thing that follows is the trail of a long finger down your cheek, and a brush of his thumb over your lips. And then, his breath hitches. “I…” he starts, and then the words are eaten by the darkness in which they find themselves.

“Go,” you whisper. He leans forward, catching your lips like he’ll never leave. But he does, leaving a gap in the tent flap so you can see the stars. The tent smells of him. “I love you,” you whisper into the pillow with a smile, imagining Loki doing the same four tents over. You’ll say it soon enough. And so will he. It’s inevitable.

Tags in comments❤️x

[stellasolaris]

I know who they are, but they don't care much about me. The King and Queen of Solaria, but Princess Stella brought up like a perfect stranger. 

[muletia]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 — [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏] ⊹₊⟡⋆

[tfp] yandere!soundwave x human!reader

summary: you were meant to be just a bargaining chip for the decepticons, someone who could be easily discarded. but soundwave has other plans for you. (consider this snippet as a base for further stories.)

cw: obsessed!soundwave, kidnapping, isolation, stockholm syndrome?? not really but reader does have a soft spot for him, reader's pov, soundwave is fucking terrifying, this is just an excuse to write about soundwave interacting with you lmao

word count: 750

[part 2]

The automatic doors hissed open, announcing the arrival of the owner of these small quarters. You lifted your head from the tablet, wanting to confirm that your routine remained unbroken — that you would survive one more day. Seeing the familiar silhouette, you exhaled in relief. The same titan as always had returned. You’d live to see tomorrow.

“Hi,” you greeted, well aware you’d never receive a verbal response. The titan was fiercely silent.

He nodded, and that was the end of your “conversation.”

Your interactions hadn’t always been like this. They weren’t always this warm. Going from trembling in fear at just the sight of him to saying “good morning” of your own free will had taken some time. Not that you had much choice in terms of social interactions, which the reptilian part of your brain still craved. You’d only seen other members of his species once, on the day of your abduction. Accepting that this was now your life, indefinitely, hadn’t been easy, but after many months, you’d adjusted. Humans were made to adapt to new conditions, and you were no exception. The will to live had won.

You returned to reading an e-book on your tablet (a reward for good behavior) but quickly paused, noticing the robot had stopped at the desk, right by the small corner arranged just for you. You looked up—he seemed to be looking straight at you. Even with the screen covering his face, you could feel his optics on you.

He was enormous, terrifying, and the lack of human-like facial features, which you’d noticed on others, only heightened the fear factor. He looked like a xenomorph. But your alien was real. And he wanted something from you.

“What’s up?” you asked, uncertainly.

He moved his hand, slowly, calculatedly, and pointed at the tablet as if he genuinely cared about what you were doing, as if he cared about your existence. By now, you understood perfectly what he meant, having gone through this countless times when he returned to you after a few, sometimes several, hours of absence. This was your little ritual, a remnant of normalcy in a world where nothing was normal.

“I didn’t manage to read much,” you sighed. He tilted his head slightly. It was almost cute. Almost. “I just can’t concentrate today. I’m having kind of a rough day.”

It would certainly be better if you were spending your time at home, with family and friends, rather than as the pet of your captor, but of course, you couldn’t say that to him. Not when you’d worked so hard for the privilege of a tablet and your own little human corner.

“But it’s nothing big,” you continued, fearing he’d decide it was his fault. “Humans sometimes have days like this. Tomorrow should be better.”

He shook his head.

Did he not believe you? That was a terrifying thought, one with unpleasant consequences, and it sparked a flash of fear. Fortunately, that spark faded as quickly as it had appeared when an image popped up on his face — a silly meme of a cat holding a rose with hearts around it. You stared at the absurd sight for a moment, trying— and failing —to understand where, why, or how. Finally, you gave up. Laughter escaped you for the first time in a very, very long time. You knew you shouldn’t be laughing; this creature should never be a source of comfort, shouldn’t make you feel better by doing the bare minimum of showing you a silly meme made by some grandma.

But, unfortunately, he succeeded. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so miserable, so pathetic and dull. You felt human.

“Okay, that was actually funny.”

The cat was replaced by a smiling face. His strange, flat hand moved toward you, but slowly, so as not to scare you. A slender finger stroked your head, gently, with silent affection, then slid down to your chin. It lingered there. The gesture was almost romantic as if performed by a lover rather than a giant, silent robot. The image on his face flickered, showing another picture—a heart.

There were so many things you didn’t know about this being. You didn’t know his motives or intentions, the reasons for his actions. You didn’t know what he was or what else he was capable of. But this intention was unmistakable.

Beneath his tenderness, beneath every gentle gesture, laid feelings for you. And that was more terrifying than unfamiliarity — because now you knew you’d never escape this place. You'd never escape him.

this is what he showed you btw:

[glitchyrobo]

Ceres-class Missile Battleship

spaceship =>

(description & fiction under the break!)

Video Description

Several views of a large, long, and slightly bulky Terran warship in space. The ship has repeating triangle motifs in with various paneled textures throughout. Near the pointed front the nameplate of the ship is visible, reading 'CNS Temeraire'. The long front hull has a flat section on the top, covered in massive missile launch bays. Amidships, several armor plates, painted bright red with the Jovian Eagle in gold, protect the armored hab rings and a series of tubes. Aft, the radiators glow brightly as the engine burns hot. Embedded heat pipes run from the tip of the engine to the radiators

The first view is of the ship from above and in front, showing a dramatic angle. Several 'running lights' blink down the length as navigation lights flash

The second view is located to the side, looking forward, again showing the various lights

The third view is focused on the engine, showing it powering on to 100% thrust, then beyond. As it powers on the heat pipes glow in sequence

The fourth and final view repeats the engine power on sequence but from further, allowing the viewer to also see the coolant vents venting coolant

Excerpt from History of Pre-Domestication Terran Warships (3rd Revision), §685.8: Late Terran Accord & Pacification Program Era Battleships (Guided Projectile), Eltrin Yne, Forty-Seventh Bloom, xe/xem, Elly Yne, Twenty-Sixth Floret, et al.

Designed in 2521 CE (33 BT) by a consortium of Jovian shipbuilding corporations and first commissioned in 2526, the Ceres-class missile battleship was envisioned as a platform to launch massed missile strikes against enemy fleets while providing enhanced point defense and electronic warfare. At 750 meters in length and nearly 100 meters at its widest extent, this class represented one of the largest mass-produced spaceframes fielded by the Cosmic Navy.

Over the course of its service history, the class had numerous revisions. Most notably, the type-3 revision in 2539 (2521-CERES-III) which added coolant vents ahead of the hab rings, reducing their size in the process. The vents were positioned forward of the hab rings to expel hot coolant from over-driven point defense domes and electronic warfare equipment rather than the main engines, though they had a limited ability to expel engine coolant in extreme emergencies. These coolant vents essentially functioned as expendable liquid droplet radiators, which may have led to the development of more practical liquid radiators, had domestication been delayed. (See also §359, Speculation on Terran Shipcraft Development)

While there were no major engagements which featured a Ceres functioning in this intended role, classified TCN documents obtained after the fall of Terra stated that one of the primary goals of the class was to counter contemporary corporate navies, which largely consisted of small anti-piracy vessels, should a coalition of corporations ever come into direct conflict with the Accord.

However, the most significant hostile force that the Accord encountered prior to pacification were various pirate flotillas, which would generally consist of smaller, older, and less militarized vessels. While in a direct engagement a Ceres-class or other contemporary Accord capital ships would easily destroy such vessels, smaller ships were quite capable of outmaneuvering and escaping their would-be-predators.

At the start of the Terran Pacification program, there were 157 Ceres-class vessels active. After the signing of the treaty, only a handful of these ships refused armistice, as the amount of logistical support that the Ceres required to function effectively and the implausibility of that support without the Terran core sectors dissuaded overt feralism. Several dozen of the surviving vessels now serve as museum ships across Terran Protectorate space.

[jdfitzroy]

Writing Challenge | "Clockwork 1833"

Historical fiction. A writing challenge. Write a 750 word fragment as if taken from the middle of a bigger story or novel.

by JD FitzRoy Write a 750 word fragment as if taken from the middle of a bigger story or novel. Historical Fiction. ‘It is my pleasure.’ ‘Indeed, indeed. I must admit, I was surprised to find you so engaged. Especially for someone so… young,’ Charles said. Ada followed Charles up whispering stairs, into his study. Curtains drawn, the dark furnishings and thick drapes consumed the light.…

[gloomwitchwrites]

Trick or Treat

John "Soap" MacTavish x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): brief mention of alcohol, dad!Soap, married life, fluff, suggestive themes (at the end)

Word Count: 750

A/N: Requested by @glitterypirateduck for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Trick or Treat)

You and Johnny take the kids for their first American Halloween. Afterwards is for the adults.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

"Are the kids ready?"

"Aye, love. Wee ones are ready."

"Costumes?"

"Yes, love."

"Makeup?"

Johnny slips his arms around, pulling you into him. He has a lazy, contented smile on his face. "We're all ready to go. Stop fussing."

Your lips part, ready to ask another round of questions, but Johnny silences you with a kiss that sends heat right down to your toes. You can’t help but return the kiss, draping your arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss.

"Mum! Da!"

Your children's voices float down the hall, their pounding feet accompanying them. Johnny retreats with a wink, grabbing his coat and yours off the bed, and offering yours to you as the children appear in the doorway.

Both of them are dressed as their characters. The choice was made last minute, as was the trip to the local Halloween store to procure everything necessary. They are eager. Excited. This is their first Halloween in the States and not Scotland.

"We're going to miss all the candy!" groans your son.

Johnny chuckles. "Goblins. The both of you," he teases, ushering the two of them out the bedroom door and into the living room.

You slide your coat on and follow them. The children grab their empty pillowcases, and Johnny herds the two of them toward the front door.

"What's that?" you ask, staring at the red wagon parked next to the coat rack.

"Survival," replies Johnny.

"For who? Us?"

Johnny grins and grabs the handle, the four of you exiting and heading into the neighborhood with all the other families.

From the wagon, he retrieves two thermoses. "Added something extra," he says as the children charge for the first house.

You open the lid and smell it. A warm, comforting aroma greets you. Taking a sip, you smile around the rim. There's an underlying burn.

"Naughty," you laugh.

Johnny flashes you his best smile.

As the children's pillowcases fill with candy, the burn of your drink becomes a warm tingle, leaving you light and a bit buzzed. Johnny keeps an eye on the children, monitoring their candy progress and touching up makeup instead of leaving you to do it all. You're able to enjoy yourself, and when the night becomes a bit colder, he wraps you up in a blanket.

"Show me," you say, and your children open up their pillowcases. They're full to the point of bursting. "Good haul."

Your son picks something out and starts to unwrap it.

"No. It's late. Bedtime." Johnny snatches it right out of the boy's hand before he can get it open.

"But Da!"

"You have school tomorrow. Costumes off. Shower. Brush your teeth. And then bed."

The children groan but they leave their pillowcases of candy on the kitchen counter, the two of them taking off to see who will get to the bathroom first. Johnny rinses out the thermoses and unpacks the wagon, taking it to the garage once it's empty. You start the dishwasher and hit the lights once the children are tucked in.

Both children crash the moment their heads hit the bed. Yawning, you head into the bedroom, removing your coat and getting ready for bed yourself. In the bathroom with your toothbrush in your mouth, you don't notice Johnny entering. You spit the minty toothpaste into the sink and glance up, only to jump in surprise.

"Johnny!"

He's wearing a mask that covers everything but his mouth. It's black. A skull face. Other than that, Johnny wears nothing else except black boxer briefs.

"You startled me," you laugh, rinsing the toothbrush and putting it back in its holder

He saunters forward, grabbing your hips, and pulling you close. "Looking for my own treat tonight."

"Are you?" you tease, offering your mouth.

Johnny leans in. The kiss is deep and demanding. His hands slide from your hips to the curve of your ass. He squeezes, and then descends further, slipping his hands under your nightdress to find his prize.

You gasp against his lips as his fingers part you, seeking your slickness.

"Will you go willingly? Or do I have to drag you?"

A little resistance is always fun.

"Is the door locked?" you ask.

"It is."

"Then no. I won't go willingly."

With an amused growl, Johnny's finger delves inside. You moan, head falling back slightly with pleasure. Johnny's lips skim the side of your neck. He nips. A tease. Then, a bite.

He inserts a second finger.

"Trick, then," murmurs Johnny. "Treat comes later."

taglist:

@coffeecaketornado @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@umno-yeah @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @spookyscaryspoon

@ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[bardoftheshire]

I have something called Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy that I was diagnosed with when I was 15 which isn't caused by flashing lights or strobes, but rather hormones. So, I decided to do something with a reader that is epileptic, just not with something exactly like mine. Enjoy!!

I Won't Tell, I Promise

James Wilson x Epileptic! Reader

Summary; Y/n has been working at Princeton for 4 years, hiding her epilepsy in fear of losing her job. But what happens when an episode comes out of nowhere?

Notes; Everyone I've met and told I have epilepsy always thinks it's light sensitive, but it's not. I wanted to kind of have this as a thing to give a bit of what it's like dealing with that stigma.

Warnings; Foul language, mentions of taking prescription drugs, epileptic episodes, angst.

James Wilson Masterlist

Word Count; 4,230

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

You've been working at the Princeton Plainsboro teaching hospital for a short while so far.

Before Prinston, you worked at a hospital all the way over in Oklahoma City as a nurse, then to Chicago as a doctor.

You probably would've never gotten this job if you mentioned what would be considered a "safety concern", to anyone.

You were diagnosed with Myoclonic Epilepsy when you were 17 and though it was said to be hormonal, it still hasn't gone away 26 years later.

"It'll go back to normal, just give it time, it usually goes away by your 20s," the neurologists and your mother constantly reminded you that. And nearly 30 years later and they were wrong.

That's what upset you the most. The fact that they assured you that it would go away and you would no longer have to take anymore of the god damn medicines or switching them constantly. They lied to you.

But, no use in moping about it. It is what it is. This problem, this disorder, is what pushed you to do what you do now. Neurology.

The doctors and neurologists could never figure out what was "wrong" with you. Countless tests, week long EEG's, CT scans, blood tests and draws, more brain scans, everything you could think of. Nothing.

No tumors ever found, nor any family history of it.

You'd just figure it out yourself.

Being in the medical field for almost 20 years has just earned you one of the larger titles.

Dr. Y/n L/n | Head of Neurology.

You had your own office on the floor where all of the MRI and CT machines resided. Made recently for you.

You just got that title just a couple months ago, and man was it difficult.

You had to take an extra dose of medicine due to the amount of stress and lack of sleep you were getting. And you weren't about to give that title you worked so hard for up.

Maybe (you knew it was,) mixing one of the strongest medications with another concentrated one was a bad idea.

750 mg of Levetiracetam, 370 mg of Lamotrigine, and 50 mg of Clobazam 3 times daily. On top of vitamins due to deficiency.

Now, that high of a dose of the Levetiracetam was already bad enough, but mixing it with the Lamotrigine made it worse. But you couldn't have an episode on the job. You feared that if you did, you would lose not only your title, but your job, and at the worst, your medical license.

You just couldn't risk that.

"...Y/n? You okay? Can you hear me?" A hand waved in front of your face with a couple snaps, trying to get your attention

Now see, that was the tricky thing with epilepsy. Absent seizures. You never knew if you'd just spaced out or had another small seizure.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Yeah, I just spaced out for a second, my bad." You respond, forcing a smile with a chuckle.

"Oh, good. Thought I lost you there," Wilson says, putting his hand down and taking another bite of his salad.

Your watch begins to beep, indicating it was time to take the second medication of the day.

One in the morning, one during lunch, and one at night, taking each one with water and food.

"Um, give me a second, I gotta go get some water real quick. I'll be right back." You awkwardly rush.

"Don't worry, I'll get one for you. I've gotta throw my trash anyways."

"No, Wilson. Really it's fine I can get it," You began to panic. Don't panic.

"Then I'll go with you," Wilson smiles, getting up with his trash.

You mutter out an "Okay."

'He's going to ask about the pills. I've never taken my meds in front of anyone before. What do I say?' You began to freak out even more. 'What if he sees them and tells Cuddy about them? I'll lose my job.'

Technically you weren't supposed to supply your own medication to yourself. That's how House got in trouble. It's not like I'm abusing them, though. Right?

"What's that timer for?" Wilson asks.

"Well, sometimes I'll be working and I'll forget to grab lunch, so I don't want to forget to eat, y'know?" Liar.

"Oh,"

You continued walking in an awkward silence before you quickly went to the food bar and bought a bottle of water.

"You left me, what was that for?" Wilson chuckles with a hand on his hip.

'Do I just tell him? He'd be the first to know apart from my family or friends back in my hometown. No one since I left there knows about it. But I could trust him.'

"Uh, well.." You begin.

"Wilson! Come here!"

You turn around to see House marching (or trying more so,) toward the two of us.

"House-"

"Shut up, I need you. You can talk to Ms. Addict later."

'Shit, did House know?'

"Excuse me, what did you just call me?" Unbelievable.

"..real bold coming from you, House." You continue.

"At least I admit it! You’re exactly like me!" House shouts as he walks away with Wilson.

"What do you mean by 'Ms. Addict?'" Wilson asks, you being able to hear him as he walks away with House.

'If House knows, will he tell Wilson? Shit, more importantly, will he tell Cuddy?'

You sigh as you walk out of the cafeteria and go down the stairs to your respective level and enter your office.

"God, I've gotta stop this shit.." You say, picking up some x-rays of brain scans.

The patient was an 8 year old little boy. He was experiencing small seizures regularly, without any family history of seizures or epilepsy diagnosis'.

He'd been in the hospital for nearly a week now, countless tests were run, and he'd been attached to an EEG machine to see what would spike when he had an episode.

'Shit.'

You looked more closely at one of the radiographs. On the right side of his temporal lobe there were two black masses, most likely tumors, which looked to have been roughly 5 to 6 inches in size.

"Fuck.. Fuck, what do I do with this." You began to panic. There shouldn't be masses like that. This could just be something wrong with the machine, right?

You can't just stand there. You had to say something.

'Wilson,' You thought to yourself.

He would be the one to go to. You could only hope that they weren't cancerous tumors.

You gather up the rest of the radiographs and make your way out of your office to go to Wilson's, hoping that House was finished doing whatever he does, and that he would be in there.

"Hey, Dr. L/n, I was wondering if you have any updates on Noah yet?" The boy's mother stopped me in my tracks.

"Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Pieters. I was actually just looking at Noah's radiographs now. I'm going up to Dr. Wilson's office right now to go over them with him, so the final results should hopefully be out soon," You explain anxiously, still trying to sound as professional as possible.

"Oh wonderful! Once again, thank you for putting Noah in your care. You have no idea how lucky and relieved we feel now." She replies, a big smile on her face.

You feel so bad...

"Of course, Mrs. Pieters. Noah's health is one of my top priorities right now, and I couldn't be more happy to help. If you don't mind, though, I really need to go over these with Dr. Wilson right now."

"Of course. Sorry for keeping you," She apologized.

You wave her goodbye and rush to the stairs to reach Wilson's office.

You urgently knock on his door, waiting for a response, yet none came. You knock once again, and still no response. "James, are you in there? There are some radiographs I need to show you,"

You wait more, and still no response. Maybe House or Cuddy know where he is.

You go next door and open House's door, not even bothering to knock.

There House sat, throwing and catching his oversized tennis ball.

"What the hell-"

"Do you know where Wilson is?!" You cut him off in an urgency.

"He's probably in the bathroom touching himself, I'd check in there if I were you," He says sarcastically.

Oh..

"I'm being serious, House!" You roll your eyes and shout in frustration.

“Why, do you want to finally confess your undying love for him?”

You look at House with your mouth agape, looking like a fish out of water trying to create a response that wouldn't make you seem flustered. “I-”

You figured it would be near impossible to have an actual serious conversation, though not that you wanted one, with House. “I’m just gonna go ahead and go to Cuddy’s..” You sigh, frustrated with the time you’d just wasted trying to talk to him.

“Fine then! Be-” House shouts before you shut the door on him, silencing whatever bullshit he was going to say to or call you.

You make your way to Cuddy's office, looking at the radiographs on your way to make sure they really were something to be concerned about, though you would still look them over no matter what.

You knock on Cuddy's door and barge in, the same way you'd just done with House's. "Cuddy, have you seen Wils-" You say, stopping as you see Wilson standing at Cuddy's desk, going over some files.

"Oh my gosh, thank god. James, please, I need your help and time just for a moment," You plead.

"James? I got upgraded to James now?"

"Not the time now, Wilson,"

"Can you two do this somewhere else?" Cuddy says, a tinge of annoyance barely clear.

You leave Cuddy's office with Wilson following behind.

"What is it I can help you-" He says before you urgently (rudely,) cut him off.

"It's about Noah's MRI and CT scan results," You sigh, sadness in your voice.

Wilson's face softened, "Please tell me it's good,"

You pull up the radiographs and show them to him, not being able to see it all that great.

"Let's go to my office,"

You and Wilson make your way into your office, you put the pictures onto the intensifying screen and take a look at them once more, that feeling in your stomach getting deeper.

Please don't let it be bad..

"Those black masses right there at the temporal lobe, do you think those are.. tumors?" Your voice shakes.

Wilson inspects the pictures and points out the same two that you feared.

"Th-these ones?" Wilson questioned.

You nod your head.

You were horrified, but at the same time, you were anticipated. If these were the cause, then you would know why this was happening to him, unlike you with yours.

Wilson lets out a deep breath and turns to you, "We're going to have to run some more tests.. these are.. definitely tumors, but we don't know if they're cancerous..."

You sigh and rub your hands over your face.

Wilson walks to you and rubs your back with one hand, and places the other onto your shoulder.

You shiver at his touch, you began to feel dizzy and after taking your hands away from your face, you see black auras begin to obscure your vision.

And then, you blacked out.

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

Your head was pounding and your tongue was swollen. You looked around you in confusion as you found yourself laying on your side.

Where am I?

A hand ran through your hair as someone softly assured you that you were okay.

You get up before quickly falling back down to the floor.

"Hey, hey, L/n, just- sit back down. You're okay," a familiar voice assured you.

You blink slowly.

"Hey, look at me, look.. What's my name?"

You look at the male, his face becoming more familiar, though not enough until a couple seconds passed by, him staying patient with you.

"Wilson?" You slur.

"Good- um, what's your name, now?"

You felt like you were going to vomit. Your head was still spinning, though you were starting to become more familiar with your surroundings,

"Y/n? What happened?" You groan.

"Y/n, you just had a seizure.."

Those five words sent you into shock, though now it was beginning to quickly rise up to a panic attack..

"What?"

You put your head into your hands and brought your knees to your chest, a lump began to form in your throat and tears welled up in your eyes, "No, no, no, no, no, oh god, no..." You sobbed. You let yourself stress out enough to the point that you had an episode after not having one for nearly 6 months. You were doing so good. God there's no way you're going to ever drive again.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, Y/n." Wilson tried to assure you as he patted your back.

"No, no it's not okay.. shit," You choke up.

You wipe the saliva off of your mouth, presumably from spitting up during your episode.

You rock yourself back and forth, head still in your hands.

Wilson stayed quiet. He had no idea what to say, but you preferred that he didn't. You needed some silent time to gather your mind together.

"God.. fuck, I'm so sorry, James. You shouldn't have had to deal with that.." you exhale and apologize, afraid to even look at him.

"Y/n, don't- don't apologize,"

"You're not going to tell anyone are you? Please don't tell anyone, please, Wilson," You pleaded, tears welling up again at the thought of losing your job.

You didn't know that House had already known before. House had overheard you when you were speaking to Noah that one day, and then found out how much you were taking a day, earning your new nickname 'Ms. Addict'.

Him being the huge blabbermouth that he is, he obviously felt the need to tell Wilson. Wilson didn't know if he told him because he had some sort of worry for you, or if it was just him being an asshole, but by God was he glad that House told him.

"I won't tell, I promise." Wilson said as he wiped the tears away from your face, cupping it with his hand.

You melt into his touch and sigh.

"How.. how much Levetiracetam have you been taking..?" Wilson questioned.

You look at him in confusion, "What? What are you talking about?"

"Your meds.. how much of them are you taking?"

House.

"House- House told me, just earlier today," Wilson admitted hesitantly.

House!

“I’m gonna kill him!” You suddenly shout in a fit of sudden rage.

You get up only to fall once again, not just triggering your vertigo, but also making the previous dizziness you’d just had only mere minutes ago worsen.

You grab onto the nearest table to stable yourself, stumbling around as you try to pathetically attempt to speed walk.

 “L/n– L/n hold on just– Y/n!” Wilson says anxiously.

“Fuckin’ asshole, I’m gonna kill him.. How does he even know?” You grumble to yourself.

You stumbled around the workplace, bumping into things and nearly dodging others, looking like a lunatic disguised as a doctor, or to be more accurate; House.

“Y/n!” Wilson calls out to you, catching up to you far more quickly than you had been “speedwalking”.

He stops you, getting ahold of your left arm and goes in front of you, grabbing your other arm after successfully stopping you from even taking one more step.

“L/n, don’t. I know he’s an asshole but let's just go back to your office so we can sit you down, and then talk about this, okay?”

You were upset, and overwhelmed. He was right. You should go back to your office, sit down, have some water, and focus on Noah.

Noah..

You nod at him and turn around to make your way back to your office, one of his hands on your back and another out in case you fall.

He was so.. caring. You’ve never had someone care so much for you. You haven’t had that in years, you’d forgotten just how nice it was to be cared for, even if it were in upsetting circumstances such as now.

You smile to yourself as he helps you to your office chair, thanking him.

Wilson pulls up a stool in front of you, “L/n, are you okay?” He questions, taking your hands into his own, warm and calloused.

“Yeah, I guess I just freaked out a bit. I’m alright,”

“How much medicine have you been taking, L/n..” Wilson asks concerningly.

You sigh. You didn’t want to admit you had a bit of a.. problem with substances, specifically your prescribed ones. God, I really am House..

“Uh,” You look away from him. You were more than ashamed of yourself. There was a reason the drugs were controlled, because they were addictive..

It had gotten to the point where you depended on them too much. The Clobazam wasn’t even necessary, either.

“750 mg of Levetiracetam, 370 mg of Lamotrigine, and 50 mg of Clobazam.” You mutter.

“750 of Levetiracetam??”

“Yeah.. three times daily.”

Wilson sighs and lets his head fall low, muttering something to himself.

“L/n, you could overdose on just the Levetiracetam and Lamotrigine together twice, maybe even once! But you're mixing it with the Clobazam, too? Three times a day? Who’s prescribing you this much medicine?!” Wilson was genuinely concerned for you, he didn't mean to sound or come off as angry or upset, but that’s definitely what he sounded like.

"Myself," You looked at your hands, his were still holding yours.

"..I'm sorry but- I couldn't risk having an episode, especially not here. If- if anyone else found out I thought I might lose my job or- or my medical license, I can’t risk that, I- I worked so hard for this title, I can’t let it be taken away because of some stupid-” You started to get worked up and hysterical. So much build up just over the years of not telling anyone your worries, not even your parents or friends from home, all of it just spilt out in front of Wilson.

Wilson gets up and pulls you into a tight hug, stroking your hair as his chin rested on to of your head. “I won’t tell anyone, and I promise you, I absolutely promise you that you won’t lose your job if anyone else finds out,”

You tense up, but the sound of his heartbeat so close to your line of hearing made you relax into his arms, wrapping your own across his torso.

“I don’t know about you, but this is one of the first times that I’ve ever been happy that House is an asshole. I’m glad he told me. I’m glad you’re safe.” Wilson continued, holding you closer to him.

His overwhelming affection and concern began to make you tear up. He actually cared for you.

And though House would never admit it, so did he.

You began to cry into Wilson’s lab coat, still not letting go of him in fear that you would lose him forever if you did.

“I care for you, Y/n. I never want you to feel this way.”

He didn’t even care that you were dirtying his coat with your own tears and snot, he only cared for you at that moment.

“Oh, you finally found him. Did you find him in the bathroom touching himself like I said he was? Is that why you’re crying? Do you need a hug from me, too?” House says sarcastically as he barges into your office.

You take your face out of Wilson’s coat to scowl at House. “Fuck off, Greg..” You sniffle.

“House, it’s really not the time for your shit, and that’s a highly innaproppriate thing to say- wait, where did you get that from?” Wilson says, pulling away from you.

“I’ve heard you,” House ‘whispers’ very loudly.

House hobbles over to you and stares for a few seconds before ruffling your hair, making it messier than it already was before.

“Addict,”

“Says you, asshole,” You respond, trying to smooth out your hair for it to look decently.

“..Uh, how did you know? About my..” you continue.

“You have really gotta start being more quiet when you talk to your patients about stuff like that, it was hard not to hear you blabbering to that kid. Do you just do that with all of them? Pretty wreckless if you ask me,” House responds.

“And my medication?”

“You’re not as sneaky with it as you think. Maybe being more open about it would raise less flags. You just might actually be worse than I am, Ms. Addict.”

Wilson stood aside, watching the interaction between his best friends. They hated eachother, but cared for eachother at the same time. He smiled at the scene.

“Whatever,” You say as House leaves your office.

“You two are an interesting pair,” Wilson chuckles.

“He’s a child.” You roll your eyes and smile.

House pops back into your office, sticking only his head in through your doorway. “Druggie addict.” and he disappears once more.

“There’s my point being proven,”

“Oh, I never doubted you,”

You look up at Wilson, with him looking back down at you.

You took in his features for a good couple of moments, 

his thick brows were one of the most noticable features of his, in the best way possible in your opinion at least. You could never imagine him with what people would concider “normal proportioned” brows. They sat atop those puppy dog eyes that held a sort of tired softness to them, you could just get lost in them forever. A single section of hair seperated from his usual kept up hair, laying on top of his forehead. His smile. My god, his smile was so nice.

“What?” Wilson lets out a breathy laugh.

“Nothing, you just look nice today,” You reply back before getting up out of your chair in your best efforts, successfully making it back to Noah’s Radiographs.

“Thanks, you do, too,” He stood next to you at a closer proximity than before.

You and Wilson looked closely at Noah’s Radiographs for a few minutes before Wilson declared, “I don’t think you have to worry about these tumors too much, they look benign to me. We just need to remove them and Noah should be fine,”

You let out a sigh of relief. Noah was an amazing kid. You have no clue what you would do if you had to give news that he had something that could possibly be a cause of death. At least you found the reason for his.

You lay your head on Wilson’s shoulder and smile, “Thanks, James.”

He brings his hand up to grab your waist, pulling you closer to him and laying his head onto yours, “Thank you for letting me help out with him. He’s lucky to have you,”

“..though, I think I would be even luckier to have you, Y/n.” Wilson continues.

Wilson had always been good with his words when he wanted to. They always came out to be smooth, yet not too vulgar or forward. Thats exactly what it felt like now. It felt genuine, it felt like it actually came straight from the heart, and now you felt like yours was about to practically beat out of your chest.

“I think you would, I’m just special like that,” you giggle.

Wilson raises his head off of yours and looks at you, taking in how beautiful you looked before placing a small kiss to your head.

You grin, practically from ear to ear and lift your head off of his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek, only for him to lift your chin up. You two were practically teasing each other, for as when you went to close the gap, he lifted you up and carried you to your office chair bridal style and sat down with you in his lap, now closing the gap himself as he spun around in the chair with you.

You smiled into the kiss and you could feel he was too.

This would be one of your most memorable days ever, in so many ways. Not only because of Noah, but because of this moment with James that you would never imagine would happen to you in a million years.

Its not to early to think to yourself or say, you love him.

You love James Wilson, and you would scream it from the top of your lungs so everyone else could be reminded of it.

You were in love with him, and he was in love with you.

[fairsexynasty]

ˏ🔪ˋ°•*⁀➷･ DEEP BREATH

.｡🗡️*⋆⍋*🃏*｡ spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: the bau has a new foe: mr. scratch. he's been attacking those near and dear to the team, and now? he's in your home. but you have a morbid trick up your sleeve.

warnings: angst, hopeful ending, no fluff, anxiety, portrayal of an overdose and suicide, mentions of spencer's addiction, opioids, holding breath

a/n: yes this is inspired by pll AND doctor who what about it. also this might be part of a series if i don't finish the other one i was planning for october but never finished

word count: 750

She’d perfected this stunt when she was twelve years old.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, cautioning her to always stay a step ahead, to keep her wits sharp. Perhaps it was the universe’s grim way of keeping her alive. But the threat was real: Scratch was in her apartment. Her safe place, the home where her daughter slept, where they all ate, laughed, and breathed. Maybe he’d been looking for Spencer, but if he were thorough—and he always was—he’d find her here. Then, with whatever that gas was, he’d kill her, or worse: he’d twist her mind, make her believe Spencer was hurting her, drive her to the edge of reason, or haunt her with a vision of her late father.

Y/N’s gaze landed on the bathroom vanity, its soft light pooling across the floor. The faint glow leaked under the door, a telltale sign. Think, she urged herself, a silent chant. Think for Clem. Think for Spencer. Think for yourself.

Another look at the vanity showed the medicine cabinet hanging slightly open, left ajar when she’d reached for ibuprofen that morning. Tucked far back in the shadows was an old prescription bottle of hydrocodone, a remnant of a long-past injury she’d meant to discard. If she’d remembered, she would have tossed it long ago, kept it hidden from Spencer’s careful eyes. But there it sat, tucked away, waiting.

Act now.

With trembling fingers, she reached into the cabinet, pulling the bottle out slowly, careful not to make a sound. The cabinet stayed silent, no creaks to betray her. She twisted the cap, dumping the pills into her hand and scattering them out the cracked window above the sink, letting the wind carry them away. Then, without another second to think, she climbed into the bathtub, slumping back against the cold porcelain.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, a calculated, deliberate rhythm as Scratch approached. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she kept her breaths shallow, her body limp, one hand resting over the edge of the tub, the empty bottle lying loose in her palm.

The bathroom door creaked open.

A low, satisfied chuckle drifted through the room, followed by silence as he took in the scene before him. She stilled, her lungs aching from the strain of barely drawing in air, forcing herself to go completely still, to become the very picture of lifelessness. She focused on the chill of the tub beneath her, on anything that kept her mind from the terror of moving too soon, of him realizing she was faking.

She felt him drawing closer, a menacing shadow towering above her. His breath, sharp and cold, brushed her face as he leaned in. And in that moment, her thoughts raced: grateful for the broken heater that kept the room cold, for every freezing second that helped her mask her pulse. Thoughts of Spencer flashed before her and Clem. Would Spencer be the one to come home and find her here, broken and empty because she’d failed the only thing she’d ever known how to do? Or worse, would he have to tell Clem?

Then, just as suddenly, the air shifted. Scratch’s footsteps receded, and he muttered, almost dismissively, “Lousy way out.”

The front door clicked shut.

Her whole body shuddered as she gasped, air rushing into her burning lungs. She climbed from the tub, her legs shaking as she fumbled to throw the empty bottle out the window, watching it disappear into the alley below. Only then did she reach for her phone, dialing Spencer’s number with hands that wouldn’t quite steady.

“Honey, hi!” he answered on the first ring, cheer in his voice.

“He was here,” she whispered, the words tumbling out. “Scratch. He was in here!”

“What? Where? Are you okay?” Spencer’s tone sharpened, and she could practically see him standing, ready to bolt out the door.

“I’m home. I—I got home early to check if they fixed the heater, and… he came in, maybe ten minutes ago, but he just left.” Her voice trembled, the relief and terror colliding.

“Shit.” He breathed out, voice lowering as he regained control. “We’re coming right now. How did he not find you?”

“I’ll tell you everything when you’re here. Can you—can you send someone to check on Clem?”

“Morgan’s already on his way to pick her up from school. She’ll be safe, I promise.”

The knot in her chest eased a little. “Okay. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too. Just hold on—we’ll be there soon.”

[fourmoony]

Just thinking about Sirius trusting reader enough to do his hair :,) or maybe she experiments with putting his hair in curlers/curling it. I could even imagine Sirius owning a Dyson airwrap to have the best blowouts 😭💀

Sirius would 100000% own the dyson air wrap!!! Thanks for requesting, babe!

cw: none

750 words, modern au

You're not sure where Sirius learned his money managing skills from (or if he even has any), but the pleased smile and child-like excitement over his brand new hair dryer is something you refuse to admonish. Though, you're sure even if you tried, you'd fail.

Your boyfriend bounces happily on the balls of his feet, hair sopping wet and plastered to his face. Water droplets seep into his grey shirt but Sirius doesn't seem to care. Not when he's too busy making bedroom eyes at the unopened box on the bathroom counter. He'd been so happy when John Lewis finally had the Dyson Air Wrap back in stock, had dragged you out of bed this morning to drop an easy five hundred quid on it. Your head had spun with the realisation of just how rich your boyfriend actually is.

He's not flashy with his money. Irresponsible, yes. But being there to witness a classic Sirius-Black-Irresponsible-Purchase had really solidified the knowledge that your boyfriend is filthy rich.

"Okay, I'll grab a stool and you set it up." He says, turning to make for the stool that sits under your dressing table.

"Wait, you want me to do it?" You yell after him.

Sirius makes noise everywhere he goes. He's loud and abrasive, jagged around the edges. He loves so loud that it only makes sense his entire personality is the same. There's thumps and grumbles as he bumps into things all the way along the hall, the tell tale sounds of the stool scraping along your freshly painted hallway. "Well who else would do it?" Sirius rounds the corner, flashes his teeth in a wide grin that he knows will make you fold.

"What makes you think I'm qualified?"

Sirius shrugs, "The fact that I'm one hundred percent not. You're good at everything, sweetness."

He knows flattery works like a charm, especially when he pairs it with his best flirty eyes. You sigh, reaching for the box and unravelling all of the corresponding pieces. It's high tech, incredibly high tech. Sirius fidgets on the stool as you watch a video on your phone, lips curled between your teeth in concentration.

It takes a while to get the hang of, and you're sure you'll get better in time. Sirius softens and relaxes as much as he ever allows himself to as your fingers work through his hair, as you brush and comb and dry it. He hums and sighs and even closes his eyes. It's peaceful and intimate and it allows you to come to a startling realisation that Sirius has never asked you to do his hair for him before.

He's not prissy about his hair. He'll let anyone touch it. He actually begs for people to play with his hair. But he's never outright asked you to fix it up for him, prefers to get it sitting perfect by himself because he believes it to be his best asset. You'd have to disagree with him on that. His eyes never fail to amaze you, nor his smile.

"All done." Your voice seems to pull him out of a daydream.

His eyes open and he smiles wide, turning in the stool in an instant until he can take your hands in his. "Bad news, sweetheart, you're going to have to do this every day." He informs you, standing until his hands can reach your hips.

He pulls you into him, a little roughly, but catches you with his own body, lips ducking down to press to your forehead. You resist the urge to tell him you'd be happy to do his hair every day, if only to feel the intimacy and pride of being the one person he trusts to style his hair.

"Such a travesty." You feign indifference, lips pressed to his collar bone where it peeks out of his shirt.

Sirius shivers at the contact. "Easy, sweetness. I know my hair is super hot and stuff, but we have dinner reservations with James and Remus. They'll get pissy if we cancel to have sex."

"Again." He adds after a second.

You scoff, pushing your boyfriend away whilst he barks with laughter. Heat creeps up your neck as you exit the bathroom, ignoring Sirius' shouts down the hallway that he could make an exception for a quickie.

"Thanks, baby!" He calls a moment later.

You can't fight the smile that toys at your lips as you pick out an outfit for dinner.

[zvdvdlvr]

baby, pass the bottle quit with all the stallin’…

🥃 — synopsis. You- Draco’s fiancé- make a bet.

🥃 — warnings. Alcohal consumption. I messed with the timeline like I always do. Weird scenario? Idk. I wrote this to get back to writing for Draco.

Draco watched your bet Ravenclaw Booker Winston 20 galleons you could down a bottle of Firewhisky before he could. Booker raised the stakes to 50 galleons: you were a fifth year and he was a seventh so obviously there was no way Booker could be out-drank by someone so early and so early in the evening.

Your bet got little attention. People had bet against Booker before and lost. But you confidently accepted and handed him a bottle. Booker’s friends waited until both bottles were uncapped before yelling ‘go’ over the blaring music.

The rest of the fifth-year Slytherins watched in awe, screaming ‘Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!’ while you put the opening of the bottle between your lips and throw your head back. Mattheo chuckled in disbelief, smacking Blaise and bringing his attention from the lightskin he was flirting with. Blaise sucked his teeth and shook his head. 

“Go get your woman, mate,” he said into Draco’s ear. “Before someone else makes a move on ‘er.”

By now you were about done with half of the 750 ml bottle of Firewhiskey. Your chest heaved and the white button down you were wearing flashed along with the color changing LED lights. He parted through the crowd of Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs alike as he reached where you were just finishing the bottle. You threw the glass down on the ground, whooping. You coughed and Draco watched you scream along to Chase Atlantic’s ‘Okay’ as you caught your breath.

You hadn’t even noticed Draco, basking in the hoots and hollers of everyone in the party. A fifth year had downed a bottle of Firewhiskey before Booker Winston! You’d definitely be the legend for the years to come. And honestly, Draco would be lying if he said he didn’t find the way your teeth shone in the seizure-inducing lighting and how much your chest heaved as you sang along to the music. You were definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Another wave of screaming filled the room as Booker- pissed- threw his hands up and gave you a sack of 50 galleons. You held the bag in the air and laughed as fifth-years carried you on their shoulders as if you’d singlehandedly won the Quidditch World Cup. 

Draco followed as you savored the victory over a seventh year on the shoulders of your classmates. You laughed at something one of your friends had said and slid down, letting men and women pat you on the back to congratulate you for unofficially taking over Booker’s spot as the ‘Keg King’ (an odd name, yes, but it was an honor nonetheless).

Finally Draco appeared at your side, one hand at your waist as you danced with your girl friends and spun around with the people that entertained you. Your shirt was almost entirely unbuttoned, revealing the emerald green of your sports bra. “Merlin, trouble,” Draco muttered as you turned to him and immediately linked your hands together around his neck and stepped closer to him. “How does it feel to be the Keg Queen?” He joked, lips grazing your ear.

“Like I’m fuckin’ invincible,” you replied. You looked at Draco with that million dollar smile that so many had tried to copy. “Definitely a party-starter, don’t you think?”

Draco laughed. His ring-clad hands grasped your hips and pulling you closer to him as more people showed up to get drunk and have a good time. “Yeah, trouble.” 

You swayed with Draco, caught in his eyes. It goes without saying that you were one of the most influential pureblood witches was an understatement. Luckily you got along with your parents enough to pick the pureblood candidates to marry (your parents believed arranged marriage was best to keep the blood pure). Your parents and Draco’s were more than pleased with the arrangement as you had all known each other since conception. Everyone knew you were together, but not that you were getting married as soon as seventh year was completed. 

Everything was always too much for both of you. But right here and now, just being two drunk and in-love teenagers was perfect.