#unless i’m blind and can’t find them

[genderflouiid]

alpha james this, alpha james that, what about alpha regulus HUH

someone send me recs for alpha reg pls i’ll love you forever xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged disabled Simon, who swears he is perfectly fine and capable of doing everything himself. But it doesn’t really matter what he thinks says because Price sees differently. He sees the way Simon’s hands shake and how he’s started fidgeting when he’s never done that in the past, he can see Simon’s right side, the side that was crushed under rubble during an attack, he sees it shake and almost falter every time Simon puts even a little bit to much weight on it, but what worry’s Price the most is when Simon zones out and stops paying attention to his surroundings or whatever he’s doing. Not to mention now Simon has to go back and live in civilization, when all he’s known is military life since he was still a teen.

So although Simon claims he’s fine, Price gets him live-in-help, you. You’ve been with him the past week and although he rarely talks you’ve learned a few things. The blinds always need to be fully open unless he’s sleeping, he needs to be able to see what’s happening but it’ll keep him up when he’s trying to sleep, so they close at night. He gets very tense when he can’t see your hands, it hurts you a little to know he doesn’t trust you but you understand. He can't cook at all, unless you prepare food for him he’ll only eat a prepackaged dinner nothing else, of course that isn't healthy so you've started fixing him both breakfast and lunch which he accepts with a grunt but he doesn’t eat till you’ve started. He never takes off his mask around you unless he's eating and even still only up to his nose. Lastly you've noticed something always sparked in his eyes when you called him Simon, you haven't been able to figure out what it is so instead of risking offending him or something, you've stuck to calling him Ghost.

Price chose you for two reasons, you were quite, something he thought Simon would like, he was very wrong. It’s probably the oddest thing about him, he doesn’t like when you're super quiet you've learned it cause he doesn’t know where you are or what you’re planning the other reason is Price hired you is because you were a military nurse for quite a bit so you would always be there for Simon. This was something Simon actually did like it meant he didn’t have to leave his flat just to see a doctor, what he didn’t think about though was the cut and bruise on his face that he would have to remove his balaclava for.

“Okay Ghost” you paused not sure how he would react to having to take his mask off “I-i need you to remove your mask for me please” almost immediately he grunted out a why “because you have a cut and bruise on your face and I need to make sure it’s healing properly” Simon stilled completely for a few seconds before he slowly pulled the balaclava completely off. You took a second looking over his entire face before you brought your hand up inspecting the area “your bruise is completely gone” you whispered slightly surprised it had only been a week, you went to write it down but the moment your hand left his face he spoke up “it’s still ere, jus can’t see it” carefully your brought you hand back to his face to carefully push on his check “does that hurt” “bit” was all he grunted out, you hummed to yourself as you removed your hand and started writing, but had you been looking at him you would have seen the almost pout gracing his face.

Once you finally looked back up, placing your hand on his face “okay let’s finish this quickly” you say looking over his scar “I know I’m not that pretty but you ain’t gotta rush” he said in the quietest voice. You looked up into his eyes quickly only to find them looking back at you with what you could only describe as curiosity mixed with need “Gh-Simon that’s not what I meant, your very beautiful I just thought you wouldn't want me touching or looking at your face any more since you always hide it behind that mask” he never replied to you, just kept staring with that look in his eyes. Finally you peeled your eyes away, finished writing whatever you needed to in your book then you got up and walked away “I’m gonna fix us some lunch, okay Simon?” you called from in the kitchen already, and that’s when Simon managed to place the feeling he had been having every time he saw you. He liked you, he had a crush, a crush! “Simon?” You called again “yeah okay” he called back, he wasn’t gonna fuck this up, not when he thinks he might have found a new purpose in life.

pt 2 here

[coffeefleecy]

Secrets Behind Closed Doors

Pairing: Caleb X MC

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Caleb has never been one for subtlety. He finds that people dancing around a subject or belaboring a conversation by not saying what they mean tends to frustrate him so much that he often finishes their thought for them.

Get to the fuckin’ point, He thinks to himself, hands flexing in agitation by his sides, fingers stretching out then curling back up into his palm as the nail bites into the skin hard enough to leave red crescents.

Caleb says what he wants, does what he wants and casts no unnecessary apologies he won’t mean anyways. That is, unless it comes to you.

Word Count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: smut, scent kink, possessive behavior, masturbation, face-sitting, cunnilingus, dirty talk

Caleb has never been one for subtlety. He finds that people dancing around a subject or belaboring a conversation by not saying what they mean tends to frustrate him so much that he often finishes their thought for them. 

Get to the fuckin’ point, He thinks to himself, hands flexing in agitation by his sides, fingers stretching out then curling back up into his palm as the nail bites into the skin hard enough to leave red crescents.

Caleb says what he wants, does what he wants and casts no unnecessary apologies he won’t mean anyways. That is, unless it comes to you.

You.

Everything about you drives Caleb insane and you are the one person he won’t  - can’t -be upfront with. How could he be? You make him go fucking stupid. He can barely think around you, let alone speak and be entirely honest with every disgusting, depraved thought twisting around in his mind. He has to filter himself around you to spare the both of you.

“Caleb?” Your voice sends shivers up his spine.

“Hm?”

“Did you want to watch that new rom-com with me tonight? I’ve been seeing it everywhere and I’m afraid I’ll get spoiled if I don’t watch it soon!”

He observes you over his cup of coffee and tries not to fixate on the foam that’s gathered by your bottom lip.

“Whatever, I don’t have anything going on tonight.”

He fucking hates rom-coms, but there’s a lot of annoying shit he’d do just see that pretty smile play at your lips. He’d walk barefoot over hot magma just to hear you laugh. Hell, he’d probably take a waterboarding session if it meant you’d drape those gorgeous fucking legs over his lap.

“Thanks,” You beam at him. “Your place?”

Caleb returns your smile and laughs.

“Sure, but you have to bring food this time. I’m getting sick of you stealing all of my groceries.”

It goes unsaid that he’d let you rob him blind and max out all of his credit cards if you wanted to.

“Deal! I’ll bring whatever you want, just send me a text when you get home!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caleb thinks he has time. You are always a little later than you said you’d be and it truthfully never bothers him in spite of his nagging need to be early to everything. The problem is that you’re knocking on his door and calling out for him as he’s in the middle of fucking his fist, desperate to get some relief and stave off the cravings for you as a precaution. Your voice is blood in shark infested waters, sending him into overdrive as he bucks into his hand. 

“Caleb!” 

His name on your lips has him whimpering and forces him to bite into the sleeve of his shirt to keep from alerting you to his activities despite the walls and door between the two of you. He squeezes the base of his cock to the point that the unshed tears of pleasure he’s been holding back begin to trail down his face, frustration and lack of release seizing his entire body. Your knocks get louder and the impatience permeates from your side of the wall until it feels like an actual, tangible weight. 

Caleb’s throat is raw as he snarls and stuffs himself back into his pants, completely unsure of how to proceed. He has to get you to stop knocking and there’s no way he’s going to be able to finish with you beating down his door, so he picks the lesser of two evils and grits his teeth to greet you.

“Finally,” You huff angrily when you’re met with his red face. “Woah, what happened to you?”

“I thought you were going to be another half hour,” Caleb says, ignoring your question. “I just finished working out - I thought I had time to take a shower.”

“Oh, by all means,” you wave your hand nonchalantly as you push past him, arms laden with bags of snacks and drinks. “I’ll just hang out on my phone or something. I don’t mind!”

Caleb’s thankful for your lack of attention to detail, taking your fixation on settling in to adjust himself in his sweats. It would have to be one fucking cold shower.

“I’ll be five minutes,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Just find the movie and we can get started after I get out.”

You hum, more focused on laying out all of the snack choices than sparing a glance in his direction. 

“Sounds good, take your time. I may borrow some clothes, is that okay?”

Caleb winces. Yes. No. God, he wants to see you drowning in his clothes but he’s terrified of what it’s going to do to his already fucked libido.

“Just take what you want, you know where to look.”

~

Caleb’s shower is wholly unsatisfying; the frigid spray of water does wonders for his erection but sharpens his mind and instincts to serrated points and he’s come to the conclusion that nothing can slake his desire for you no matter how much he tries to snuff it out.

The whole process is around five minutes in total, mostly because he wants to maximize his time with you. Caleb carelessly runs a towel through his hair, faint droplets of water still clinging to the tips of some strands in his haste to get to you. The neatly folded stack of fresh clothes he’s placed surreptitiously on the counter calls to him like sirens as the cool air pricks at his skin, gooseflesh decorating his body.

 Being cold is less embarrassing than being hard, he thinks.

 He dons a comfortable pair of loved sweats that have been through the wash maybe a few too many times, no structure and all snugness to the fabric. The shirt he’s selected is sleeveless and the armholes are stretched so wide it fits him more like a poncho. He’s caught you staring at his arms a few times when he’s worn it, more likely in awe of how his workout routine is treating him and less likely that you want to rip it off of him, but he likes to pretend it’s the latter.

Caleb sees you’re perched on his couch and wearing his sweater and faded pajama bottoms when he joins you in the living room and a warm feeling spreads in his chest at the thought of you being so comfortable in his space. His fingertips twitch at his sides, flexing and stretching to give his brain something less dangerous to focus on. He can hear you humming to yourself faintly as you scroll through the options on his screen, your face the portrait of unwavering concentration complete with you worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

He wants to bite it.

“I see you’ve helped yourself to my closet,” Caleb remarks teasingly.

“Huh? Oh, I thought you said it was okay!”

“I did, you know me well enough to know I’m joking. Don’t give me that face,” He adds when your eyebrows furrow in concern.

“Your clothes are just more comfy than mine are,” You pout.

“They look better on you than they do on me,” He concedes, focusing on the television screen to keep himself from fixating on that very true fact.

“I don’t know how true that is, your arms look gigantic in that shirt.”

Pride blooms in the back of his throat with a delightful burn. There’s something in the way you praise him that makes him feel like he’s pleased you - like he’s made the right choice and he’s climbing in the ranks of your favor. 

I did good.

“I gotta keep up the workout routines - how else am I meant to have the energy to hang out with you?”

That earns him a scoff.

“Please, you and I both know that you look forward to this. Kinda lame that your sister is your only friend.”

“You’re not my fucking sister.” Caleb admonishes you with an eye roll. 

“Okay, geez,” You backpedal, pressing the play button on the remote. “I don’t know why it bothers you so much - if you hate me, just say so.”

“I don’t hate you, you’re just not my sister,” Caleb grabs your legs and hauls them over his lap - a position neither of you are strangers to. “Would you rather I hung out with you out of obligation for the sake of some false familial title or would you rather it be of my own free will?”

“Just watch the movie, Caleb,” You relax against the back of the couch and stretch your legs more comfortably across him. “And don’t even think about falling asleep - I’ve got my eyes on you!”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Caleb can’t make heads or tails of what’s happening on the screen in front of him because you’re absently rubbing your legs together in his lap. He’s going to need a mouthguard around you if he has to grit his teeth anymore; he fears he’s lost quite a bit of surface area over the years. Normally, he grins and bears it, but with how pent up he’s been for the past few days and his precautionary self-love session getting cut short, he’s a little more anxious than usual. 

He doesn’t truly mean to use his evol - he tries not to, if he can help it - but he needs you to stop squirming or he’s going to have bigger problems than you being annoyed with him.

“Caleb!”

“What? Stop movin’ around! You’re jostling me.” Caleb snaps defensively. 

“I’m ‘jostling’ you? You don’t have to use that on me to get me to stop, just ask next time,” You scoff, fighting fruitlessly against his evol. “Caleb, let me go, I’ll just move away.”

“I didn’t want you to move, you’re just… distracting me. You can keep ‘em there, just try to sit a little bit more still.”

Caleb almost expects you to retreat when he releases his hold on you, but you simply shoot him a half-hearted glare and stay put, too comfortable with his hands draping over you to want to move. He must have a look on his face, because you’re surveying him quietly.

“Got something to say?”

“Nothing, you just look a little flushed. Do you think you’re getting sick?”

“No, I -” Caleb is cut off by the cool, relaxing feeling of your hand against his admittedly glistening forehead.

“You feeling okay, Caleb? We can call it early.”

Caleb’s answering smile is tired; lackluster, though you know he would never ask you to leave or take you up on your offer to do so.

“Nah, ‘m fine. Stay. I’ve just had a long day.”

You pull away to lean back against the couch and prop your head up by tucking your palm to cup your jaw. If you notice that Caleb’s head falls slack to chase your hand, you don’t say anything.

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

Caleb’s eyes flash with a slight glint of something you can’t quite place before he turns his attention back to the television.

“I’m fine, really - don’t worry about me. I thought you’ve been wanting to watch this! Pay attention.”

“I am paying attention - it seems like you’re the one that’s distracted. Whatever. Caleb, I’m cold.”

“Want a blanket?”

“Just come closer – you’re like a heating pad.”

Caleb sighs dramatically while he opens his arms for you, silently panicking and begging you to make good on your promise to sit still. He can feel his heart thudding rapidly in his chest and prays you can’t hear it.

“Seriously, you doing okay?” You ask, muffled into his shirt as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Seriously, pipsqueak - I’m fine. Stop buggin’ me and watch your movie.”

Caleb takes the opportunity to pull you closer to him, squeezing his eyes shut as he takes in the scent of your shampoo. He’s always been so sensitive to smells and it kills him that you give off the most intoxicating one. It’s almost funny, he thinks – how primal human beings can be and how little it takes to reduce them to a lesser state; all instinct.

Fuck, does he have to fight every single one of his instincts when he’s around you. He wonders if it’s like that for you, too, but your face is an open book and you’ve never had a thought he hasn’t been able to decipher. It’s torture for him to know he’s the only one suffering, though he’s at least thankful for your ignorance when it comes to his own issues. You make him feel like a fucking creep and sometimes he wonders if he actually might be.

“You’re so cozy, Caleb,” You groan, the sound doing absolutely heinous things for his self-restraint.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“No, I mean it - you’re like a giant teddy bear.”

Your body molds itself to his, sending his thoughts to dangerous places and making him wonder if you’re ever truly aware of how you’re affecting him and just playing dumb. Your track record with guys leads him to believe that you’re just that innocent - he knows, he’s shared a home with you and the walls aren’t exactly thick.

“Gonna give me any room to breathe or are you hoping that I absorb you through osmosis or something? I mean, really - ah -”

Caleb is cut off by your thigh sliding between his legs in what he hopes is an innocent attempt for warmth.

“Oh, sorry - did I hurt you?”

Your naivety is fucking delicious. Caleb swallows the knot in his throat and shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Ignorant to the source of his discomfort, you shrug it off and slip your arms around his waist.

“You’re being weird today.”

“How am I being weird?” Caleb demands, though the irony of his defensive tone isn’t lost on him.

“Just jumpy. Jittery – I don’t know. I know you said you had a long day, but you’re never this tense around me.”

Maybe if you’d just shown up when you said you were going to and let him fucking jerk off in peace, he wouldn’t be having this problem.

“Sorry,” Caleb’s reply is breathy; strained. “It really is just that I’ve had a long day.”

“Don’t be sorry,” You chide. “Just let me know if I can help. I don’t like it when you’re uncomfortable.”

You lean forward to push some hair out of his face and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Your thigh rubs against him even more with the proximity and you’re essentially unknowingly straddling his leg. A sharp, high-pitched whimper bubbles in the back of Caleb’s throat, too sudden for him to suppress it and too loud for you to not have heard it.

“C-Caleb?” You manage after a beat of incredibly uncomfortable silence.

“Don’t,” He manages through gritted teeth.

“N-no, did I hurt you that time? I’m sorry, I -” You scramble to move off of him, but freeze when you feel something rigid twitching between your thighs.

Caleb wraps his arms around you to keep you from squirming and escalating this situation even further, but all the motion does is push him between your thighs. You suck in a sharp breath, tremors racking your body at this new feeling. 

“Don’t - don’t fucking move,” Caleb warns desperately, his voice wobbly and breathless. “Just - just give me a second.”

Your eyes narrow, and whether it’s from years of being bossed around or from the intense urges to push him further, you grind down on him. The effect is instantaneous and the sounds that fall from Caleb’s lips will be seared into your brain forever in the form of whines so needy and broken that it sounds like  in agony.

“Don’t make me use my fucking evol on you, you brat,” he spits out, though the words are less like he’s threatening you and more like he’s begging you.

Images of you spread out, forced down by his unwavering gravity while he’s knuckle deep in your tight cunt flood his mind, the dam of his restraint shattering and splintering into dust. His chest heaves as he swallows a gulp of air, desperate for anything to quell the tremors racking through his body at the feeling of you pressed so closely against him. His worn sweatpants are so thin, he can feel the heat between your thighs burning him. You give him no chances to catch himself before he falls and jerkily roll your hips into his.

“What the fuck are you doing, pipsqueak?” 

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly, but make no moves to get off of him.

“We can’t come back from this,” Caleb warns shakily. “Once you cross that line, we can’t come back from it.”

“Is this why you’ve been so worked up today?” You demand, though your voice lacks conviction as you grind into him with unpracticed and shaky determination.

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“So show me.” 

Caleb’s cock is so painfully hard in his ratty sweats and your breath so close to his neck has him leaking precum. He’s given you so many outs and is running out of willpower rapidly. You take every last one of his nerves and stomp on them, leaving nothing but destruction in your wake as you invade every pore and cell of his body and hold him hostage.

“Please, please,” He begs. “I can’t - I can’t hold back anymore -”

You swallow his desperate and pathetic pleas down with the faintest press of your lips to his, innocent in intent with no thought behind the action. It’s like you’ve flipped a switch in him. A deep, almost unsettling growl rips from the back of his throat and before either of you can stop it, he’s got you splayed out on your back with his knee pushing insistently between your thighs. His lips crash into yours yet again, though his kiss is entirely mask off and undisguised as he forces his tongue into your mouth like he’s worried he doesn’t have enough time to memorize your taste. 

You reciprocate as best as you can with uncertain licks and nips, but Caleb seems almost annoyed when you fight for dominance with the kiss. He grabs your chin between his index finger and thumb and pries your lips open with his tongue, conquering your mouth with the sweet tang of apples and desperation.

“Need it,” he pants into your mouth after breaking the kiss to beg. “Need you, need all of you, please -”

A choked moan wrenches from your lips as Caleb lunges forward to cover your body with his and decorate your neck with evidence of his love. His teeth leave small indents that he laves his tongue over to soothe, comforting you like he’s always so good at doing.

“You can,” You encourage, craning your neck to expose more of it to him. “Feels so good.”

“Please, fuck - let me get a taste, I’ll do anything,” Caleb whines as he grinds his clothed cock into your hip. “Just spread your legs, let me in - no - wait, sit on my face. Please, I’m fucking begging you to sit on my face so I can make you feel so good.”

Caleb sounds drunk; absolutely dizzy with the prospect that he gets to see you like this, let alone touch you. His tone has taken on a light, airy and high-pitched kick, breathless and needy like he can’t get the words out fast enough.

“I’ve - I’ve never done this before,” you pant, face burning bright with the inklings of shame that come with inexperience.

“No one’s ever touched you like this before?” Caleb’s head snaps up and when you see the fire in his eyes, the heat between your legs feels like an inferno.

“Never – never wanted anyone,” You explain, though you’re not sure why you feel like you have to. “No time.”

“You saving yourself for me or something, Pipsqueak?” His words are light and playful on the surface, but you can hear the tension, like he’s going to come undone at any second.

“I -” You can barely speak, his words rooting you to the spot and sending shivers down your spine. “Did you want me to?”

“Can’t just say shit like that,” He groans. “Fuck, are you sure this is okay? Please call me off, please - I really meant it when I said we can’t come back from this - I can’t come back from this.”

“Want you C-Caleb,” You stammer, so overcome with all of these new feelings that you can’t even vocalize what it is that you want. “Please.”

In lieu of a response, Caleb dips forward to kiss you again, savoring your taste and whining into your mouth at the friction between your bodies. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s so hard he’s aching and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s leaking through his sweats at this point, too dizzy with you and the fact that you want him in any capacity to care.

You help him with your - his - sleep pants and clumsily shimmy them down your legs, sucking in a sharp breath as the cold air hits your newly exposed skin. Caleb’s teeth sink into your bottom lip and he covers your mouth with his to swallow your cries of pain and pleasure.

“Please,” Caleb begs as he trails kisses down your jawline. “Please let me taste you - wanna eat you out so badly, please, please -”

“I trust you, b-but if it tastes bad or your grossed out please don’t feel like you have to -”

Caleb scoffs.

“Gonna drink up everything you have to give me until you can’t give me any more,” He slips his hands underneath the sweater you stole from him and yanks it off of you with no preamble, impatient to get to his meal. “Know you taste so fucking good, I just know it…”

Your lust outweighs your confusion at his last statement and instead of questioning it, you thread your fingers through his silky locks and take a mental snapshot of the image of him pressing kisses into your stomach.

Caleb makes a note to pay special attention to your chest the next time he gets a chance – prays that there will be a next time – but he’s far too focused on the scent between your legs that his mouth fills with saliva at the thought of finally getting to taste you.

His fingers tremble as he impatiently paws at your underwear, scowling at them like they’re personally wronging him. Caleb rips them down your thighs and groans as a long strand of your arousal stretches with the soaked fabric.

“ ‘s fucking wet,” He croons, quietly tucking your underwear into the pocket of his sweats as he presses his lips against your entrance. 

His eyes practically roll into the back of his head as he inhales, a shudder racking his entire body in a frigid rush at your potent scent. 

“Smell so fucking good - it’s all mine,” He mutters under his breath, almost as if he hadn’t meant to even speak those words aloud. 

He flattens his tongue against you and licks a heavy stripe up, collecting as much of your wetness as he possibly can. 

“C-Caleb,” You whine. 

“That’s right, say it,” He says proudly before covering your pussy with his tongue, his name on your lips acting like a shot of adrenaline.

You’re so wet that you can’t tell where your arousal stops and Caleb’s saliva begins. His fingernails bite into your ass cheeks, pulling you as close as he can physically be to you, fucking you with his tongue and working his jaw even though it’s screaming in protest from the effort. It’s so messy, you’re almost embarrassed to look at him as he ravages your cunt like he’ll die if he’s pried away. 

“Tastes so fucking good, knew it,” He moans hoarsly, voice watery and high-pitched in a way that makes him sound like he’s crying.

“I c-can’t - I don’t know what’s happening,” You cover your face with your hands as he pulls his tongue out of you and sucks your clit between his lips, the pressure and suction so hard that it almost hurts. “I just -”

“You gonna fucking come for me?” Caleb demands, dividing his attention from devouring you to look up at you.

You hear him practically growl, animalistic and angry, before you feel him prying your hands from your face.

“Fucking look at me, do you understand me?” His beautiful eyes burn into yours, determined and hungry. “Did I say you could cover your face?”

“No, it’s just,” Your voice shakes, wavering slightly as you try to catch your breath. “It’s a little embarrassing - I don’t -”

“Hey, hey,” Caleb’s tone shifts and his gaze softens. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Caleb presses kisses up your stomach, trailing his lips up to your sternum, collarbone, neck and finally your lips. He’s covered in your essence, lips soaked and swollen from his relentless drive to make you come for him. He pries your lips apart with his tongue, flicking it against your bottom lip before sliding it in, forcing you to taste yourself.

“See how good you taste,” He breathes into your mouth. “Could eat you out all fuckin’ day.”

“C-Caleb,” You protest, feeling the dregs of your shame flutter in your stomach. 

“Want you to ride my face,” He continues desperately, body trembling above yours. “Get you nice and wet and let you fucking cover me with it.”

“Wh-Where did you learn to talk like this? I didn’t know you were capable of that!” You half-heartedly swat him with a trembling hand.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” He hisses, the words heavy like a looming threat. “I’ve got shit locked up inside my head that would make you want to run.”

“Tell me,” you encourage him, mind void of any rational thoughts as he sucks scarlet roses into your neck, covering you in marks you have no energy to protest to. “What?”

“You sure you wanna know?”

“Just wanna hear you - wanna hear your voice,” you breathe, trembling when his teeth dig into your throat. 

“Yeah? Wanna hear how badly I want to fucking wreck you? You don’t even know what you’re getting yourself into, pipsqueak.”

The term of endearment he usually refers to you as sounds like venom; sarcastic and mean as he teases and taunts you - like he’s got an inside joke he’s not letting you in on and he’s getting off on bullying you for it.

“Don’t be mean, Caleb,” You whine. 

He pulls away from ravaging your neck and actually fucking laughs, the sound sending thousands of pinpricks embedding themselves into your slick skin, forcing you to tremble and writhe beneath him.

“Don’t play fucking dumb, you and I both know you like it when I’m mean to you,” His grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger to force you to look at him. 

“Caleb -”

“You don’t even know what to do with it, do you?” He coos, patronizing and chock-full of false pity. “So fucking pathetic that you want me to tell you what I want to do with you and you wouldn’t even understand it.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, I - “

He scoffs as he roughly jerks your head to the side, stealing the words from your mouth and examining and admiring the marks he’s branded you with proudly.

“Look at you begging for me without even knowing what you want. Fuck, I love seeing my marks all over you.”

“Not begging,” you huff, the long-standing game between the two of you to break the other persisting even into adulthood. 

“You will,” Caleb promises. “And you’re gonna beg for me to make you cum. I’m not gonna ask again, get that fucking pussy on my face before I make you.”

You’re speechless as he leans back on the couch, the portrait of debauchery with kiss swollen and spit-slick lips, cock straining against his pathetic excuse for sweatpants. His chest rises and falls as though an immeasurable force is pressing against him, breathing labored as he fixes you with a challenging glare, pupils so dilated you’d worry he’s high on something in any other context. 

“I - I don’t know if I can, Caleb I don’t want to suffocate you.”

“I want you to fucking suffocate me, here - I’ll do the work for you,” Caleb snarls, reaching forward to dig his fingers into the backs of your thighs. “Come here.”

You cry out as he yanks your body forward and forces you to straddle his chest. He spares no time, terrified that he’s wasting the nanoseconds that he isn’t touching you as he manhandles you into the perfect position. He’s got you straddling his face, eyes burning in the frenzy your scent drives him to as you drip messily onto his face. Caleb inhales, breathing you in as he digs his fingernails into your thighs to press you as closely as he can to his face. 

His tongue is frantic, probing and searching with no rhyme or reason other than to collect everything you have to give him, You tremble above him, overwhelmed with the feelings as every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, white hot wires licking flames of pleasure everywhere inside you, synapses giving way to delicious electricity.  

When Caleb sucks your puffy clit into his mouth, you shake so violently that you’d be worried about falling if he weren’t fusing you to his mouth. Caleb is whining, loud and unashamed as he drinks you in, his own hips bucking into nothing as he chases the phantom feeling of you on top of him.

“C-Caleb, I can’t -”

Your words bubble and fizz in your throat, dying out as Caleb doubles his efforts to drive you to blissed out silence. 

“Use me,” He pants as he comes up for a momentary breath. “Ride my face, please - I wanna make you feel so good, please just use me.”

“What about -”

The feeling of his tongue probing inside of you silences you entirely, forcing your mouth open in a silent scream. Caleb moves his hands from your thighs to settle at your hips, fingertips digging into them as he moves you like he wants, taking all of the effort so you can just feel. Caleb’s tongue feels impossibly long as he explores parts of you that even you haven’t managed to reach through solitary experimentation. 

“Fuck it,” Caleb grunts, and before you can ask what he means or if he’s okay, you can feel his evol weighing down on you. 

“Just for right now,” Caleb tries to explain, though he’s too wrapped up in freeing his hands to make sense of it to you. 

You don’t have to ask what he means by that, because as soon as he no longer has to anchor you to his face with his hands, he’s got his tongue on your clit and shoving his index and middle fingers inside of you. He’s met with no resistance as your slick gushes out and drenches his hand. Caleb’s tongue flicks at your clit with concentrated and relentless pressure as he pistons his fingers in and out of you, building speed with your every cry and whimper. He can feel you tightening around his digits and by the way you’re trembling, he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Caleb - I can’t; I don’t know what’s happening, I’m -” You’re babbling incoherently, a scared edge to your tone as you surrender to the pleasure and exhaustion.

“Gonna come for me, just let go, be a good girl.”

Caleb’s encouragement and new nickname for you cause something to snap, the sound of his voice and feeling of his tongue and fingers taking your body hostage. You hate when Caleb uses his evol on you to bully you, but the feeling of his command forcing you onto his face as he demands pleasure from you has you sobbing his name. You give into him as that tightly wound coil inside of you snaps, your whole body going limp as your brain short-circuits, black dots fading in and out of your vision.

It barely registers when his evol releases you because as soon as the force is gone, he’s catching you with his arms and maneuvering your trembling body down his own so he can hold you to his chest. 

“Good girl, you did so good for me,” he murmurs, threading his fingers through your hair to soothingly stroke it. “You okay?”

“I’m - I’m okay, what about you?” You manage between deep, shuddering breaths.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But - you didn’t -”

Caleb shifts beneath you and it registers that he’s trying to keep his lower half away away from you. You look back and notice a spreading wet spot at the front of those sweats of his you hate so much.

“I did,” He says sheepishly as you turn back to meet his gaze.  “That was more for me than it was for you. Did I push you too far? Do you feel okay? Fuck - I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t say you’re sorry after that.”

 Your voice is watery and Caleb notices immediately.

“No, no I’m not sorry it happened, I just try so hard around you to keep it all locked in, but I couldn’t. You drive me fucking insane, you know that right? Like you have to know how stupid you make me.”

“That bad, huh?” You joke.

“Worse. Give me a second to catch my breath and then we’ll get cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay – Caleb?”

“Hm?”

“Can I … Um… is there anything I can do for you?”

Caleb laughs, fighting the urge to divulge how badly he wants you to fuck the last couple of decades of frustration out of him.

“I don’t think you wanna open that can of worms tonight, you already can’t move. Just let me take care of you. There is something you can do for me next time, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Just send me a fuckin’ text if you’re gonna show up early!”

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

little sister, my arse (f.w.)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Summary: You were “like a little sister to him”—or so Fred said. Please. Anyone with half a brain could see there was something way more between you two.

A/N: For the sake of this fic just imagine that GoF and OotP are a giant mushed up piled okay?

Credits to @saradika-graphics for the divider

Fred Weasley was absolutely insistent that you and he were just friends.

Best friends, even.

“Like family.” He’d say with a laugh, ruffling your hair and tugging you into his side like you were an annoying little sister. Honestly, it made you roll your eyes so hard you were surprised you didn’t find a second brain back there.

Because everyone else knew Fred already had a younger sister—two years below you, in fact—but he never treated her the way he treated you.

In fact, he was practically blind to her antics. He waved off her detentions with a grin and said Hogwarts was meant for mischief.

And when she spent the better part of an hour snogging Dean Thomas in the corner of the Gryffindor common room? Not a word. Not a look. Just Fred, lounging like nothing was happening.

Even Ginny didn’t think a single year made such a difference—but Fred? Fred seemed to think it was a chasm. Enough of one to put you firmly in some sacred category: completely off-limits. Practically blood.

Your older brother? Please. He was clearly anything but.

You reached the base of the stairs and scanned the common room for your roommates, who were waiting to leave for the party in the Ravenclaw tower. You smoothed down your skirt and gave yourself one last look in the mirror.

You looked hot.

Not just hot—head-turning, legs-for-days, traffic-stopping hot.

Fred, who had been lazily chatting with your roommates (and turning down their offers to come along—claiming he was far too tired and absolutely couldn’t be hungover before tomorrow’s Quidditch practice unless he wanted to face Oliver Wood’s wrath), absolutely short-circuited.

He stared at you.

One second. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Then sputtered, “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?!”

You turned in place, giving a little twirl, “Cute, right? What do we think?”

He narrowed his eyes, “I think you forgot the bottom half.”

Your friends broke into laughter. George just rolled his eyes, especially since Ron had walked out of the common room not fifteen minutes ago on his way to the same party—and Fred had told him that if he didn’t come back completely smashed, he was a pussy.

You crossed your arms, incredulous, “It’s a skirt, Fred.”

“It’s a postage stamp.”

“It’s called fashion.” You shot back.

“It’s called a crisis! You bend over and you're going to court!”

Your jaw dropped, “This is couture!”

Fred threw his hands up in exasperation, “Well, couture clearly means no pants in French!”

You rolled your eyes.

Fred stepped in front of you, arms crossed like he was about to fight someone, looking like he was about to have a stroke, "Go put on some pants, or you're not going."

You blinked at him, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He gestured vaguely at your legs like they offended him, "You can’t just go out dressed like that."

Your brows shot up, "Why do you even care so much?"

He didn’t hesitate, "Because you’re like a little sister to me!"

That earned a very loud groan from your friends. One of them actually facepalmed. George gave an exaggerated sigh and muttered under his breath, “Here we go again.”

"I'm not changing." You said, matching his energy with your arms crossed.

"Fine," Fred said, jaw tightening, "Then I’m coming with you."

You blinked again, "For what?"

He paused, "To supervise."

"Fred," George drawled from his seat, not even looking up, "You’re not a prefect. And this isn’t a Ministry investigation. It’s a party. You're being a real Percy."

Your friends exchanged looks and stifled more laughter. One of them leaned over and whispered, "If this is what having a brother’s like, I’m out."

"This is what it's like having a boyfriend but she gets none of the upsides." One whispered back.

Fred glared at them though they were hardly deterred, giggling louder now, “I’m being responsible.”

You just shook your head, turning toward the portrait hole, "Whatever. Keep up if you’re coming, mum."

Despite what Fred Weasley told everyone—including himself—you knew exactly how he felt about you.

He said it all the time, like repeating it would somehow make it true.

“You’re like a little sister to me.”

He’d ruffle your hair, wrap an arm around your shoulder, call you squirt. Like he wasn’t two seconds away from spontaneously combusting every time some poor boy looked in your direction for longer than a heartbeat.

And maybe he thought it was brotherly affection.

Maybe he genuinely believed that he was just being protective. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how his voice always changed around you—softer, warmer, less teasing. Maybe he didn’t realize that he never reacted this way when Ginny got into trouble, or when Hermione dragged Ron across a dueling mat.

But you noticed.

So did everyone else.

And every time Fred got all riled up on your behalf, trying to cover his nerves with shouting or sarcasm, it made you feel like the center of the universe. Like a sunflower turned toward its sun.

And because you were a menace—and because you were in love—you liked to test just how far you could push that brotherly façade.

Every Dumbledore’s Army meeting became your personal playground. Every duel, a performance. Every trip, stumble, or wince? Another chance to watch Fred's expression twist from calm to frantic in real time.

Today was no different.

You were paired with Zacharias Smith—a pompous, loud-mouthed git who was all talk and absolutely no skill. The second your names were called together, you spotted Fred across the room stiffen like he’d just been personally insulted.

But you simply smiled.

Smith was already getting cocky before the duel even started, twirling his wand with the confidence of someone who'd only heard about talent. Then he shouted an Expelliarmus—a bit too forcefully—and you seized your moment.

You gasped, staggered backward, and threw yourself to the floor with a dramatic thud, wand flying from your hand as you landed.

It wasn’t a bad fall. It barely even hurt. But that wasn’t the point.

Across the room, Fred froze mid-spell.

“Oi!” He shouted, already shoving past George and dodging Neville as he sprinted toward you.

His face was a picture of panic.

Your internal grin was feral.

He skidded to his knees beside you, eyes darting across your body like he expected to find a missing limb, “Are you alright?! What the bloody hell was that, Smith?!”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. He was always too easy. Like flicking a switch.

“I’m fine, Freddie.” You said, your voice soft and sweet, fluttering your lashes for good measure.

He didn’t even acknowledge it—too busy inspecting your arm, pulling up your sleeve to check for bruises like he was some kind of medic.

"That spell was way too aggressive," He growled, “He could’ve dislocated your shoulder, or—or cracked your wrist!”

You made a soft, wounded noise in your throat. (Maybe laid it on a bit thick, but who was judging? Certainly not Fred.)

“I’ll be okay,” You murmured, letting your bottom lip tremble just slightly, “My hero.”

Fred scowled. A full-on, brows-knitted, jaw-tightened scowl, “Don’t get soppy on me, squirt. You’re like a little sister. I gotta keep you safe.”

Little sister.

Right.

You tried not to roll your eyes.

Not like he said a word when Hermione accidentally launched Ron into a bookshelf twenty minutes ago and Fred had laughed so hard he almost cried. Not like he’d won a sickle betting against his own brother.

No, it was different when it was you.

When it was you, he sprinted. He shouted. He scowled like the world was ending.

You inhaled slowly and offered him your sweetest, most angelic smile, “Of course, Freddie.”

He didn’t look convinced. His eyes lingered a little too long on your face before he stood and offered you his hand.

You took it—warm, calloused, grounding—and let him pull you to your feet.

As he turned away to go yell at Smith again (Zacharias had wisely retreated to the far side of the room), you brushed off your robes and watched Fred’s retreating back with a sense of calm satisfaction.

You’d get him eventually. You were patient. And Fred Weasley had no idea what he was in for.

It was one of those rare warm afternoons in October—the kind that made you forget how quickly the season was changing. The sun hung low over the Black Lake, and a gentle breeze rolled off the water, ruffling your notes and carrying the faint scent of moss and sun-warmed grass.

You’d spread your books beneath a tree, determined to study for your upcoming exams. But, predictably, you’d spent more time watching the sky ripple across the lake than reading a single line. Still, it was peaceful. Quiet. A perfect moment.

Until it wasn’t.

A body dropped into the grass beside you with a dramatic sigh.

“Ugh,” Fred Weasley groaned, flopping onto his back like the world had wronged him, “I knew I’d find you out here being obnoxiously productive.”

You glanced over your shoulder, amused, “And here I thought I’d actually get some work done without distractions.”

“I know,” He said, shielding his eyes with one hand, “My devastating good looks are very distracting.”

You snorted, “Wow. Didn’t think anyone could love themselves more than Malfoy.”

Fred gasped, “That’s low. Even for you.”

You grinned, turning back to your parchment. For a while, the quiet settled between you again—comfortable and companionable. Sunlight filtered through the branches above, casting warm, dappled shadows over your notes. A few first-years skipped stones near the lake, their laughter drifting on the breeze. It felt like Hogwarts had slowed down—like the Tournament hadn’t upended everything, like you hadn’t spent the entire morning stressed about things you couldn’t control.

Fred sat up beside you, resting his arms on his knees. “Weird, innit?” He said, nodding toward the water, “No Quidditch this year.”

You nodded, “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d miss it, but… I kind of do.”

“No bludgers to the face every Saturday,” He sighed, “What a tragedy.”

You laughed, “You liked getting hit.”

“I like winning,” He corrected with a smirk, “There’s a difference.”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head.

Fred leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him, “Well, who needs Quidditch when there’s the Triwizard Tournament, eh?”

You wrinkled your nose, “I still can’t believe they’re actually holding that thing again. A student died last time. I mean—who would be stupid enough to enter?”

Fred rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand and giving you a lazy, mischievous grin, “Funny you should ask. George and I are entering.”

You blinked, “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m very serious.”

Your mouth fell open, “Fred, you’re not even of age.”

“Technicality,” He responded, waving a hand, “We’ve got plans.”

“You’re mad,” You said, gaping at him, “Do you even know what the tasks are?”

“’Course not,” He said brightly, “That’s the fun of it. Life’s full of surprises.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Life’s also full of death, Fred.”

He grinned, “I think that’s a fair trade for a thousand galleons.”

You stared, “You want to risk dying for money?”

He gave you a look, “I want to open a joke shop.”

That shut you up.

He didn’t say it like a joke. There was a rare steadiness to his voice, something quiet and real beneath the usual chaos. He plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between his fingers, not quite meeting your eyes.

“George and I—we’ve been working on stuff for ages. Skiving Snackboxes, Canary Creams, that cough syrup that changes your voice pitch—we’ve got an entire catalogue in our dorm. No more sneaking around under Umbridge’s nose. We want real walls. A shop. Our names on the window.”

He paused, then added, “We’ve been looking at places in Diagon Alley. But they’re way out of reach. Even if we worked our arses off for the next ten years, we’d never make enough. The Tournament’s our best shot.”

You blinked, “Oh Godric. You’re actually serious.”

He finally glanced over at you, “Deadly.”

Your heart did a weird little lurch. Not just because Fred Weasley could be serious—which was a revelation all on its own—but because now you could see it. The dream behind the jokes. How much it meant to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You asked quietly.

He shrugged, suddenly shy, “Dunno. Guess I didn’t want anyone laughing at it. It’s not exactly the career Mum had in mind.”

You nudged his shoulder gently, “Well, for the record? I think it’s brilliant.”

He looked at you then—really looked. The wind ruffled his hair, and the sharpness in his grin softened into something slower, more genuine.

“You do?”

You nodded, “Absolutely. I mean, if anyone can build an empire out of nosebleeds and puking pastilles, it’s you two.”

Fred beamed, and for a second, the world felt lighter.

“Thanks.” He said, quiet but full of meaning.

You smiled back and nudged his foot with yours, “You’ll still be an idiot, though.”

“Obviously,” He said, flopping onto his back with a groan—his head landing squarely in your lap, “Just a rich one.”

You looked down at him, sunlight catching in his eyelashes, his grin lopsided and smug. And you laughed—soft and full, like the sun had settled in your chest.

It was nothing and everything.

Just a moment. Just a feeling.

But it was these moments that truly made you believe.

You were never a just 'little sister' to Fred.

The Yule Ball was a glittering, dazzling spectacle—lights flickering off icicles, laughter rising above the string quartet, and students twirling like they belonged in fairytales. You, however, sat near the edge of the ballroom, nursing your second Butterbeer and watching the swirl of color and sound with a wistful smile.

You hadn’t come with a date. Not for lack of trying—well, trying in your own mischievous, joking way.

A few weeks ago, you’d cheekily asked Fred if he wanted to go with you. Just for laughs. You knew he was going with Angelina—everyone did—but you asked anyway, leaning across the common room table with a dramatic flutter of your lashes.

“Freddie, darling,” You’d purred in a mock-sultry voice, “would you do me the honor of escorting me to the Yule Ball?”

Fred had laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair, “Merlin, no. You’re like my little sister.” He said, ruffling your hair like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Ugh. Little sister. Would he ever give it a rest?

It still clanged around in your brain like a badly played triangle.

You’d rolled your eyes at the time and played it off with a sarcastic bow, “Guess I’ll be a single lady then.”

You could’ve gone with someone else—you’d been asked by a few boys from all three schools—but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept any of them. You’d considered it briefly, wondering if maybe it would make Fred jealous. Part of you hesitated because you didn’t want to give him another reason to believe you weren’t available—romantically or otherwise.

But, really… you didn’t want to go with anyone who wasn’t Fred.

So you came alone. In a dress you adored. Ready to have a good time with your friends instead of pretending to care about someone you’d barely remember in a year.

The small detail you’d failed to factor in?

Your friends hadn’t come alone.

So here you were—alone in a dress you actually loved, watching the dance floor glow with candlelight and spinning silhouettes.

You weren’t bitter. Not really.

…Okay. Maybe a little.

You were fine. You were great. You were single, glowing, unbothered—and just a little disappointed.

Fred had been dancing most of the evening with Angelina, stopping now and then to mess with George or shove cake in Lee’s face. But the moment he spotted you sitting alone, something shifted in him. His laughter faltered mid-sentence. The smile dimmed just slightly.

He watched you from the edge of the crowd. Your eyes followed the dancers, your foot tapping along with the beat. But you weren’t smiling like you usually did. You looked like you were waiting—for something. Or someone.

Fred excused himself from the group without a word and made his way toward you, face unreadable.

You looked up as he stopped in front of you.

“Fred?”

“You look like a lemon.”

You blinked. “Charming.”

He held out a hand, “Dance with me.”

You raised a brow, “And abandon my hard-earned reputation as the designated wallflower? You sure you want to ruin that for me?”

He smirked, but there was something softer beneath it, “Just so you’re not sitting here looking miserable. I mean, you looked like you wanted to dance. And you’re not a lemon. You’re… a pomegranate.”

You stared at him, “Wow. How could a girl possibly resist?”

You placed your hand in his, warmth zipping up your arm at the contact.

“Thanks, Fred. I didn’t want to sit here all night.”

“I’m rescuing you from a night of tragic wallflowering,” He said, placing one hand on your waist and taking the other in his, “A truly chivalrous act.”

“Right,” You said dryly, “Should I curtsy or just kiss your feet?”

He narrowed his eyes, “I could still leave you here, you know.”

“You won’t.” You said smugly.

You were on your third dance with Fred—completely unaware of time, music, or the fact that your feet were starting to ache—when someone tapped your shoulder.

You turned to see a Ravenclaw boy you vaguely recognized. “Hey—sorry to interrupt,” He said, smiling, “Would you like to dance the next one?”

You opened your mouth, startled, but Fred beat you to it.

“She’s booked for the night, mate." He said smoothly.

The boy blinked, “Oh. I just thought—”

Fred clapped a hand on his shoulder, laughing, “Appreciate you trying to put me out of my misery, really. But I couldn’t do that to you.”

The boy hesitated, then walked away.

You turned back to Fred, eyebrows raised, “Didn’t you just say you were dancing with me because I looked like a lonely?”

Fred shrugged, “I couldn’t, in good conscience, let him suffer through your dancing. Besides, you’d be bored with anyone else.”

You snorted, “I’m calling your bluff, Weasley. You just don’t want to admit you’re having fun.”

He gave you a wicked grin. “Maybe I am… but don’t let it go to your head.”

The night wore on, and you were breathless from laughter. Despite his usual disinterest in McGonagall’s dance lessons—apart from embarrassing his brother for dancing with her—Fred, to his credit, was a surprisingly good dancer. He had already spun you around twice, always managing to keep you steady even though, in these heels, it felt like one misstep away from disaster. But his latest antic nearly gave you a cardiac arrest.

“Ready?” He asked, eyes gleaming.

“Fred—what are you—?”

Then he dipped you.

Dramatically.

One strong arm behind your back, the other holding your hand as your head tilted back with a surprised squeak. You gripped his arms tightly, heart hammering.

“I could drop you,” He said casually, “Let everyone see you take a tumble in that pretty dress.”

“Fred Weasley, don’t you dare—”

He chuckled, voice low and steady, “I’d never let you go.”

Your breath caught.

He was close—too close. His voice was warm against your cheek, his grin lazy, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Like what he’d just said meant something.

You stared at him for a heartbeat too long.

Then, with a cheeky flourish, he pulled you upright again, smiling like it had all been a joke.

You didn’t say a word. Because if you did—if you pointed out how soft and sweet that had been—he’d ruin it. He’d backpedal. Say something like “Because you’re like my sister,” and you weren’t about to let that ruin the moment.

So you said nothing. You let him hold you a little too close. Let his fingers linger at your waist. Let yourself feel the weight of it—of him.

And then, slowly, the teasing faded. The jokes quieted. You were just dancing. Holding each other. His hand warm against your back. His eyes drifted to your lips just once and you had to stop everything in you from leaning into him.

At some point, your fingers brushed his collar, adjusting it just to touch him.

The both of you just lost in your own world.

Until the crowd began to thin. Until the music slowed. Until reality crept back in.

Fred glanced toward the edge of the ballroom.

“Oh, Merlin,” He breathed, “Angelina.”

You blinked, “Oh my God. You had a date.”

He winced, “I didn’t mean to leave her—”

“You left her the whole night, Fred,” You worried, still slightly dazed that the guy you had been crushing on forgot his own date for your company, “For your pomegranate.”

He looked sheepish, running a hand nervously through his hair. “That makes it sound worse.” He muttered.

“It is worse.” You said quietly, the concern in your voice barely masked by the soft glow of the ballroom lights.

Fred swallowed hard. “I’ll go talk to her,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes flickering with a mix of guilt and dread, “She’s gonna kill me.”

He found Angelina standing near the exit, her arms crossed, the faintest crease between her brows. She didn’t look angry—not really. Just… tired. Like she’d been waiting too long to say what she needed to say, and it had worn her down.

“Took you long enough.” She said coolly, voice steady but carrying a weight beneath it.

“Angelina, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” She interrupted, stepping closer, her gaze sharp and unyielding, “Just be honest with me.”

Fred blinked, confusion clouding his expression, “Honest?”

She nodded, her voice softer but no less firm, “The moment you saw her, you forgot I even existed.”

His cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and something deeper, more complicated, “It’s not like that. She’s—”

“Don’t,” Angelina said sharply, cutting him off, “Don’t say ‘little sister.’ You’ve been using that excuse for ages. It’s not cute anymore. She’s not your sister. You didn’t spend the whole night laughing with her, dancing with her, looking at her like she hung the bloody moon because she was your sister.”

Fred opened his mouth, as if to protest, but no words came. The truth hung heavy in the air, unspoken but impossible to deny.

Angelina gave him a sad, almost wistful smile, “You know what? I hope she finally says something. Because you’re too stupid to realize you’re already halfway in love.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her silhouette swallowed by the crowd.

Fred stood frozen, watching the heavy doors swing shut behind her. The sounds of the ball—the music, the laughter—seemed distant, like they were happening to someone else.

Across the room, you were laughing with George, your eyes bright, your dress catching the light with every twirl. Your joy was undeniable, effortless.

Fred’s heart thundered painfully in his chest.

Oh.

Fred stumbled into the Gryffindor common room later that night, hair a complete mess, and his tie still hanging loosely from his collar like a badge of defeat. His usually cocky grin was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight. Not after Angelina. Not after you.

He hadn’t even managed to reach the part of his brain that could make sense of why the latter felt like it mattered more. The weight of it pressed on his chest in a way he wasn’t used to.

He made a beeline for the couch and flopped down face-first, letting out a long, weary sigh. Unfortunately, his relief was short-lived.

“Enchanté, loverboy.” Came a familiar voice.

Fred groaned without opening his eyes, “Go away, George.”

But George was already there, sprawled comfortably with a smug grin and a pillow in hand.

“Why should I?” George asked, grinning wide, “I’m genuinely enjoying your emotional meltdown. It’s been ages since I had this much blackmail material on you.”

Fred peeked one eye open, glaring, “You’re delusional.”

“Oh, am I?” George leaned in, his grin widening wickedly, “So, just to make sure I’ve got this right—you asked Angelina to the Yule Ball, spent exactly zero time with her, and then danced the entire night with someone you keep insisting is ‘just your little sister’?”

Fred scowled, sitting up slightly, “She didn’t have anyone to dance with—”

George gasped dramatically, clutching his chest, “Oh no! Poor darling (Y/N), tragically unwanted and left to fend off all those desperate wankers alone. Thank goodness you stepped up to do your familial duty and ward off all those other blokes with your death stare!”

“I didn’t—”

“And then there was the moment when you full-on blocked that Ravenclaw who asked her to dance—”

“He was creepy.” Fred interrupted, defensive.

“Was he?” George raised a skeptical brow, “Or did you just not like some other bloke getting close to what you think belongs to you?”

Fred sputtered, cheeks flushing, “She’s not mine!”

George leaned back, hands behind his head, looking like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup, “That’s not what your face said last night when she laughed at someone else’s joke.”

Fred blinked in surprise, “She did?”

George threw back his head and howled with laughter, “You absolute muppet. You’re in love with her.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are in love with her.”

Fred narrowed his eyes, “She’s like a sister.”

George chuckled, eyes sparkling with disbelief, “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

The days after the Yule Ball stretched on with a strange sort of silence between you and Fred. It wasn’t the loud, obvious kind of silence that comes from a fight or an argument—it was quieter, more complicated. Like a door left slightly ajar, inviting but uncertain whether to open or close.

Fred wasn’t usually the type to get tongue-tied or awkward. He was a master of quick jokes, cheeky grins, and effortless charm. But in those weeks, whenever you were near, something tangled inside him—like a knot he didn’t quite know how to undo. His usual bravado wavered just enough that it made you catch him staring a little longer than usual or pause mid-joke, like he was rehearsing lines in his head that never quite made it out.

The common room felt different now when you sat near each other. The easy camaraderie you’d always shared was still there, but it was layered with something unspoken—something neither of you dared to say aloud. Conversations that used to flow effortlessly now stumbled into sudden silences.

He found himself watching you more, stealing glances when he thought you weren’t looking—the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you loved, the subtle way you bit your lip when you were deep in thought, the way your laughter made the whole room feel warmer. Every little detail seemed to grow in significance, like clues to a puzzle he didn’t realize he was trying to solve.

He kept telling himself it was safer to keep things as they were. Safer to laugh it off, to shove feelings aside and pretend they weren’t there.

Still, the more he tried to ignore it, the harder it became. Every shared glance, every accidental touch, every laugh felt like a spark. And sparks—no matter how small—have a way of turning into flames.

So the days rolled on, filled with stolen moments and unspoken truths, until the night of the twins' birthday.

You’d gone all out.

Of course you had. They were your closest friends—your brothers in chaos, your constants—and no amount of recent awkwardness between you and Fred was going to change that. You weren’t about to let a few strange, tense weeks ruin what had always been effortless. You had promised yourself you'd make their birthday unforgettable.

So you did.

The common room was full of warmth and flickering firelight, the remnants of cake crumbs and torn wrapping paper scattered across the floor like confetti. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the twins were basking in the glow of attention and affection from everyone who adored them.

George let out a low whistle as he unwrapped your third gift—a meticulously crafted set of self-replenishing joke parchment. His eyes lit up like a kid in Honeydukes.

“Blimey, (Y/N),” He said, grinning, “Trying to buy our affection?”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder, “Obviously. Isn’t it working?”

They were thrilled—joking, laughing, trading banter with anyone who approached. It should’ve felt perfect.

And yet… that other gift still burned a hole in your pocket.

The real one.

Your eyes found Fred across the room—red hair tousled, cheeks pink from laughing too hard, head thrown back as Lee told some ridiculous story. He was glowing in the way only Fred could glow, like he was lit from the inside.

And still, you felt that tug in your chest. The ache of what hadn’t been said.

When the noise began to settle and the party mellowed into pockets of low chatter, you crossed the room and gently tugged at his sleeve.

“Fred,” You said, just loud enough for him to hear, “Come with me?”

He blinked down at you, caught off guard. “Yeah. Alright.”

You led him toward the farthest corner of the Gryffindor common room, past the roaring fire and beyond the clusters of chatting students, until you reached the quiet nook beneath the grand stained-glass windows. The flickering moonlight spilled in, mingling with the soft glow of a single enchanted lamp, casting gentle shadows that danced along the stone walls. Here, removed from the laughter and bustle, it felt like the rest of the world had paused just for the two of you.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small, worn box. It wasn’t wrapped. It wasn’t fancy. It didn’t sparkle or shimmer. But your heart was in it—completely.

Fred frowned a little, brow furrowing, “You didn’t have to—”

“Shut up and open it, Weasley.” You interrupted, pushing it gently into his hands.

He raised an eyebrow at you, amused but curious. Slowly, he lifted the lid.

Inside was a snow globe. The little snowflakes drifted gently over a miniature brick-and-mortar storefront, with a bright red ‘W’ hanging proudly above the door. As Fred looked closer, a tiny charmed figurine—obviously meant to be him—stepped onto the shop’s doorstep. The figure carefully put on his hat, then lifted it to reveal a small rabbit sitting playfully on his head. When he placed the hat back down and lifted it again, the rabbit was gone.

His fingers hovered over it, stunned. Not because it was extravagant—it wasn’t—but because it was him. It was the dream. His dream. Captured and preserved with such quiet devotion, it took the air straight out of his lungs.

“I made it,” You said softly, barely above a whisper, “I wanted you to know that no matter what… I’ll always be on your side.”

Fred stared at it.

Then at you.

His expression shifted like a storm—surprise first, then something softer. Something heavier.

You hesitated, “I know things have been weird these past couple weeks, but I just—”

Before you could finish, he stepped forward and kissed you.

There was no warning.

No hesitation.

Just Fred—urgent and messy and real. It wasn’t graceful, wasn’t the kind of kiss you saw in fairytales. It was all clumsy affection and months of unsaid things. You made a startled sound, but your hands moved before you could think—one curling into the front of his shirt to keep him close, the other gripping the side of his face.

You kissed him back with everything you had.

When he finally pulled away, breathless, his face was burning. His hands lingered on your waist, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

“Don’t say a word,” He muttered hoarsely, eyes squeezed shut, “Not. A. Word.”

You opened your mouth.

He jabbed a finger at you without even looking, “I mean it.”

You closed it again, biting back a wicked little smirk.

Fred groaned under his breath, dragging both hands through his hair as he turned back toward the others like a man marching to his execution.

The moment he stepped back into view, the common room erupted.

A chorus of laughter, wolf whistles, and mock applause rang out like someone had set off fireworks.

“FREDDIE!” Lee shouted, pointing, “You’ve got lipstick all over your mouth!”

George nearly fell off the couch, howling, “Finally, you absolute muppet!”

Fred turned back to shoot you a look—something between a death glare and a desperate plea for mercy.

You just leaned against the wall, arms crossed and smile syrup-sweet. “You told me not to say anything.” You called innocently.

His jaw dropped. George clapped him hard on the back.

“You’re doomed, Freddie. Doomed!”

Fred groaned again, eyes still locked on you, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle you or kiss you all over again.

You just winked.

And Fred, cheeks flaming and heart pounding, couldn’t even pretend anymore.

He was absolutely, irrevocably, spectacularly in love with you.

And he always had been.

Fred didn’t talk to you for two whole days after the kiss.

Which was absolutely hilarious, considering he couldn’t stop staring at you.

Every time you caught his eye in the common room, he’d jerk his head away so fast you half expected him to get whiplash. His cheeks would flare bright red like he’d just walked through a blast-ended skrewt.

At breakfast, he knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice—not once, but twice—sending sticky liquid splashing over the table. When he tripped on the stairwell on his way to Charms class, narrowly catching himself on the banister, you barely suppressed a laugh.

George caught on immediately, his grin spreading wider than the Great Hall on feast day.

“You’re a bloody mess,” George said gleefully, clapping Fred hard on the shoulder as if congratulating a champion, “And all because of one little kiss.”

Fred muttered furiously, burying his face in his hands, cheeks still flaming. “It wasn’t a kiss,” He insisted, voice muffled, “It was—it was—”

“What? CPR?” George teased with a wicked smirk, “Pretty sure you didn’t need to snog her to save her life, mate.”

Fred groaned loudly and pushed his hands away, blinking rapidly as if trying to erase the image from his brain.

This went on for days.

He’d catch your eye, panic, and look away like you’d cast a Confundus Charm on him. His ears would burn brighter than the Gryffindor common room fire, and he’d mutter under his breath whenever you passed by.

It was, frankly, kind of adorable.

George was having the time of his life.

On day one, he started pacing the common room, sighing dramatically like a Shakespearean actor. “Ah, young love,” he muttered, voice thick with mock sentimentality. “So fragile, so awkward, so completely bloody hilarious.”

Whenever Fred glanced your way—no matter how fleetingly—George would launch a strategic attack with Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, pelting him like a mischievous spellcaster.

Fred just huffed and tried to act nonchalant, but even someone as blind as him could see he was utterly, hopelessly smitten.

Meanwhile, you watched the whole spectacle with a quiet smile—knowing this was just Fred's pathetic way of trying to come to terms that you were actually the love of his life.

Fred wasn’t there for the DA meeting today. While he said he was just not feeling well, a part of you wondered whether he was trying to avoid you on purpose.

Without his ever-watchful, overprotective presence hovering nearby, you found yourself sharper—faster, smarter, more daring than you’d realized.

You sparred with Harry, and it quickly became clear: you were a natural. Your feet barely seemed to touch the ground as you ducked, weaved, and cast spells with precision and flair. Your counter-curses came swift and clever, each movement more confident than the last.

When you finally disarmed Harry with a clean, flawless flick, sending his wand soaring across the room, even Hermione couldn’t help but clap.

Harry grinned, breathless as he retrieved his wandm “Merlin, (Y/N), where have you been hiding that?”

Your heart raced, a triumphant spark lighting up inside you. You shrugged with a sly smile.

“Maybe I just don’t like showing off.” You said playfully.

Harry’s eyes narrowed playfully, suspicion flashing in them.

Then it hit him. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his wand and pointed it at you.

“Wait a minute,” He said, voice teasing, “You pretend to be useless around Fred, don’t you? So he’ll fuss over you?”

You batted your eyelashes and gave him your most innocent, wide-eyed look.

“Moi?”

Harry burst out laughing, shaking his head, “You are pure evil. Brilliantly evil.”

You just winked, utterly unapologetic.

You didn’t plan to storm into Fred’s dorm like a thundercloud, but after days of the cold shoulder, the sidelong glances, and the maddening silence, you’d finally reached your limit. Tonight, you were done waiting.

The door swung open before Fred could even answer, and he was caught somewhere between surprise and guilt. His usual easygoing grin was gone, replaced by a flush creeping up his neck and a nervous flicker in his eyes. The room around him was cluttered with scattered prototypes and half-finished joke shop inventions, mirroring the chaos you sensed in his mind.

He shuffled uncomfortably, running a hand through his untamed hair, his gaze flicking anywhere but at you. The words he tried to form tangled and tumbled inside his head, leaving him stumbling over silence. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller, less exposed.

He was still rambling—stumbling over half-hearted excuses about how you were “like a sister,” how George was “just taking the mickey,” and how “it didn’t mean anything.”

That was when you snapped.

You grabbed him by the tie, yanked him forward, and kissed him like it was the only way to shut him up.

For a single, suspended, electrified second, Fred froze. Then he kissed you back, like he was catching up on something he hadn’t even let himself want until this very moment. His hands gripped your waist with a fierce uncertainty—unsure if he was pulling you closer or holding on for dear life.

He tasted like mint and adrenaline and something sweeter, something dangerous—because somewhere in that kiss, Fred realized he wanted to do it again.

Again and again and again.

But then you pulled away, chest heaving, lips swollen, and before he could stop himself, Fred chased after you, his mouth searching for yours on pure instinct.

You held him off with a hand pressed to his chest.

“This isn’t how you treat your little sister.” You whispered, voice soft but sharp—words that still landed like a hex.

Fred blinked at you, stunned, lips parted, like he’d just been hit by a bludger he never saw coming.

Had he really been calling you his little sister all this time?

Ew. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Yeah,” He finally said, “That’s… that’s not what this is.”

You tilted your head, that infuriating little smirk tugging at your lips—the one that always got him into trouble, even when he didn’t know why.

“Took you long enough to realize.” You murmured, voice all velvet and mischief.

Fred stared, mouth opening to argue—but he had nothing. Not a single retort. Because, bloody hell, you were right. He had taken too long. Too long pretending, too long denying, too long calling you his “little sister” when all he wanted was to kiss you again until he forgot every reason not to.

And now? Now he was properly wrecked.

Fred swallowed hard, eyes flicking back to your lips before settling on your smug little smile.

“Yeah?” He said, voice low, a little dazed, “What else am I late to, then? Might as well catch up properly.”

He stared at you, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Then—just as he stepped forward again, a little more sure this time—

“Oi!”

The door slammed open.

George stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, munching on a half-eaten apple, “Didn’t realize we were hosting Snogwarts: The Reunion. Should I come back later, or are you two gonna keep traumatizing me?”

Fred groaned loudly, “Merlin’s bollocks, George, ever heard of knocking?”

George shrugged around a crunchy bite, “Ever heard of boundaries? That’s my bed you’ve shoved her onto!”

“Godric's bloody—George, do you mind?”

George took another loud bite, “Yes. But not enough to leave.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around Fred’s shoulders, and he groaned again, forehead dropping to your shoulder like he was silently begging for mercy.

Later that night, Fred found you curled up in the common room, tucked beneath a soft blanket with a book resting in your hands. The fire flickered gently, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Without a word, he collapsed beside you with all the dramatic flair he was known for, letting out a long, theatrical sigh as if the weight of the entire Quidditch league was pressing down on his chest.

“I’m a disaster.” He declared, voice heavy with self-reproach.

You didn’t look up from your book, “Mhm.”

Fred ran a hand through his tousled hair, voice dropping to a low confession, “I panicked. That first time. The moment caught me off guard. I was trying to show you how grateful I was—and well, I thought kissing you was the best way to do that.”

You closed your book with a soft snap and finally met his eyes, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, “It was a good idea. Until you ran off with lipstick on your face and hid behind George for two days.”

He groaned, dragging his hands down his face in mock despair, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely." You said, amusement sparkling in your gaze.

Fred muttered, “I probably deserved that.”

“You do.”

He exhaled, steadying himself, “Look… I’m sorry. You’re not my little sister. You never were. I’ve been stupid and blind and oblivious, and I’m lucky you didn’t move on from a fool like me. I like you—more than is remotely reasonable.”

You smiled, a victorious glint in your eyes, “Say it again.”

Fred rolled his eyes, but the sharpness was gone, replaced by something softer, more real, “I like you.”

You tilted your head, voice gentle but playful, “Properly.”

He shifted closer, his heart pounding in his throat, “I like you, alright? I’ve liked you for ages. I just didn’t know how to say it… or what to do with it.”

Your smile softened into something warm, inviting, “Then show me.”

He did.

This time, the kiss was slower, deliberate. No panic, no rushing away. Just the warmth of his hands finding your waist, your fingers threading through his hair, and the quiet, electric certainty that everything was finally falling into place.

Bonus:

It was a brand-new day. Literally. But somehow, it felt metaphorically new too—like the kind of fresh start you didn’t even know you needed until it happened.

Fred Weasley strode into the Great Hall that morning, and when his eyes landed on you already seated at the Gryffindor table, casually sipping pumpkin juice like you hadn’t just rewritten the entire script of his life the night before, he nearly tripped over his own feet. He blinked, stunned.

You caught his eye, flashed a mischievous smirk, and patted the seat beside you.

He sat down slowly, unsure if this was real or some elaborate prank hatched by the combined mischief of Peeves and George.

“Morning.” You said, effortlessly snagging a piece of toast from his plate the second it appeared.

“Morning.” He echoed, eyes fixed on you, clearly unsure what to do with his hands—or how to behave now that the world had shifted on its axis.

“You sleep alright?” He asked cautiously.

You gave him a teasing look, “Better than you, probably. You kept tossing and turning. Too busy lying awake, replaying every moment from yesterday.”

His jaw practically hit the floor, “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. But now I do.” You quipped.

Fred groaned, “You’re the worst.”

“You’re the one who took three years to kiss me. I’m allowed to enjoy this.”

Before he could reply, George plopped down across from you both, grinning like a Kneazle with a bowl of gold coins in hand.

“Well, well, well,” George announced, sliding a crumpled parchment onto the table with theatrical flair, “What do we have here? Oh yes—that’s right! Three galleons, eight sickles, and a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. Collected over three bloody years.”

Fred blinked, “What is that?”

George’s grin widened, “The betting pool. Started it when I first noticed our dear brother here looking at you like a lovesick Kneazle but being completely useless about it. Most gave up after sixth year, but not me. I believed.”

You stared at him, incredulous, “You bet on us?”

“Of course I did. I’m not an idiot. Also, Lee Jordan owes me five chocolate frogs and the next round at Hogsmeade.”

Fred groaned, burying his face in his hands, “This is a nightmare.”

You patted his shoulder, barely holding back laughter, “Don’t worry, love. At least you’re finally winning something.”

He peeked at you through his fingers, utterly defeated, “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

You leaned in, planting a light kiss on his cheek, “Not a chance.”

Just like that, Fred Weasley—world-class prankster, confident flirt, and now completely and irrevocably yours—blushed bright red over eggs and toast. Meanwhile, George was already shouting across the table, “Oi, Angelina! Pay up! I told you it’d happen before graduation!”

“Well, well, Weasley,” Came Angelina Johnson’s voice from the far end of the table, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she set down her toast, “Not only did you break my heart, but now you’re making me lose a bloody bet?”

Fred groaned again, looking up just in time to see Angelina approaching with that infuriating grin firmly in place.

“I didn’t think it was possible to make this more awkward,” She said, sliding onto the bench beside George, “but you’ve really outdone yourself. I bet you thought you were clever, calling her your ‘little sister’ while sneaking off with her every chance you got.”

Fred’s cheeks flamed. “It wasn’t like that.” He muttered, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

You nudged him playfully, “I know Fred’s an idiot, Angelina, but you should’ve had some faith in me. There was no way I was going to graduate without pointing out that he’s clearly in love with me. Honestly, he should’ve figured it out last Valentine’s Day when he nearly had a conniption because Roger Davies asked me to be his valentine.”

Fred groaned again, but this time the sound was lighter, less burdened. He was too wrapped up in the warmth of having you by his side, teasing him—this time as his girlfriend—to care about anything else.

Bonus Bonus Scene:

It started innocently enough. (Okay, no. It really didn’t. Not even a little bit.)

You were at the Burrow for a family dinner—Molly, ever the doting mother hen, had insisted you come along. “You’re practically one of us, dear!” she’d said, completely unaware that you and Fred were teetering on the edge of indecency every time you looked at each other.

Fred had spent the entire afternoon teasing you with little touches—brief brushes of his hand at the dinner table, secretive smirks, and whispered comments that made you choke on your pumpkin juice while Molly gave you an oblivious, comforting pat on the back.

By the time dessert was cleared, you were practically vibrating with pent-up energy and barely able to keep your hands to yourself.

Fred caught your eye across the kitchen, his gaze locked with yours—and that was all it took.

You hadn’t even made it two steps into the hallway when he caught your wrist, pulled you into a shadowy alcove, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it all night.

You giggled into his mouth, clutching the front of his shirt, “Fred—someone will see—”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, his lips already trailing down your neck.

You melted against the wall, laughing breathlessly, tugging him closer.

Fred kissed you like a man who’d been waiting forever, hands roaming, mouth hot and urgent.

You were completely lost in the moment, lost in him—so much so that neither of you noticed the heavy footsteps approaching.

Until—

“FREDERICK GIDEON WEASLEY!”

You both jumped, nearly a foot in the air.

Fred stumbled back, his ears flaming bright red, wiping his mouth. (He was quite traumatized from the incident after your first kiss you see)

Molly stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, face the exact shade of a ripe tomato.

For a long, frozen three seconds, no one moved. No one breathed.

Your heart pounded so loudly it was all you could hear.

Fred looked like he was calculating a quick Apparition out of there.

Molly pointed a trembling finger at both of you, “WHAT—WHAT ON EARTH—YOU—AND—HE—YOU—KISSING!”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again, but no words came.

Fred, somehow, found his voice first, “Uh... surprise?” he offered weakly.

“How long has this been going on?!”

Your cheeks burned as heat rushed up your neck, “Um... a while?”

Molly gasped as if you’d just confessed a crime, “A WHILE?!”

You winced. Fred winced.

Behind Molly, George peeked into the room, grinning so wide it looked painful.

Ron snorted from somewhere nearby.

Ginny was cackling so hard she had to lean against the wall.

Fred ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly defeated, as if willing the earth to swallow him whole.

“Mum,” He said, voice low but serious, “I’m in love with her.”

The room fell utterly silent.

Even George stopped laughing.

You blinked at Fred, stunned. He’d never said it like that before—not out loud, not so plainly.

Molly stared at him, then at you, then back at him again.

And then—much to everyone’s horror—she burst into tears.

“Oh, Fred!” She sobbed, “My little boy’s in love!”

You leaned in, grinning against the swell of your own heart, “Didn’t think you’d be the first one to say it,” You whispered, voice warm with mischief, “I was sure I’d have to drag it out of you in another three years.”

He chuckled, not pulling away, gazing at you in such a way that told you that had his mother not been in the room, you would've found yourself pressed against the wall once more, “Had to beat you at something, didn’t I?”

Bonus Bonus BONUS scene: (because I CAN)

The Three Broomsticks buzzed with weekend chatter—students crammed into booths, scarves trailing off shoulders, butterbeer steaming in their mugs. You were nestled between Hermione and Ginny, a little flushed from the warmth and the laughter, your empty glass pushed to the side.

“I still can’t believe he’s not here,” You murmured, stirring absentmindedly at a napkin, “Feels weird, doing all this without him.”

“Aw, you miss your boyfriend.” Ginny cooed dramatically, nudging you with her elbow.

You rolled your eyes, “Of course I do. But it’s more than that. He was everywhere last year. Loud, obnoxious, stealing sips from my drink, sticking notes to my back... It’s just quiet now.”

“He did write you, though,” Hermione offered, smiling, “Nearly every day, if I recall correctly. Your poor owl is exhausted sending your cute little love notes back and forth.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, mocking deep emotion, “Yes. A romantic sentence followed by ten paragraphs of commentary on the exact ratio of sugar to fizz in Fizzing Whizbees. I could swoon.”

“Well, it is Fred,” Ginny said, giggling.

“He said he might try to visit this weekend,” You admitted, eyes flicking toward the window as a group of third-years raced past outside, “But I haven’t heard anything.”

“Maybe he’s surprising you.” Hermione offered with a coy smile, lifting her mug.

“He’s not subtle enough for surprises,” You replied with a grin. “He’d probably drop from the ceiling shouting, ‘DID YOU MISS ME?’.”

At that exact moment, a familiar voice rang out from behind you.

“Well the ceiling was taken so I guess I'm doing this the old-fashioned way.”

You blinked, heart stuttering, and whipped around.

Standing just a few steps away, snow dusting his hair, cheeks pink from the cold, scarf looped loosely around his neck, and the most insufferable grin on his face.

You barely had time to register him before you were out of the booth and throwing your arms around his neck. He caught you easily, spinning you once before setting you down, laughing.

“You prat,” You breathed, hands on either side of his face, “You didn’t tell me—!”

“Would’ve ruined the surprise.” He said, eyes warm and crinkled at the corners.

Ginny raised her butterbeer like a toast. “You owe me five Sickles,” She told Hermione, “I said she’d cry.”

“I’m not crying!” You called back, affronted, though your eyes were definitely misty.

Fred beamed, “Give it ten minutes. I’m very moving.”

“Ugh, can't imagine why anyone would miss that.” Ginny muttered, grimacing into her drink.

And as Fred pressed a quick kiss to your lips and tucked you in closer beside him, it felt like everything had snapped back into place. The noise, the laughter, the warmth—Fred was back, and for a little while at least, the world was exactly as it should be.

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

@superlegend216

Harry Potter Taglist:

@downbad4reid

@revesephemeres

@catiwinky

[jackabbotsfakeleg]

As Above So Below I Chapter 5 - Choked Up

Synopsis: After a long-awaited week of nights, you finally have a day off with Jack Abbot and he’s got you right where he wants you. Pairing: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader  Word count: 3k Warnings: SMUT; 18+, MDNI.  Choking, Discussion of divorced dad rock, our favorite sad boys, dark humor, talk of mental illness. A/N: Welcome to the beginning of the two-chapter Jack Abbot sexcapade. If you’re not into choking, I’m sorry (but not that sorry). Don’t try this shit at home unless you know what you’re doing.  Sorry it took me so long to write, I have been sad.  Song lyrics are “Breathe” by Knucklepuck. Thank you for reading, I appreciate every single one of you. Masterlist

Chapter 5: Choked Up

"Buckle up, cause you're gonna feel it In the chest, we're due to decompress Fill your lungs and hope we're even Sport a smile like you don't know what comes next Shut me out with all my demons But don't ignore the ones in your own head Potential power lost in sequence To keep it short, I've done more with less"

Sleep heals most things— The blinding headache, The ache in your back The existential dread, and the aftereffects of baring parts of your soul to a man who finds comfort in darkness.

An alarm wakes you up at 5pm. It takes a minute for you to register where you are, asleep and alone in Jack’s bed. He let you sleep and set an alarm—a small gesture of kindness A reminder to thank him later.

You get up and find him standing in his kitchen, Snacks laid out neatly on the counter, Next to his backpack, Packing for another shift. Neat. Orderly. Like everything has a place. Can’t take the military out of the boy

“She lives” He doesn’t look up from what he’s doing but acknowledges your presence,

“You let me sleep,” you frown, moving so that you’re standing next to him, watching him work

“You needed it, the first shift will fuck you up” he continues, zipping up his backpack, “packed you a snack.”

“Thank you, but I didn’t come to nap” You remind him, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“Yeah? Well, I can’t fuck the sadness out of you on a few hours of sleep” He chuckles, he finally takes a second to look at you, ‘Jesus, those eyes.”

“That bad huh?” You raise an eyebrow,

“I’d know them anywhere” he narrows his eyes at you, “like looking in a fucking mirror, kid.”

“I’ll be better next time” You promise, “Scout’s honor”

“You don’t have to be better” he shakes his head, turning towards you. He leans forward, face inches from yours, eyes moving from your eyes to your mouth, “the trauma dumping is kind of hot.”

You lean forward, lips meeting his, and it’s immediately different than it was with Robby. It’s his hands in your hair pulling you into him, tongue in your mouth, desperate and forceful and demanding, and lasts until you’re both out of breath.

“I give it an 8” He smirks, rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip, “could have felt a little more enthusiastic on your end.”

“Fuck off,” a laugh escapes your mouth, turning to lean against the kitchen counter.

“You want a ride to work?” He asks, “I’ll let you listen to sad music.”

“You sure you don’t care if we walk in together?” You ask

“Oh, you’re getting out before we get there,” he jokes, picking up his backpack “Can’t ruin my reputation.”

“Of being dark and broody and chronically single?” You ask, walking past him to collect your things

“You got it, baby.” He smiles, “Gotta keep ‘em on their toes.”

He drives you to work, And he lets you listen to sad music, as promised. But he doesn’t make you get out of the car a few blocks away. Just two coworkers walking into work together. He offers to pick you up for the next several shifts, And you accept the offer. Anything for more time with this one.

On the third day of riding to work together, he makes you listen to something called Divorced Dad Rock And it’s in this moment you learn that Jack Abbot knows the entire discography of Creed. By heart. You can barely stop laughing by the time you get to work, Listening to him belt, “With Arms Wide Open,” thankful for the brief moments of whatever this is.

“Well, well, well” Robby is waiting at the nurses’ desk as the two of you approach, raising an eyebrow at the two of you.

“Did you know about Divorced Dad Rock? Or is this a Jack Abbot original?” You ask Robby, leaning against the desk.

“That was supposed to be our thing” He replies, looking at Jack, “not cool, man.”

“I think I’m starting to gather why both of you are single” You nod, looking between the two of them

“I shared this with you in confidence” Jack adds, “and now you’re using it to insult us.”

“I would never” Your hand to your chest, smirking, “It just doesn’t feel special if you’ve already sang along to Creed with someone else.”

“In his defense, we only listen to Dave Matthews Band together” Robby chuckles, “You can have Creed.”

“Sad eyes and a brat” Jack quips, quiet enough for only you to hear, “you going to be like this all shift?”

“Probably” you shrug, “is it going to be a problem?”

“At work? No. At my place later? Yes.” He nods, “Got the day off tomorrow.”

He leaves you standing at the nurses’ station to anticipate the potential consequences as he disappears for shift change.

The night starts off slow, luckily for you, as you’ve convinced your staff to stick around for an evening meeting to review the last several weeks as the head of the department. The idea of running an entire department sounded great on paper, after all, you’ve been asking to make mental health treatment more available, cost-effective, and evidenced based since the day you were hired at your first job. Every new psychologist starts out as bright-eyed and full of hope. It's only later do you get beaten down by the systems in place and recognize that those symptoms were set up to keep people in a cycle of failure. But now you were in the driver’s seat, the hospital’s full resources and budget at your disposal, and somehow you were still stuck explaining for the umpteenth time why it’s “not cool” to leave psychiatric patients in the ER for days at a time.

They told you that you would have employees, but they did not tell you that these employees would have questionable ethics and morals.  This was in fact, your circus, and unfortunately these were your monkeys: One psychiatry resident- Dr. Sherman- who chain smoked in the ambulance bay and had a reputation for pushing pills so his patients could “get some sleep,” one psychology post-doc, Dr. Sutton- who made it known that this was not her first, second, or third choice but seemed to be knowledgeable enough, and two psychology interns, Ms. Goodwin and Ms. Simmons, who had difficulty understanding the difference between disclosure and debriefing. You were at least grateful for the psych techs who were capable of making sure the patients and the staff were safe. 'No one had been assaulted here in years,' they promised, and you intended to keep it that way. 

“Our patients can’t live in the ED” you let out an exasperated sigh, forehead resting on the table in front of you “Either discharge them to the community or a residential facility, or wheel them up to the behavioral health floor so we can treat them."

"We also shouldn't be calling them names like the Kraken" Sutton spoke up, annoyed.

"I agree, and will talk with the attendings in the ER" you confirmed, validating her concerns

“Also, we don’t have the staff or the beds,” she continued, shaking her head, nodding towards the interns “and even if we did, we can’t get those two over there to stop crying with their patients and start treating them. The C in CBT doesn’t stand for crying.”

"We're trying to empathize with our patients," Goodwin remarked, and it took everything in your being not to roll your eyes. Some people should not be psychologists. 

“Enough” you shoot them both a look, advising them to stop talking, “What do we need? We’ve got a hospital budget, and I’ve learned a thing or two about being creative from prison.”

“More techs, updated testing instruments, the ability to coordinate with community care, more restrictive settings for the behaviorally stupid patients, and better treatment options,” Sutton has been thinking about this for clearly a long time, “Oh, and the will to live.”

“Fine. I’ll see if I can poach techs from Western Psych, God knows they could use a break from the constant staff assaults, I will bring in updated testing instruments from home you can use, I will personally attend the NAMI outreach meetings and see if Gloria can help me contract some beds for those who don’t need hospitalizations. What else?” You run through her prior requests, “we’ll do five-point bed restraints for anyone who can’t keep themselves safe, and I’ll approve hours for attending training.”

“Seriously?” It’s like Christmas morning for them, “You’d do all that?”

“Yeah.” You nod your head, “You gotta find your own will to live though. Listen, I’ve never been a fan of the red tape of administration. If I can work my way around it with the federal government, this hospital should be a cake walk. You got me all day, and on some weeks like this week, all night. We’ll meet weekly for supervision, I will be available by phone and email, and I have an office downstairs near triage and you’re more than welcome to pop in at any time.” 

Your shift ends—the promise of a day off spent with Jack Abbot.

The silence on the drive to his apartment is heavy. You haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss several days ago, and he’s still reeling from you talking back to him earlier in the shift,

He shuts the door to his apartment the barely gives you time to set your bag down before his mouth his on yours again, back pressed up against the door.

“Been thinking about this all night,” He admits, mouth moving from your lips to your jaw and down your neck.

“Been thinking about this since Robby’s apartment” you add, as his tongue traces a line from your shoulder to your pulse point.

He takes a step back and holds out his hand, leading you down the hall and into his bathroom.

You hop up onto the counter while he disappears into another room, reappearing with two towels, tossing one to you, “Heads up, kid.”

You grab his wrist, pulling him towards you, your hands finding the bottom of his shirt, fingers sliding under the material, his skin warm against your hands.

He leans forward, hand sliding along your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers laced in your hair, tilting your head back to look up at him, before kissing you hard, like he’s trying to show you just how long he’s waited for this. His hands move from the back of your neck, along your jaw. 

Your hand moves on top of his, guiding his fingers down around your throat, squeezing.

You feel him smirk against your lips, as he pulls away to look at you.

“This your kind of thing?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you, and you nod against his hand.

You push his body back with your other hand enough for your knee to slide between his, pressing up against his already hardening cock. His grip tightens around your throat, his other hand grabbing your knee, eyes darkening, “Don’t.”

“Or what?” both hands around his wrist, a smile on your face, “you’ll come?"

“You’ve been a brat all fucking day” His voice is low, “talking back to me.”

“Seems like it turns you on” your voice constricted by the hand around your throat.

You try to move your knee again, other leg wrapping around his waist, and he squeezes harder, pressing your head back against the mirror hard enough to shake the glass behind you. He shakes his head and let’s go, “you need to learn how to fucking listen.”

He takes a step back from you to turn the shower on before resuming his position between your legs, fingers tilting your chin up looking at the red marks on your neck, “Fuck.” “You’re not going to hurt me” You push his hand away, “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

His hand slides along your jaw, to your cheek, his other hand pushing the hair out of your eyes. He hasn’t stopped looking at you. His mouth finds yours. It’s slow this time, drags the breath out of your lungs, pulls you close to him. It’s not what you expected after his hand was around your throat.

“Strip” he mumbles against your mouth. It’s not a suggestion, but a directive. He takes a step back, gives you enough room. You pull your shirt up over your head, and unclasp your bra, tossing them both to the floor. You unbutton your jeans, eyes still on him, and he helps you out of them.

Jack reaches out, his fingers running over the lace material of your underwear. He doesn’t hesitate, but slides his hand inside the material, fingers running along your slit, his thumb pressed to your clit, eliciting a breathy moan from your lips.

“Already so fucking wet,” he mumbles, pulling his hand away, before licking his fingers and wrapping them around your throat again, ”show me how you touch yourself.”

He gives you some room, and your cheeks flush. His hand squeezes harder as you slide your hand between your legs, tracing the outline of your already soaked-through panties. He watches, mouth slightly open as you slide a finger under the material and inside your folds. against your clit. He squeezes harder. Another finger follows, making slow circles circle, your other hand reaching out to push his scrubs down over his hips. He hisses at the contact, his free hand gripping his already hard cock, moving up and down his length slowly, thumbing the tip.

“You think about me when you touch yourself?” He asks, eyes on yours as you nod against his hand.

“Been thinking about you since I started this fucking job. I think about what you’d do to me, how it would feel to have you inside of me,” It comes out as a whisper mixed with a moan as you slip a finger inside yourself. As soon as the sound leaves your mouth his hand leaves your throat. His hands move under your knees, and he slides your ass right to the edge of the counter, the tip of his cock pressing against you.

“Look at you, spread out like this, on the bathroom counter, begging to be fucked” He groans as he slides his cock against your clit a few times, “you’re so fucking beautiful like this”

“Jack, I—” You want to tell him not to rush this, but he’s got his hand around your throat again, as he slowly slides inside, breathing deeply as he moves inch by inch until he bottoms out, hooking your feet behind his back. His eyes never leave yours as he begins to work into you, fingers squeezing harder with each stroke.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmurs, as you moan against him, “fucking perfect.”

He drives into you repeatedly, and you clench around him, forcing him to work his length in and out. Blood pounds in your ears as your breathing gets shallower and shallower. His free hand grips your hips as he moves deeper and faster with every stroke. You weren’t expecting to feel the familiar sensation of your own orgasm approaching this quickly.

“Jack, fuck, you’re going to make me come if you keep this up,” you pant, trying to grind against him. His hand leaves your throat and slides between your bodies, finding your clit, making lazy circles as he maintains his pace, eliciting a loud moan from your lips.  Your arms slide around his neck, lifting your hips, both gasping at the change in angle.

“That’s it baby, be a good girl and come for me” his mouth to your ear. It blurs the edges of your vision–your self-control slipping. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

Your entire body goes rigid, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as your orgasm hits hard and fast, hips bucking against his as he rides out your orgasm. His breath is hot as he buries his face into your neck, as his pace picks up, his thrusts becoming uneven, chasing his own orgasm. “You fuck me so good, Jack,” you mumble against his skin, and your words are enough to push him over the edge and he comes, a low and deep groan escaping his lips.

He lets go of you, and you lean back against the bathroom mirror, your hands sliding along his shoulders and down his arms as he pulls out, his lips pressing soft kisses along your neck, lips, and cheeks.

“You always come that fast or should I take that as a compliment?” He chuckles

“That’s all you” You nod, still trying to catch your breath, “Jesus Christ.”

“Did I hurt you?” He tilts your chin up, his lips grazing over a small bruise forming on the side of your neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be” you brush him off, “It was so fucking hot.”

“You think the water’s still hot?” He chuckles, turning his attention back to the shower that’s been running the entire time.

“Probably not” you reply, “but if you turn it off now, I can think of something else we could do for the next hour while we wait.”

“Another round?” He raises his eyebrow at you.

“Take out.” You smile, “I’m fucking starving.”

Tag list is open!  @loud-mouph @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @thebumbqueen @emilia-the-artist @boldlyherdream @felicisimor@eugene-emt-roe @i-mushi @andabuttonnose @moonlightmvrvel @miss-me-jack @dantemorenatalie @qardasngan@agreeewrites @aloudplace @painment @artsymaddie @d1n3e @damnitsthings @thicficbich1@readinwnoon @imagines-r-s @meowmeowyoongles @ikindier @katastrophic04 @lexibearsworld @luna-loves08 @herlovelykiss @all-by-myself98 @livingavilaloca @trustme3-13 @yourdaydreamerfan

Divider by saradika-graphics

[suguann]

Possessive!Geto who pretends he doesn't care when he overhears that a new high-paying customer comes to the club every Friday to watch you specifically perform on stage, knowing he can’t really do anything about it unless a patron breaks the rules printed on a neon sign above the bar—No touching the dancers unless you're tipping—even if he’s the one in charge.

He’ll smile and nod, shaking hands with big spenders with sleazy smiles in the VIP lounge while his eyes find you from the other side of the room as you climb into another man’s lap.

He can’t stop his jaw from clenching when that same customer tips a month’s worth of rent every week or asks about private shows even though you don't do them. How he notices you smiling prettily for this customer, eyelashes fluttering with stars in your eyes to match the glitter on your cheeks before you walk off stage toward the dressing rooms. 

Sometimes you play the part of making a lonely man feel wanted too well. 

Possessive!Geto whose hand tightens around his glass tumbler, watching the man who’s been coming to see you (now twice a week) slip a thick white card into the top of your stockings. The fact that he touched your thigh with his dirty hands irks Geto the most.

In times like this, he wishes he had never come up with the rule about keeping your relationship a secret—so nobody thinks I’m picking favorites—because regret is a thick pill to swallow.

When you walk up to his office later, Geto wastes no time by dragging you down onto his lap, trailing his nose down the slope of your neck where your soft-smelling perfume is strongest and sucking a bruise into the hollow of your throat for everyone to see. 

You’re still wearing those cross-stitch stockings—the feel of them under his hands making him halfway hard—and he yanks the bodice of your dress down just underneath the swell of your breasts to get rid of the thought of another man touching you.

“B-but, Suguru, we’re at work—”

“Let me enjoy these pretty tits, huh?” he growls before sucking a nipple into his greedy mouth.

You whine his name, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

The blinds to his floor-to-ceiling windows are open, but it's tinted glass so nobody can tell what happens behind locked doors. Except, when he glances toward the busy club below, he wishes everyone in the building could witness what it looks like for you to fall apart under his hands—a personal show you put on just for him.

Only him. His fingers hook inside you to feel you tight and hot around him as a reminder.

Possessive!Geto who has enough one day after that customer asks for another private session—this time, he goes to Geto directly.

It’s a busy night, and every dancer works the floor. Well, almost. 

You’re kneeling between his spread legs, spit dribbling down your chin, whimpering while trying to open your throat for him.

He brushes your hair away from your face, watching your mouth messily slurp around his cock under his desk—his jaw is slack, and his other hand clenches on the armrest of his chair. “So good—fuck, baby—so fucking pretty,” he mutters, his top teeth catching his bottom lip.

His head tilts back when you eagerly fill your mouth with him again and again until he feels you choke, making his thighs flex under your hands. Geto’s thumb smooths an arc across your cheek.

“There you go,” he huffs. “I love that little mouth—”

There’s a knock on his door, and he feels you panic, moving to pull off his cock. But the hand in your hair tightens, keeping you pressed against him. Your nails bite into his skin, tears prickling your lashline as small distressed mewls escape your lips.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” he hisses. “Not unless I say so.”

Another knock echoes in his office.

“Come in.”

The customer with the too-shiny tie and a penchant for slipping thousands into your g-string opens the door with a smile on his face and a glint in his eye, sauntering into the room like he owns the place. “How about that deal—”

Whatever he’s about to ask is lost on Geto because his ears are ringing when he feels you swallow around him, and his balls draw up tight against his body, and—

Possessive!Geto who grunts when you moan around his cock as he cums down your throat, his lips twitching at the look of shock on the customer’s face.

“I’ve heard your deal,” he says eventually, glancing down at your glazed eyes and wiping away what little mess escaped your mouth with his thumb. “But she’s not yours to take.”

[revelboo]

I’ve commented once i believe on your account (unless I’m just forgetting I honestly have no idea or not) about Roddy and his stupid arm joints (in which I’m still mad about) but you’ve inspired me to finish sentinel prime! You’ve also inspired me more into model kits! Anyways love your stories, you have been feeding my “wanting to be cradled by giant robots” mindset. Anyways I’m not the best with the “ask me anything” ask box (letter box?) hope ur day is or has gone well! 

He looks awesome! Even if he’s just awful

The comments y’all left on the last chapter are killing me 🤣

Everything Is Alright Pt 111

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “Here,” he growls, finding a cleaning cloth and draping it over you in addition to the blanket you already were curled in. Normally he’d take some satisfaction in the fact that it scents of him and it’s going to make Starscream furious, but it’s hard to find any pleasure right now. You’re still leaking and making little hitching, sniffling sounds and he doesn’t know what to do about it. How does your idiot mate normally comfort you? Watching you huddle into the blankets, he awkwardly reaches out to pat the top of your head. “Bonds can be reestablished and full bonds can’t be severed,” he says, hinting. Because Soundwave cares for you enough to try to bond you, but you hadn’t accepted him fully. Wants to ask about that, but resists when you turn those teary eyes on him.

• Watching Megatron reach and carefully pinch a packet of food between two servos to offer you, he vents when you take it even though you have no appetite. “I just hate that they don’t talk to me. They just decide everything for me like it doesn’t matter what I want,” you mutter, shoulders hunching as he sits on the berth beside you, massive and not as intimidating as he’d first been. Maybe your self preservation instincts have given up at this point, but seeing him so uncomfortable by your tears has killed any lingering fear you’d had of him. “Like I don’t really matter.” Beyond a warm body in their berths and you hate that thought even as you have it, because it’s unfair. You know they care about you, they’re just, well-

• “They’re both idiots.” Swallowing a growl, he awkwardly reaches and cups his palm against your back when you look up at him. Starscream’s behavior doesn’t really surprise him, but he’d thought Soundwave would have been more levelheaded. He’s the calmest mech he knows, but then what does he know about bonded mechs? Using a servo to nudge your hands and the packet you’re still holding, he frowns until you obediently tear it open and pick at the food. “Eat something,” he prompts, rumbling when you take a tiny bite.

• Snarling when someone seizes him from behind and hauls him off his peds, Soundwave glares up at Bonecrusher. Struggling against those big hands as Scrapper and Hook haul up Starscream. The other three Constructicons clearly annoyed and ready to help. Servos shaking he’s so furious, he glares at the bleeding Seeker. Can taste energon where he’d bitten himself at some point, every ache and pain making itself known without the blind rage keeping him going. Optics narrowing behind his visor when the Seeker struggles free. “Stop wrecking scrap we’ll have to fix,” Scrapper growls, sweeping a hand at the damage they’d done. “Take it outside.”

• One of his wings is hanging at an angle, burning like fire as he scowls at Soundwave. Had never seen the stoic mech so angry before. “Keep your servos off my mate,” he snarls, aware of the optics on him. That he just publicly admitted what you are to him, laying claim to you. Because you are his, you’re everything to him. Striding past Soundwave, or trying to, as the communications officer shoves him back against the wall.

• “My mate,” Soundwave growls, leaning into the Seeker’s face before shoving away when the Constructicons move as if to separate them again. Striding toward Starscream’s quarters and finding you missing. “Where?” He snarls, rounding on the nearest bystander. Long Haul shrugging at him before Vortex gleefully calls out ‘Megatron took your human.’ Venting, he heads for Megatron’s habsuite, aware of Starscream limping after him.

• Cringing deeper into your blankets when someone knocks on Megatron’s door, you turn wide eyes his way. Because you’re not at all ready to deal with an angry Soundwave or Starscream’s betrayal. Head tipping as he stares down at you, his smile is absolutely wicked and shockingly real. “I could send them away for a bit,” he says and it’s almost enough to make you start crying all over again. Feeling bad even as you whisper a tiny ‘please.’ Needing time to think, to untangle all the hurt and confusion.

Previous

Next

[jellicatty]

‧˚꒰ TRAFALGAR LAW FALLING IN LOVE ₊

╰┈➤ contains : trafalgar law x gender neutral reader. fluff. sfw. 908 words.

╰┈➤ note : he may be a bit ooc here huhu plz forgive me ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

— "You're interesting Y/N- ya"

• There’s only one thing you need in order to impress and catch the attention of Trafalgar Law: be smart. Body shape, body count, and looks do not matter to him. With intelligence alone, it’s easy to capture this man’s eyes.

• Once he’s attracted to you, expect to be showered with teasing remarks. Of course, not too many, just enough to make you flustered for the rest of the day. However, this does not mean he wants to be your significant other. Remember, this is Trafalgar Law we’re talking about. He wants to be sure if this is a feeling he wants to pursue.

• He knows the dangers of the New World and losing someone close all too well. So, I’m guessing he will never make a move (unless provoked by a near-death experience). Only stares from afar, small jokes here and there, and maybe some light touches too. It would be the end for him if you knew he was somehow attracted to you.

• You probably have to be friends before the whole ordeal happens. I can’t see Law falling in love at first sight or immediately after a few days. There has to be some deep trust and chemistry running between you.

— "This can’t be real."

• After some time, if his crush on you still hasn’t gone away, then he might consider thinking about it. Hard. Because there’s no way he, Trafalgar Law, could catch feelings for someone. He knew the day would come when he would eventually find someone and harbor feelings. But he didn’t expect it to be you, someone already dear to him.

• Well, he’s glad it was you. Since Law is a terrifying ex-warlord, supernova pirate, it would be extremely hard for him to have feelings for a civilian. Heck, he wouldn't even let himself, nor his crew, get close enough to a random person. It’s too risky.

• So he has feelings for you. Now what? He would be in full denial mode. He will deny it and will push you away. He’s angry and afraid of the connection blossoming between you two. Having lost so many people, from his own family and country to Corazon, his acknowledgment of his feelings would take a while. If he does stop pretending to be blind to his own emotions, a confession from him will be very unlikely. He’s taking this to his grave and no one can possibly know about it.

• His crew knows. Specifically, Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin. Bepo would for sure know about it first, then tell the other two about his assumption. Shachi and Penguin would quickly agree and start planning.

"Operation: get Law some game!"

• Law would be so annoyed if they knew because, first of all, only he has to know it. Second, what happens if you knew, huh? That aside, his advances towards you would be so awkward and… peculiar.

• Shachi and Penguin probably saw "Medical pick-up lines for your babe!" and gave it to Law.

• "Erythema is red. Cyanosis is blue. I get apneic when I see you!"

• Oh Law, please don't let them bring out the medical pick-up lines. He would handle the flirting himself but damn, why is it so hard now that he likes you? His smoothness is still there, but eye contact and your smile can easily break his cool.

• Speaking of your smile, Law is enchanted by it! Not only that, but by your eyes too. It doesn’t matter if the color is dark brown or blue, as long as he feels the sincerity and affection behind it, he would be head over heels. Imagine, Law getting flustered at your pretty eyes fluttering (*≧ω≦)

• He would be so soft for you and don’t take advantage of it. Just bring out your best puppy eyes and he will do anything for you (but you will hear a quiet grumble). His weakness is cute things, and if you’re someone with a face leaning on the cutesy side, then congratulations! You have Trafalgar Law wrapped around your finger. Joking, but it would really be such an advantage if you’re cute.

• Plus, he’s overprotective of you. Really, really protective. His possessiveness and protectiveness show whenever you’re in danger. Law would definitely not put you on the front lines when a battle happens. This is for your own safety, and he doesn't care if you hate him for it. He trusts your abilities, but there are enemies out of your league, especially in the New World.

• You nearly dying can push him to suddenly blurt out his feelings. It would be really random and subtle; you won’t even realize it at first. Him too, he would do it unintentionally since his emotions controlled his mouth.

• There are other ways he can confess; he would much prefer it if it was spontaneous though because thinking too much about it makes him nervous. However, he still plans ahead of time what to say to you. It wouldn’t be extravagant. Maybe a few simple words then he’s out. But...

— Words can’t describe what he’s feeling.

• No amount of words can truly convey the overwhelming emotion drowning his torn heart. He takes Y/N's hand in his and slowly moves it to where his heart resides. His heartbeat quickens with each passing second, his breath picking up pace while his eyes search theirs for the familiar beauty that entices him.

— "All of this… it’s because of you."

© jellicatty | no plagiarising please (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[0o-junebug-o0]

Hii can we please get an Emily Prentiss with a fem reader with something to do with strip poker? :)

Love your fics sm!!

Strip Poker

Here you go, my love! And thank you! Also, I learned how to play texas hold 'em from a hermitcraft video haha

genre: fluff

cw: suggestive 16+! kinda fem! kinda gn!reader (reader's gender is not specified but is described as having breasts and wearing a bra), strip poker, getting together, kinda fade to black smut

wordcount: 1.9k

“Wanna play poker?”

You turn to look at Emily. She’s lounging against the arm of her couch and watching you with raised eyebrows and a cheeky smile.

“You better not be like Reid,” you warn.

She laughs. “No, no. Don’t worry. I’m good, but I can’t count cards.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What are you trying to trick me out of? I don’t have any cash.”

“So does that mean you want to play?”

You shrug. “Sure. I don’t know what we would bet though.”

“We could play strip poker,” she says simply, like it’s no big deal at all.

Your eyes widen and you can feel your face warm. “Seriously?”

Emily shrugs. “We don’t have to, of course,” she says nonchalantly. “But, yeah, seriously.”

You swallow hard as you try to wrap your head around Emily’s proposal. Strip poker. With Emily. With the woman you’ve had a crush on for over a year. The thought seems almost too good to be true. You find yourself nodding and Emily’s eyes light up.

You can’t help but feel a little guilty as she pushes herself off the couch and leaves to grab a deck of cards. But she suggested it. It was her idea. It’s not like this was an elaborate plan on your behalf to see her naked.

Figuring it would be easier to play on a flat surface, you slip off the couch and onto the floor, crossing your legs beneath you and leaning back against the base of the couch. You pick at your fingernails nervously as Emily returns waving a deck of cards triumphantly.

She sits on the floor in front of you, leaving about a foot of space, and slips the cards from the pack. “What kind of poker do you want to play?” she asks, shuffling the cards with an ease you find insanely attractive.

“I only know Texas Hold ‘Em,” you admit nervously.

Emily nods and shuffles the cards again. “We’ll play that then. I’ll teach you another variant some other time.”

You haven’t even started to play, but your cheeks warm at the thought of doing this again. 

“No blinds, obviously,” Emily says.

You nod in agreement.

“We’ll bet an item of clothing and the other person can call to match the amount or raise by adding another item.” she continues. “You lose a hand, you lose the clothes you bet. And that includes folding unless it’s right off the bat.”

You nod again, too flustered to come up with any words.

“Alright,” Emily says, dragging out the word as she deals two cards facedown to herself and you.

You pick up your cards. Queen of spades and two of clubs. Not a great hand, but a queen high isn’t horrible.  “I-I’ll bet my shirt,” you mutter.

Emily nods. “I will as well,” she responds, taking three cards off the top of the deck and laying them out between you. Eight of hearts, eight of clubs, and 3 of spades. 

You glance up to see Emily watching you with an indecipherable expression. You can feel your heart rate pick up and you fight the urge to lower your gaze, staring right into her eyes instead. She smiles. “Do you want to raise?” she asks.

“No, I’m good.”

“You ready for the next card?”

You hum in affirmation and she takes the top card from the deck and sets it next to the others. Two of diamonds. You feel a bit of relief at the thought that you might not be the first to begin undressing.

Emily pauses for a moment to give you a chance to raise, and when you don’t she takes the next card from the deck and sets it down to reveal the six of diamonds. “Ace high,” she says, lowering her hand for you to see.

You smirk at her and flip your cards. “Two pair.”

Emily laughs and tilts her head in acknowledgment. She sets her cards down and curls her fingers under the hem of her shirt. Your breath hitches as she slowly starts to lift her shirt, revealing first her toned stomach and then the black bra that perfectly supports her breasts. Her eyes stay locked on yours the entire time. She finally pulls the shirt over her head and tosses it aside and you have to fight the urge to stare. She’s absolutely gorgeous and you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Emily reaches out and rests her hand on your knee, making you jump slightly. “You alright?” she asks sweetly.

You find yourself nodding before you can even properly process her question. She smiles at you and your stomach feels like it does a backflip.

“Ready for the next hand?” she asks, picking up all the cards and shuffling them.

You nod again. It’s like her beauty has rendered you incapable of coherent thought, much less speech. Emily deals the cards and you look to see that you have a six of hearts and a seven of clubs. With some luck, you might end up with a straight and get to see Emily take off another piece of clothing. You blink hard to drag yourself back to reality as Emily says, “I bet my socks.”

You look down at your hand again. “I’ll bet my shirt.”

Emily raises an eyebrow at you and you smile back. Your nerves are quickly starting to shift into excitement. She sets the next three cards down. Ace of hearts, 10 of spades, and jack of clubs.

“I’ll raise my belt,” Emily says. You look up at her to see a cocky expression on her face. The flop gives the chance for a straight, though you doubt she has both a queen and a king, if she already had a straight she’d be raising way more than just her belt. She might have one of them. Or maybe she’s bluffing.

“I’ll match with my belt.”

Emily deals out the turn. A five of diamonds. 

“I raise my pants.”

Your head shoots up and you stare at Emily with wide eyes. Maybe she does have a king and queen. You try to read her, but her expression is the same slight cockiness and self-satisfaction it’s been the whole game. You look back and forth between your hand and the community cards. 

“I fold.”

Emily smiles wide and you hand her your cards face down for her to shuffle back into the deck with the others. You take a deep breath to steady yourself before beginning to unbuckle your belt. Emily’s eyes seem practically glued to your hands as she shuffles the cards. The metal of the buckle clinks as you pull your belt through the loops of your pants and set it off to the side. You lock eyes with Emily as you hook your fingers under your shirt and her hands go still. 

You smirk, pleased to see that you seem to have the same effect on her that she has on you. Taking a leaf from her book, you maintain eye contact as you slowly remove your shirt, and by the time it’s gone and you’re just in your bra, you can see the blush on her cheeks. The realization that she’s enjoying this just as much as you starts a fire burning in your gut and you start to think that maybe Emily wants you too.

She opens and closes her mouth for a moment, before lowering her gaze back to the cards and shuffling them again. “You’re beautiful,” she says softly.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Th-thank you,” you stutter, taken aback. “You are too.”

She lifts her head slightly and smiles at you softly before handing out the cards. Seven of hearts and king of spades. Emily hums as she looks at her cards. 

“I’ll, um, I’ll bet my socks,” you say. Now that you’re both shirtless, you can feel the excitement curling in your chest. You want to see more of her. 

Emily nods. “I’ll bet my belt.”

She lays down a four of clubs, nine of spades, and a king of clubs. You smile confidently. The flop doesn’t lend itself to anything good so you feel you have a good chance with a pair of kings. Even if Emily has a four, as long as another one isn’t played in the turn or river, you’ll win.

“You gonna raise?”

You think for a moment before shrugging. You might as well. “I’ll raise my pants.”

Emily’s face flushes. “I’ll match with my own.”

Neither of you raises the bet as an ace of hearts and eight of clubs are played. When the hand is over, you smirk at her, feeling confident in your victory. You set your cards face up on the floor. Emily laughs and does the same. Your jaw drops. She has a four of spades and a four of hearts.

“You forgot about three of a kind, didn’t you?”

You stare at her in shock. “I—yeah,” you admit. “I thought for sure I had you.”

“That’s what you get for being cocky,” Emily teases with a laugh.

You scowl playfully and stick out your tongue. You quickly tug off your socks and toss them to the side before climbing to your feet. Emily’s gaze follows you as you stand, watching the movement of your fingers as you undo your pants. You can see the way her chest heaves with each breath as she watches you slowly push your jeans off your hips.

You bend over seductively, giving her a good view up your bra as you slide your pants down your legs. You swear you can hear her breath hitch. Once free of your jeans you toss them off to the side and sit back down with your legs crossed in a way that leaves your underwear exposed. 

Emily lowers her gaze and quickly reshuffles and deals the cards. The round passes quickly and you can tell she’s distracted. She jumps straight to betting her pants and you match with your bra, then she loses with a jack high to your pair of threes. She practically jumps to her feet and without removing her belt, pushes her pants down.

The sight of her underwear makes your face burn. They’re a pair of small black boyshorts that hug her ass perfectly as she bends over, forcing you to struggle between choosing to look there or at her breasts. Either way, she’s gorgeous. 

She tosses her pants to the side and, instead of sitting back down where she was, she closes the gap between you and lowers herself to sit on your lap. Your arms shoot up in surprise, your hands hovering over her skin, unsure if you’re allowed to touch. You can hear your pulse rushing in your ears.

Emily drapes her arms around the back of your neck and stares at you for a moment. You stare back with wide eyes and your mouth parted slightly in shock. She brushes her hand over your cheek and you swear your heart skips a beat. 

“You can touch me, sweetheart,” she whispers.

You nod desperately and immediately your hands find her hips. “I-is this really happening?” you breathe, unable to wrap your head around it.

“If you want it to.”

You nod again, just as desperately. “Yes, God, yes. I’ve wanted you for so long,” you gasp weakly.

Emily smiles softly at you. “I have as well.” Her gaze drops from your eyes to your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

You think the way your hand immediately slides into her hair and presses her lips against yours is answer enough.

_____

REQUESTS ARE (temporarily) CLOSED!

Taglist!: fill out this form if you want to be tagged when I post fics

@ashluvscaterina @angeliccss @novaanna @moonysreid @eliscannotdance @ilyremuslupin @greyslover3004 @written-in-the-stars @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580

[username0204]

I have a genuine question… how do Milkvans/anti-Bylers think the whole love triangle is going to unfold?? Like, I honestly can’t imagine it unfolding at all if Mike doesn’t reciprocate Will’s feelings…

Ok, let’s brainstorm:

I’ve heard that some think that Mike will figure out the painting lie and confront Will about it and say that he doesn’t feel that way but he accepts him and they’re still friends…

Ok, first question here is how he figures out the lie? Well he’ll need to talk to El about it right? Is there any possibility that their relationship isn’t affected by that? By Mike finally having a break through in his ability to say “I love you” to El after what Will told him? And then what?

Mike thinks “if Will did that painting himself and El suspected that it was for someone he likes, then that means he’s totally in love with me! Oh no I need to go tell him that “no homo” in case he ever tries to make a move on me, even though we’ve known each other for 10yrs and he never did and I would still be clueless now if it wasn’t for that painting”…?

Like, no way! There is no way he would pull the whole “he’s in love with me” out of his *straight* ass… he’s too insecure to assume sth like that especially from a boy if he is *straight*… idk about you but if you have a low self esteem and feel totally platonic towards someone you don’t just jump to the conclusion that they are in love with you (especially if that would… go beyond what is easily expected - aka heteronormativity). Not unless you hope for it… If Mike is *straight* even if he finds out about the lie, he will most likely assume that Will just lied to make him feel better about El. That’s all. He won’t “figure out” that Will is in love. But he might still confront him, bc he’s hurt and “friends don’t lie”.

So he confronts Will right? He says sth like “I know that El didn’t commission that painting! Why did you lie?” and then… what? Do they all think that Will is gonna be like “It’s bc I’m in love with you Mike!”? No way xd Have they seen S4 at all?

Will has totally given up on the idea, he probably has never thought of it as a possibility at all! He could have taken the opportunity right there and then in S4 to make a move or try to break Mike and El up but what does he do when he sees their relationship going downhill? He sells out his own feelings to save it. He just wants them to be happy bc he loves them and since he can’t be happy himself he’ll be happy for them. So how the hell now he is suddenly supposed to “ruin” everything by confessing his love for Mike? No fucking way.

Will probably says sth like “I’m sorry, you were sad and I was trying to make you feel better that’s all… just because she didn’t commission the painting it doesn’t mean the rest is not true… I was just trying to prove a point” and then (if we really want to drag it out) Mike says “But El said that you painted that for someone you like, that you’ve been acting weird?” (I doubt he’ll say sth like that, but let’s roll with it, shall we?)

Tbh it’s not too hard not to confess after that… Will may not even have to lie here, he might just say “Ofc I was acting weird! Ofc it’s for someone I like Mike! I missed you guys so much in Lenora… I missed our D&D campaigns… I know we fought about it last year so I wanted to give you this to say how much you guys mean to me and you’ve always liked my drawings so… I just wanted to give you sth to say that we’re still ok” - it’s not a lie it’s just not the whole truth…

And then Mike probably says that it’s ok, that he gets it but asks Will not to do that again bc it made things between him and El weird…

And we’re left with it all being unresolved. Unless someone is stupid enough to out Will to Mike, they won’t figure it out by themselves if Mike doesn’t feel the same way and doesn’t push further… simple as that.

Low self esteem doesn’t make you blind, it makes you doubtful… you see those things as romantic, you just don’t believe they are. The only way to push it all the way to reveal the truth is if Mike feels the same and “gives them a shove”, bc if he doesn’t reciprocate he won’t see it that way and Will is set in stone not to give it away.

And if they don’t resolve it then what? Primo - it’s just bad writing xd But it would also mean that the whole painting situation didn’t accomplish much aside from confirming that Will is in love with Mike (which could have been done any other way… for what reason? I wouldn’t know) and creating more drama for Mike and El (as if they don’t get the job done themselves xd).

Honestly if Byler isn’t endgame, not writing the whole painting plot in the first place would make so much more sense overall. Not making Mike unable to say “I love you” would make more sense. And not making Will in love with Mike in the first place would make more sense as well…

Like… imagine S4 without the whole love triangle drama… not only it wouldn’t matter much at the end but it would simply make more sense if it has never happened at all!

So what? It was just drama for the sake of drama or…? And then what? The painting lie is never resolved or just covered with some half-truths? Wow great writting xd

[velvees-archive]

Some post-SOJ DLC case thoughts about Edgeworth, his opinion on marriage, and by extension, love.

…and how, at the very center of this discussion is one Phoenix Wright.

Contains spoilers from 3-5, 6-5 and 6-DLC

As if the subtext wasn’t enough.

I wanted to share some thoughts about the DLC case and Edgeworth's insistence on remaining unwed, which, from what I've seen, is a commonly employed gotcha moment against NaruMitsu (because all relationships must end in marriage, right? /lh). Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really mind. I just…didn’t find the dialogue exchange very damning.

Coming off 6-5, where Edgeworth says this,

I saw the DLC as an extension of Edgeworth's sentimentality, this time directed at Phoenix’s romantic prospects.

To make my stance clear, I don’t think Edgeworth is blind to romantic overtures; he just doesn’t care about them very much. As in, Edgeworth is largely unaffected by and uninterested in matters of the heart (with a concession that he is obtuse when it comes to people expressing interest in him, unless they're Wendy Oldbag over the top about it). But even if you feel he's terrible at sensing romantic tension, my argument still stands. Edgeworth doesn’t care about romance, and we never really see him prying into anyone’s romantic relationships…

…with the exception to this being Phoenix Wright’s.

From Bridge to the Turnabout:

Sorry for the janky screenshots. I didn't didn't take 3-5 pics on my Switch so I had to search for YouTube clips. Let the record show I actually really enjoy Feenris PLUS I love angst, so this interaction was��chef’s kiss.

Assuming Edgeworth doesn't care about romance but he can understand romantic signaling, this is already pretty condemning. Why are you poking around Phoenix's business if you're so uninterested in love? Surely, there are bigger fish to fry, like investigating the Inner Temple Garden because the clues found could be vital to catching the victim's murderer?

Assuming Edgeworth sucks at detecting any romantic undertones, the implications are even worse. You're telling me the guy who doesn't know the first thing about romance somehow clocked Phoenix and Iris's chemistry this quickly? How? For what reason were you able to catch it? How attuned are you to Phoenix's personal affairs?

Now, shifting back to the DLC case, we have this lovely interaction when you show Miles the wedding chapel pamphlet:

Something to note with Phoenix’s “W-Wait. You’re not thinking about finally settling down and getting married, are you?” is that the screen flashes and we hear the damage sound after the “W-Wait."

Once again, Miles inquires about Phoenix's love life, this time after Phoenix asks about his. I've analyzed my fair share of Miles Edgeworth dialogue, and I don't think he pingpongs questions just to make conversation (see: “Say something, Wright. I’m not good at small talk.”). This leads me to believe he was genuinely curious and (subtly) trying to fish for information. And why would that be the case?

My overarching point is this: Edgeworth isn’t as obtuse about romance as everyone makes him out to be (both in-universe and from a fandom perspective), which makes his mentioning marriage plans around Phoenix even more suspicious. The way the scene reads to me is that Edgeworth, in Phoenix’s company and swept away by the intimate atmosphere, lets his interest in Phoenix Wright slip through the cracks once Phoenix shows him the pamphlet. It's sentimental of him and it surfaces—once again—while he's investigating a case. At risk of sounding repetitive, there are bigger fish to fry.

It'd be less suspicious if Phoenix had similar conversations with other cast members he shows the pamphlet to, but it never gets to be this personal, even when he presents it to Maya, his best friend.

Good news if you feel otherwise about my “Edgeworth isn’t that obtuse” headcanon though, because should you believe he is actually just that clueless, you now have to contend with this:

If Miles can’t pick up on all things love, why is he so attuned to Wright’s (and to my knowledge, only Wright’s) romantic prospects in particular?

So yeah. Checkmate, I guess. Edgeworth might not be interested in marriage or love, but he’s definitely interested in Phoenix’s partners, or lack thereof. Take that how you will.

[twopoppies]

Do you know where someone could find fimq’s top 30 (eventually top 120) iconic larry moments videos? Those were like the holy grail of her channel, and unless I’m just blind, I can’t find them in the google drive

Hmmmm. I don't think it's part of that Google Drive or the bunch that were re-uploaded to YouTube. Shoot.

Does anyone have access to these FIMQ videos???

[kpoptrashlord-007]

Summer Nights;; KTH

Word Count;; 4.3k

Genre;; F2Ls, Smut

Pairing;; Taehyun x Fem!Reader

Summary;;

You’ve been head over heels in love with Taehyun for longer than you can remember. Kai, oh so helpful and kind, sets you up on a date! … with someone else. A total loser if you will, the kind of guy whose advances you can’t stand, a guy that isn’t Taehyun. But don’t worry! Kai also sent Taehyun to the bar so you can openly yearn for him and steal glances from across the room while wishing upon every star in the night’s sky for him to take your date’s place. Whether it’s a falling star or the planets aligned, it’s a lucky night for those willing to seize it.

Warnings;;

Friends to Lovers, fluff and humour, comedic elements, alcohol use, drunk reader (not during the smut scene), shy dorks in love, helpful yet snarky Hueningkai, misunderstandings in the style of a Hallmark movie Smut, oral sex, fingering, vaginal (unprotected) sex and multiple orgasms, soft!possessive!Taehyun, brief marking and a hint of breeding

Request;;

"Ahhh I love this game! And season! Taehyun from TXT Prmpts : Possession / Ownership , Marking , Breeding" -- Anon

Notes;;

I went fucking feral with the smut scene, holy shit Not me forcing myself to write Kai instead of Hueningkai then zoning out only to wonder why Jongin is randomly in a TXT fic. I made the GIF!

Main Masterlist || Kinkoween Masterlist || Smut Masterlist

While you can’t deny you enjoyed the party you’re glad it’s coming to an end. Slobs and drunks beat you on the way to the kitchen for one last drink and you wonder, as you stand dumbfounded in the hallway, if you’re one of the drunks. You don’t think you’re one, and you don’t feel drunk, but who else rushes in for a re-up the moment the host announces the party is over?

Meandering into the oversized kitchen on the tailend of the crowd, a disturbing sight greets you. Or, rather, the lack of one. Someway, somehow, the kitchen is emptying, yet there are still bottles ready for the taking. Alcohol bottles. And no one to fight with for them. A frown carves its way onto your face. It’s all too good to be true; none of it makes sense. Unless…

Your eyes widen as you whip your head to and fro, the room splotchy and nauseating. These people aren’t drunks – no drunk in their drunk mind would leave booze behind. These people are… disappearing into thin air? You take a hesitant step forward, eyes squinted as you watch the girl you followed wave toward you. She pulls a knob and whoosh! a door opens and she’s slipping right through.

A gasp escapes your tightening throat. No, they’re not drunks at all – they’re taking the same back exit you entered through some hours ago, out to the same side street your own vehicle is waiting for you on. Once more you find yourself in a stupor. You? A drunk? What has the world come to?

“Isn’t this, like, your first party?”

You jolt as a familiar snicker breaks through your self-pitying. Kai sidles into the space between you and the evermore tantalising booze. His lanky frame blocks the alluring glisten of glass bottles twinkling under the much too harsh lights, forcing you to abandon all thought of drinking your woes away in favour of trailing your gaze upwards for half an eternity before at last his face is within view. Indifferent eyes stare you down, daring you to grab a bottle. Or maybe he just wants an answer. What was his question?

“You’re so drunk,” he drawls, pulling his phone out and aiming it at your face. The flash blinds you and you stumble backwards as the camera virtually shutters. “Gross. I’m sending this to everyone.”

“No!” Jerking forward you reach for the phone. Try as you might to grab it, it’s never within reach, floating just above you one moment then blasting off a hundred feet to the ceiling the next. “Please, not Taehyun. Everyone but him!”

Kai shrugs. “Okay.”

Relief washes over you as your phone dings. Slipping it out of your pocket you stare at the sender’s name: Kai Bear. A goofy smile plays on your lips. Everyone but Taehyun. Good.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.” Kai is talking but you’re not sure if it’s directed at you or not. “One of my buddies needs a plus one.”

“A plus one what?” you ask, hoping he won’t mind you butting in. With a press of your thumb Kai’s message opens and you’re greeted with your own face.

“Him plus you equals promise fulfilled. And I’m a man of my word so when I make a promise, I usually keep it – so you’re going.”

Squinting, you examine the photo a little closer. “Who?”

“A friend of mine.”

“Like me?”

“Yes, you and my other friend. My friend, and you,” he says, an air of impatience about him.

“Beomgyu?”

“No, he’d never be caught dead on a da– with a plus one like you.”

“That’s rude. Why not?” you slur, looking up from your phone. After a quick glance reveals an empty kitchen aside from you and Kai, your eyes narrow.

“He’s not into drunks.”

“So you are talking to me!” Poking a finger into his chest, you scoff. “Well I don’t wanna go.”

“I’ll drive you home tonight if you agree to go.”

“Okay, I’ll go.” With a sly grin you wink at Kai. “I always know how to come out on top. I’m a born winner, you see?” You show him the photo of your very drunk self he took mere minutes ago. “This is pretty good. I think Taehyun will like it.”

Kai rolls his eyes while grabbing your arm. “He won’t. Let’s go, I don’t have all night.”

Confidence oozing from every pore, you send Taehyun the photo anyway.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

There is no God.

That’s the only explanation for it.

What kind of God would make something so tasty and fun only for it to kill you the next day?

And you are, without a doubt, dying. This is no ordinary hangover. Not that you’ve had others to compare it to, but common sense says there’s no freaking way people would subject themselves to this on the regular.

Your bedroom door swings open and Kai invites himself in. His skin has lost the light flush it donned yesterday, leaving him pale and sullen as he trots toward you. When his long legs hit the edge of the bed he flops down unceremoniously with little regard for your dying self. The entirety of his weight, all ten feet of him, lands across your midriff and you wheeze.

“Get… off…” you groan between strained breaths.

“Are you ever getting up?” His voice is muffled by the scrunched up sheet he faceplanted into. “You need to drive me to get my car.”

“I’m dying, Kai,” you gasp out, the sound faint and weak.

He lifts himself until his feet reach the ground again. “Really?” At your nod he continues, “Then we better hurry. Get up.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

It’s a modern day wonder cloaked in mystery and intrigue but you manage to get both you and Kai from Point A (your parent’s vacation house) to Point B (random fraternity) and finally to Point C (Kai’s house). While you stare out the car window debating whether a speech would be too cringe or if it is expected when you accept your Nobel Prize from the President or whoever, a body walks into your line of sight. You assume there’s a head attached so you roll down the glass and call out a simple,

“Hey.”

Sunlight sets your vision on fire for the briefest moment before the person backtracks, plunging you back into shadow. He leans down, hands resting on the door, and peers in, revealing none other than Taehyun. He’s all smiles as he gives you a onceover. The self conscious part of your brain is waking up now that the aspirin and coffee have kicked in. You break eye contact.

“What brings you out this way?” he asks, looking between you and Kai’s early graduation present no one in their right mind would call a mere ‘house’.

“I was just dropping Kai off. What about you?”

Stupid, stupid. Of course he’s here, he–

“Live right next door, remember?” His tongue dashes across his lower lip. “But why were you dropping Kai off?”

His puppy dog eyes watch your every movement and an unshakeable (unwarranted) guilt creeps up your spine. Nothing happened, and it doesn’t matter if it did, and why is he so expectant anyway? His cheeks twitch under the weight of his smile.

“He stayed over after the party,” you say with a flippant disregard for the underlying implication in the words.

Taehyun’s expression falters and the smile leaves his eyes. Ever polite, he holds his lips in their upturned line but it’s all play pretend. You’ve known each other for years; you know when he’s putting up a front, but you never expected him to use the barrier on you. Your hand reaches for his and he jerks away, taking a step back and leaving a wall in his place.

“Nothing,” you say much too quickly, the word sticking in your throat, “happened between—”

“You’re a good friend.”

It stings but you smile through it. “So are you.”

Metal groans as he pats the top of your car twice before turning his back to you. Sun rays bake your skin and you marinate in a pool of sweat as you watch him leave. He’s halfway down Kai’s footpath when he offers a final glance.

“You looked cute in that photo,” he calls out, and the warmth that floods your system puts the summer to shame.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Why, why, why must present you live with past you’s mistakes?

How is that fair?

Straightening your white dress in the mirror, you pat down an errant wrinkle. With a smack of the lips your red gloss is evened out. A spritz of perfume and roses linger in your wake. All dolled up to be a plus one (which you’ve come to learn means date) for one of Kai’s friends (who he now claims is just a classmate) instead of a plus forever with Kai’s best friend – life really is a box of lemons. Choosing comfort over fashion you slip into a pair of flats and head for the door.

After an uneventful drive you arrive at an uneventful bar. Upon entering you stand awkwardly by the entrance in order to scope the place out. It’s far from packed. No way you can utilise the old ‘I can’t hear you’ trick tonight, it seems. Never would you have guessed a day would come when you wished the static-buzzed jazz drifting from hanging speakers was louder and yet here you are. Could this date get any worse?

The answer to that universal question is always yes.

Rock bottom is actually a casket, and until then things can (and most definitely will) get worse.

There’s a couple at the bar, as well as a group of men in matching uniforms drooping over the counter. To the left, away from the booze you’ve promised to never consume again (beer doesn’t count, right?) are some tables and booths. Most have peanut shells scattered on and about them. This bar isn’t of the dancing kind, nor a sporto retreat with the game playing loud on the telly, or even the pool and poker sort. It’s the local watering hole; a dump wrapped in fancy ribbons and tied off with a bow. It’s for the alcoholics that picture themselves a step above the rest because they pay double the price for tap.

Your shoulders slump as you search one side of the room for your date: old geezer who practically lives here, office lady who starts drinking while she’s still clocked in, beer belly drunk who is burning through his entire paycheck tonight, corporate slave who has never been laid, fake french bartender, and a potential minor who is slurring after one Miller Lite. Probably none of those, though Kai does have a mean streak.

Behind door number two, on the other side of the room, are our following contestants: date night gone horribly wrong (is this a prophetic vision of your future?), high school gym teacher (hey Mr. Stevens!), Taehyun who is proving yet again that he is the most handsome man in the world, a granny on death’s door–

Taehyun?!

Your heart skips a beat the moment your eyes lock with his. The weight of the world lifts and your features follow suit, brow unfurrowing and jaw untensing. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as he practically jumps out of his seat, hand raised in a small wave.

Taehyun is here.

For once Kai has come through for you.

Taehyun is your date and it’s going to be the best day ever!

“Hey, you’re finally here,” a man speaks up from beside you. “You’re Huening’s friend, right? I’ve got us a little booth over here.”

This guy, this so-called date of yours, would have to be blind to miss the way your entire body deflates. All the same you follow his lead, allowing yourself only a tiny glimpse back at the man who owns you, heart and soul.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Maybe you really did die from your hangover.

What else could this be but Hell?

Mr. Suit here is droning on about his classes and future prospects as a lawyer or politician or something equally boring, and he actually thinks you’re hanging off his every word with bated breath. In reality you’re waiting for him to stop talking long enough to get a word in edgewise. Perhaps if you wait long enough you’ll pass out, though the chances of him noticing are slim. You’re not getting out of this date so easily.

He prattles on and your attention drifts toward Taehyun. It’s not the first time tonight nor will it be the last. Everything else fades as you watch him and for the briefest of moments you’re saved. For a beautiful second split into shards of infinity, you’re alone on the moon with Taehyun, soaking up the stars and drinking in all of time and space. You’re free from this dive bar, free from drinking cheap wine that burns your throat (you didn’t want it but your date insisted), free from suffocating every time you breathe in another wave of dusty chair mould (someone died in this booth, you’re sure of it).

Your date had laughed it off when you mentioned it to him then continued to regale you with the fascinating tales of his father’s history as a judge or senator or something equally boring. When you said that it seems his father is the interesting one and how maybe you should’ve gone on a date with him instead, Mr. Suit stopped laughing. It’s the small wins, really.

A yawn tickles your throat, your eyelids unbearably heavy, and you fight the drowsiness threatening to end your oh-so-delightful night early if for no other reason than to yearn. You burn with yearning, near consumed by it. Taehyun isn’t looking your way anymore – he’s glaring a hole straight ahead of him, several feet from where this buzzkiller of a date is sapping your youth and vitality. But he’ll turn back to you soon. His eyes will betray him and he’ll turn ever so subtly in his chair only to find you’ve beat him to it. Cheek smooshed against knuckles, elbow pressed into the table, head tilted toward him as if you’re a flower and he the sun.

“Did you hear me?” With an under roll of the eyes you ground yourself in the unfortunate now. “I’ve got to run to the men’s room and then we can”–his voice drops–“get out of here.”

“Can’t wait,” you murmur as he gives your thigh a squeeze. The second he’s out of earshot you’re up on your feet, clutch in hand. The last of the wine shoots down your throat in one large gulp. “But I’ll be leaving alone.”

“That bad, huh?”

Tense muscles relax the moment your brain processes the voice: about .001 seconds. Whirling on your feet you’re face to face with none other than the true star of the night: Taehyun. No one else can possess your every thought like he does, no one else can bring comfort with as little effort as just showing up.

“You don’t even know,” you whine, gravitating toward him. Hand moving on its own, you toy with his fingers, caressing each one all while maintaining a friendly front above the shoulders. It’s impossible to tell if the tears welling in your eyes are from genuine distress or pent-up frustration. The tantalising improbability that tonight might end in Taehyun’s bed lingers in the tight space between you. “Save me, please.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

He wraps an arm around your waist and guides you to the door. It’s smooth sailing until Mr. Suit is calling your name. He’s weaving through tables to get to you like a man on the hunt. Maybe he’s a good guy and he’s worried about who he perceives to be a stranger escorting you out, or he’s upset that someone else has their dirty little mittens on the prize he believes he’s earned. When you expect the worst in people, it’s amazing how often they prove you wrong.

This man, however, is plain old boring and predictable.

“Hey, pal, what do you think you’re doing?”

“He’s taking me home,” you say with your chin tilted in defiance.

Suit ignores you and directs his growing anger at Taehyun. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“She’s coming home with me.”

The finality in his tone sends a jolt straight to your core.

“We actually have plans, so, uh, get lost, bud,” the other guy (who is becoming more of an incessant bug by the second) counters with an obnoxious chuckle. “Who even are you?”

“I’m the guy she’s been eyefucking all night.”

Embarrassment sets you ablaze and the maddening thud of your heart drowns out any retort the man may have offered. It doesn’t matter; there’s no competition when Taehyun already won your heart so long ago. He guides you out of the bar and the crisp breeze of a summer night greets you. It tastes sweet on your tongue as you breathe in. A sense of liberty lifts your spirits, every movement lithe and light. You come to a fluttering stop beside your car and Taehyun asks for the key.

“What about your car?”

“It’s not here. Kai dropped me off.”

You pause. “Why?”

“He asked me to watch over you,” he says, hand outstretched. You hand him the keys with a little ‘oh’. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

I just wish you did it because you wanted to, not because you had to.

But the thought remains a secret in your taut smile.

He opens the car door and you slip inside. It’s an odd feeling being a passenger in your own vehicle. Taehyun takes charge without hesitation; adjusting the seat and mirrors before making sure you’re safe and comfortable. He backs out of the parking lot and away into the night. Stars twinkle overhead in spite of the light pollution. The earth is so small in the grand scheme of it all and yet your worries are world shattering.

This push and pull, the ‘will he, won’t he?’ – it’s unbearable.

Tonight, no matter the outcome, will be the end of your friendship with Taehyun.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

When the car glides to a halt in front of your house you can’t help but sigh. An entire drive home in silence and you couldn’t come up with a single actionable plan that doesn’t involve you dumping your feelings on him. He’s opening your car door and walking you up the front steps while you’re still struggling to figure out how to break the tension of the car ride.

“Make sure you lock up when you get inside. Nobody expects trouble until it’s upon them.”

“Thanks, mom,” you joke. He turns to leave and you reach for him, greedy hands tugging on his shirt sleeve. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“I’m not Kai – I won’t put you out.”

There’s a passive-aggressive undercurrent to his words that sparks a fire beneath your tongue.

“I don’t want Kai, I want you. To stay here. In my house.” You cut yourself off for a moment, recovering your wits and sense when Taehyun grins, his lips parting to undoubtedly play a game you have no interest in playing. With a crude ‘fuck it’ that you may or may not have spoken aloud, you allow yourself to verbalise a platonic death. “In my bed. I want you in my bed, Taehyun.”

Widening eyes lock onto your face and so you set your lips into a stern line just to prove how serious you are. You add a soft but steady ‘always have’ to really drive your point home. Cold fear, the kind that stagnates and mutates over years of relentless anxiety, bubbles in your stomach. He might reject you. He might even laugh at you. Hell, he might do the unthinkable and pretend you no longer exist, cutting you off and leaving you to suffer a life without him. If thoughts could kill, that one would have sent you to an early grave.

But instead of devastation he brings clarity;

“I’ve always been yours.” His hand wraps around the nape of your neck. Sparks electrify your skin wherever he touches, your chin tingling as he tilts it upwards until he’s all you see towering above. Rough against the plush flesh, he rubs his thumb along your bottom lip. A shiver courses down your spine. “And you’ve always been mine.”

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Heaven is a bedroom hotter than a summer breeze.

Bliss rests on Taehyun’s tongue as he smirks up at you from between your tender thighs.

An angel masquerading as a devil, he dips his head and continues his feast. Your legs tremble when he focuses on your clit, flicking the sensitive nub with his warm tongue before sucking it into his mouth. Teeth nip and you gasp. Euphoric pain awakens a well of desire in your gut. Clenching around him, you throw your head back into the soft comfort of your pillows.

It’s safe here.

Yanking the pillow out from under your head, you place the underside over your face. It’s cool against your heated skin. Lavender and chamomile soothes your racing heart with each deep inhale. Taehyun slides two fingers into your cunt, ending your respite. Pleasure rushes through you as he works you open. His tongue fans your desire with each sinful circle it draws. The silk pillowcase falls into your mouth, suffocating the scream playing in the back of your parched throat.

You clutch the pillow in your hands, holding it tighter and pressing it deeper in the hope of suppressing your high. It’s come too quick; a mere few embarrassing minutes after the last. Your entire body shakes in anticipation. Giving in to carnal instinct you close your eyes and embrace the dark.

Taehyun’s mouth abandons your clit but you’re not needy; his fingers are more than enough to satisfy your hunger.

“Fuck, it’s so– it’s so–” your muffled rambling ends when Taehyun pulls the pillow from your hands.

Tears stick to the edges of your face, framing your cheeks and dampening your hair.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, withdrawing his hand from between your legs. You bite your lip to hold back the pathetic mewls of yearning begging to be vocalised. “I’m going to ruin you.”

Lifting your leg over his shoulder, he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance, teasing with a few taps against your mound before driving the entire length of his thick dick into your dripping cunt. You’re so wet you could squelch around him.

He presses his forehead to yours, hair sticky with sweat, as his cock fills every inch of you. A strangled gasp passes your lips and he’s eager to swallow it. Your juices coat his tongue as he kisses you. Your hand finds its way into his hair and you pull him closer, deepening the kiss in pursuit of his taste, a hint of citrus berry in your mouth. It stirs up something primal inside and you bite him, first his lower lip then his neck, across to his shoulder where your teeth sink deep after a particularly delectable thrust of his hips.

“Fuck,” he groans, eyes shut tight. “I can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

Saliva hangs from your lip to his shoulder as you lean back. Your mind reels and you want to question him, to hear that he’s been as helplessly head over heels in love with you for as long as you have been him, but your brain refuses to play sweet. Cock-drunk, you whine and cry for him to fuck you harder, to break you like he promised. Always the gentleman, he indulges your whims.

His cock pistons in and out of your sopping pussy, his balls hitting your ass with each deep thrust. The angle is perfect, the head of his dick sliding against your spot until your eyes are rolling to the back of your skull. Your stomach twists and your muscles tense in preparation of yet another orgasm. White sparks flicker across your vision, blinding and bright.

“Mine,” he mumbles, deep in concentration, thumbs rubbing circles against your clit. “I won’t let you go. You’re mine.”

“I’m– I’m yours,” you pant. Your nails digs into something soft and a more sober mind would remind you not to hurt your beloved but you’re too fucked to care in the moment. Taehyun hisses above you, hips moving faster and harder. His hands travel north, tangling in your hair and pressing against your throat, squeezing your tits, marking his territory with colourful splotches and dark scratches. Fingers bruise and nails scrape, debauchery painted on your skin for all to admire. Once satisfied, his attention returns to your tender clit.

“Fuck, gonna come, please, fuck, fuck!”

Your begging tapers off into a strained moan, your cunt clenching around his girth as orgasmic bliss washes over you. Stars dance behind your eyes and you gasp. Taehyun rides out your high, fucking you through it with reckless abandon until he can’t hold himself back. His head rests against yours so he can leave sloppy kisses while he comes inside, bottomed out and so deep he might as well be in your guts. Content warmth spreads outward from your cunt like a blossoming rose.

Taehyun stares at your body for a long while after, a hint of a smile hidden on his face. “So beautiful.”

“What are you going on about?” you yawn.

“Everyone is going to know you’re mine,” he says with a little smirk, gentle fingers tracing along your still burning skin.

It’s enough to revitalise, desire once more welling in your core as your lips meet his own in a frenzied, messy kiss. Breaking away to suck down air that tastes like sex and sweat, your fiery gaze reflects off his brown, puppy dog eyes. “It’s about damn time.”

If you enjoyed this, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging, and following!

Thank you! – ♡ –

[darsynia]

Ooooooo, kisses you say?

Sam Wilson, Canon compliant, #29

At one point I had 137 words and thought, oh man, will I get this closer to 500 like I promised??

Sam/Reader, 627 words, established relationship REQUEST A KISS

tossing some tags: @themaradwrites @claudette13 @ronearoundblindly

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS | BUCKY BARNES

CROWNED

You’re not one for surprises or pranks. Even before you and Sam moved in together you’d joked that he’s the Truth Fairy, leaving little notes with jokes, compliments, and teasing disses for you to find. 

What makes you suspicious he’s got something up his sleeve? You haven’t found anything in four days, and your devious boyfriend has been giving you sly grins. He caught you lifting up items in the fridge looking for sticky notes yesterday, and now he’s undressing you with his eyes while you carefully vacuum under all of the living room furniture. 

You send him to the bedroom to be ‘thoroughly searched,’ partially because you’re getting distracted by that smile of his. After finding nothing but socks and lint, you put away the vacuum and find him naked in bed, a decorative pillow strategically placed over his crotch.

“Your metaphor’s slipping there a little, babe,” you point out, even as you admire the way his muscles flex with his hands folded behind his head. “Unless you’re implying I’m a very freaky fairy?”

Sam flashes you a blinding smile. “You’ve been holding off looking under just about every cushion in the house. I thought I’d give you a little motivation!”

“What?” you gasp, turning on your heel to head back to the couch. On the way, you notice that there’s a new, palm-sized pillow magnet on the fridge. Sure enough, there’s a note underneath--one praising you for being clever enough to find it.

The smartass even sketched a little tooth on there.

“Sam Wilson, you magnificent asshole, I swear to God!” you shout, marching into the living room. His cackling laughter is infectious, but you shoot back, “I hope you left me a whole bunch! I’m turning down the thermostat so your ass freezes while I find them all!”

“Long as you warm me up after!” he calls back, obviously unrepentant.

You’re barely listening, having picked up the smallest pillow in the room to find two notes, both with the scrawled tooth. That devious devil had numbered and dated them, and the first one was from eight days ago! 

For 30 whole seconds you stand there holding them (‘Your smile makes my damned heart soar’ and ‘I bought the stuff for Sarah’s gumbo recipe you’ve been wanting to make--back of the fridge’), trying desperately to plot revenge, but you just can’t, not before you kiss or slap him silly.

Sam meets you in the hallway, pulling on his bathrobe as he walks, his face concerned. “You got quiet, I wondered if you were bleeding out from papercuts.”

“How many did you leave??”

“If they were teeth I’d need dentures!” He’s cracking up, bent over, hand on the wall. Marching over, you grab the edges of his bathrobe to pull him up into a frustrated kiss--but another note drifts out as soon as you lift the fabric.

To pay him back, you step even closer before you bend down to grab it, with mere inches between your lips and his still-naked body.

It says, ‘You make a damn fine dentist’

Giggling helplessly through your indignance, you bury your face in his powerful chest, peppering it with kisses that reach higher and higher. He’s laughing too, his hands caressing your back, your hair, and finally your neck, tipping your face up to his.

Right before he kisses you, you whisper, “You’re so sweet it gives me a truthache.”

It’s Sam’s turn to laugh. The joy in it follows the two of you into the bedroom again, kissing and gasping and giggling all the way to the bed.

It’s dark out when you slide your hand under your pillow to find one you take with you to the bathroom to read. 

‘You make me feel like a king.’

[ddoralaexplorer]

Chapter one- The Cactus and the Truck

Love is just an idea; it’s not real. Love is a myth— a pretty lie people tell themselves to feel less alone. It never made sense to me that people can meet and stay by each other’s sides. It just can’t be, not for me at least. Going from loving someone deeply to forgetting about them the next day. There’s nothing in this forsaken world that can make me change my mind; nothing can make me think that love is real. And yet, everyone’s obsessed with it. Like being adored is the key to survival. I don’t get it. I don’t need anyone. I like being alone.

Most days, at least.

There are moments— quiet ones— loneliness creeps in. But I’d rather sit with it than chase something fake. I have my books. I have my dad. That’s enough.

Renee, my mother left my dad when my sister Bella was an infant. She didn't even know she was pregnant with me yet.

For years, Bella and I spent holidays and school breaks visiting our dad in Washington. Unlike her, I grew to love it here. The gray skies, the rain, the quiet. Phoenix was nothing but dry heat and blinding sun— miserable. When I was five, I threw the tantrum of my life. I begged, screamed, and refused to leave until Renee finally gave in. She let me stay with Charlie, thinking I’d regret it. That I’d eventually come crawling back.

I never did.

Sure, I didn't get to grow up with Bella. And yeah, sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if we had stayed together. But I don’t regret my choice.

Everything was perfect, my life was perfect. Simple. Me and my dad. Just us.

I never minded being alone. It wasn’t loneliness— it was peace. My dad understood that. He wasn’t the overbearing, emotional type, and I liked that about him. We had our routine, our little traditions. Sunday fundays, as I called them. Just the two of us on the couch, watching old movies, eating take out. I never wanted anything more.

The soft, fading light cast a glow on my bedroom walls, mixing with the crisp scent of rain drifting in from my cracked window. Perfect evening. A good book, cool Forks air, and music humming softly from my laptop— what more can I ask for? I curled up on my window seat, flipping through Crime and Punishment, when a knock interrupted the peace.

“Hey uh, Ves?”

Charlie. His voice was careful, almost hesitant. Weird. My dad wasn’t the type to sound serious unless something was really wrong.

I frown. “Yeah?”

The door creaked open, revealing him standing there, looking— thinking. He had that expression he got when he was trying to find the right words, which instantly made me uneasy.

“Bella is coming to live with us”

It came out fast, like he was ripping off a bandage. I just stared. What? No way. NO WAY. Bella swan— my sister, technically— was moving to Forks? After years of barley tolerating this place? This is my home. My dad. Why now? It’s not fair.

“Is that a question?” I blinked at him, hoping he’d crack a grin, say he was joking.

Nothing.

“You’re serious?”

Charlie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shell be here tomorrow morning”

“Tomorrow? Dad— why are you just telling me this now?” I snapped my book shut, finally facing him. He exhaled through his nose, lips pressing into a thin line before he stepped closer, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, kid” His voice softened. “She’s your sister. I just don’t want you to be alone anymore”

I scoff, shrugging off his hand. “I’m not alone. I have you”

Charlie sighed again, this time heavier. “I know, Ves. But—” He hesitated, looking at me in that way he did when he was trying to make sense.”You’re sixteen almost seventeen. You keep to yourself. You don’t hang out with many people outside of school. That’s not—” He scratches his jaw. “That’s not normal, kid.”

“What, so now I’m a problem?”

Charlie shook his head. “That’s not what I said.”

“I’m fine, Dad. I don’t need fixing.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Ves. I just think it might be good for you to have your sister around.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Oh yeah, because we’re so close.”

Charlie gave me a look. “She’s family.”

“She’s a stranger.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Charlies face Softened, and that made it worse. I didn't need his pity. He squeezed my shoulder again.

“Just give it a chance”

I rolled my eyes, leaning into him despite myself.“She better not bring me a cactus”

Charlie chuckled, ruffling my hair. “No promises.”

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

She actually brought a freaking cactus.

When my dad pulled up with Bella on Sunday, there it was— small, spiky, and cradled in her hands like it was a piece of home she couldn’t let go of. Seriously? She’s going to miss Phoenix that much?

Bella looked different from the last time I saw her— which in my mind, might as well have been fifty years ago (okay, seven, but close enough). Her hair was longer, reaching past her chest, and she’d grown taller. She was pale, beautiful, just like Renee. Me? I looked more like Charlie.

“Vesper, hey”

We stood there, caught in an awkward stare off, until i forced a small, thin smile. She hesitated, then held out the cactus toward me. I took it, feeling the coolness of her fingers brush against mine.

“…Thanks.”

It wasn’t a bad gift, but what was I supposed to do with a cactus?

Seeing her now was strange. It shouldn’t have been— she was my sister after all— but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was intruding. Taking up space in the peace I’d built.

Charlie carried her bags inside as Bella took slow steps into the house, her face flickering with something like nostalgia. She glanced around, taking in the place like she was trying to reconcile old memories with the present.

“Ves and I cleared some shelves off in the bathroom” Dad told her as he hefted another bag over his shoulder.

Bella barely seemed to register what he said, already making a beeline for her old room. Of course.

Great. One bathroom for three people.

I let out a quiet sigh and turned toward the kitchen, not bothering to stick around in the awkward atmosphere brewing between Bella and Dad.

I wasn’t in the mood for awkward sibling bonding.

Outside, voices carried through the damp Forks air, followed by the honk of a car horn. I stepped onto the porch and spotted Billy Black and his son, Jacob, standing with my dad by an old, rusted truck.

“Jake! Billy!” I called out, breaking into a run.

Jacob barely had time to react before I tackled him into a hug, nearly knocking him off balance.

“Woah, Ves!” He laughed, gripping my arms to steady himself.

Jacob was my person. We’d been inseparable since we were kids. If he went, I went. If he jumped, I jumped— whether it was into a lake or into trouble.

I pulled away and turned towards the house, catching Bella peering out from her bedroom window. Was she planning on coming down or just staring at us like some ghost in a horror movie?

Shaking my head, I turned back to the truck, running my fingers along its sides. it could definitely use a new paint job.

“Dad, this is a nice truck” I said, more as an observation than a compliment.”

Jacob followed my gaze but quickly turned toward the door as Bella finally emerged, her hands stuffed into her jacket pockets. She hesitated for a second before walking up, and Jacob— who was rarely ever shy— shifted from one foot to the other.

“Hey, Im Jacob” he said, smiling. “We used to make mud pies when we were little”Mud pies?

I stared at him. Of all the things to mention, that’s what he went with?

Bella blinked. “Right. No, I remember.”

I stifled a groan, feeling secondhand embarrassment settle in. Was this always going to be this awkward?

Charlie, ever the peacemaker, cut in. “So, what do you think?”

Bella glanced between him and the truck. “Of what?”

“Your homecoming present”

I snapped my head toward Charlie, then at Bella, then back at the truck. No way.

Jacob elbowed me before I could say anything, but I couldn’t believe it. Bella had been here for five minutes, and she already had a car?

I tried to smile, tried to act I wasn’t completely annoyed, but seriously? How was that fair?

I folded my arms and rocked back on my heels, forcing my voice to stay light.

“wow, Bella. Not even here a full day, and you’re already getting gifts. Guess forks isn’t so bad after all, huh?”

Bella turned to me, her brows knitting slightly, like she was trying to figure out if I was joking or not.

Jacob coughed into his hand, failing to hide a smirk. “Yeah, Ves, when’s your new car getting here?”

Charlie shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. “Too late, already started.”

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

“Come on, Jake! She just got here, and I’m already being pushed aside.” I groaned dramatically, flopping face-first into my bed.

Jacob chuckled, shutting my bedroom door behind him. “That’s not fair, Ves. Maybe he’s just trying to make up for lost time with her.”

I groaned louder, muffling it into my pillow. “Lost time? Please.” I lifted my head just enough to glare at him. “There’s no way you’re actually defending her right now.”

Jacob raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying, you’ve had Charlie all to yourself for years.”

I scoffed. “Exactly! I put in the work. I earned it.”

Jacob snorted. “Didn’t realize dads were something you had to earn.”

Ignored him, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t that I wanted Bella gone, exactly. But for almost seventeen years, it had just been me and Charlie. Our routine. Our home. And now, Bella swoops in, and suddenly, everything is about her? Yeah. No thanks.

Jacob, of course didn't get it. Not when he’d spent his whole life hopelessly crushing her. Even as kids, it was always Bella this, Bella that. If anyone should be annoyed by her sudden reappearance, it should be him. But no— here he was, defending her like some kind of Bella Swan lawyer.

“Wanna come to La push with Embry and Quil?” Jacob asked, changing the subject completely.

I lift my head so fast it nearly gave me whiplash. “Yes”

He laughed. “You didn't even let me finish.”

I sat up, already grabbing my hoodie off the chair. “Doesn’t matter. Anything to get me out of here while she settles in.”

Jacob just shook his head, amused, as I shoved my arms into my sleeves.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re just realizing this now?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled open the door. “Come on, lets go before you start writing tragic poetry about being replaced.”

I huffed a laugh, shoving him towards the stairs. I had no idea how much things were about to change. If I had known, maybe I would have fought harder to keep things the way they were. Maybe I would have appreciated that last peaceful day a little more.

Because after this, nothing would ever be the same.

[thelostmagicians]

Shield of a Heart | Harry Styles: Part I

The Assignment

Series Masterlist

Summary: You’re Harry Styles’s personal bodyguard [3.4k]

Fluff, comfort, angst, panic attack, security risks

♡

The scent of fresh coffee and polished wood lingered in Jeff’s office, blending with the faint aroma of cologne. The morning sun filtered through the half-open blinds, casting slanted golden lines across the desk where Harry sat, fingers idly drumming against the surface. He had heard this conversation before. The ticking of the clock seemed louder than usual, a reminder that time was never on their side.

"H, I know you hate the idea of constant security," Jeff said, his tone serious. "But we can’t ignore what’s been happening. The crowd outside the hotel last week? The guy who jumped the barricade at your show? It’s getting worse."

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls, his gaze unfocused. "I don’t want to be that celebrity, Jeff. The one who walks around with an entourage, who has security pushing people away like they’re some kind of plague. I like interacting with fans. I don’t want to build walls around myself."

Jeff sighed, rubbing his temples, his face lined with frustration. "Then we find a way to make it low-key. I hired someone from an agency that specializes in undercover security. No obvious muscle, no uniforms, just someone watching your back without making it obvious."

Harry arched a brow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Sounds expensive."

"Worth every penny. You’ll barely notice her."

Before Harry could argue further, a knock at the door interrupted them. Jeff stood and opened it, revealing you—dressed in a sleek yet practical outfit: dark jeans, a fitted black jacket, and boots sturdy enough for function yet stylish enough to blend in. Your posture was confident, poised, and alert, projecting a quiet authority that immediately commanded attention.

Harry’s lips parted slightly, the surprise evident in his eyes. He had been expecting someone completely different.

Jeff cleared his throat, his expression apologetic. "Harry, meet your new bodyguard."

There was a beat of silence as Harry and Jeff exchanged a quick glance of surprise.

You smirked slightly, though you kept your posture professional. "Let me guess—you two were expecting someone different?"

Jeff opened his mouth to deny it, but Harry’s expression gave them both away.

"A bit," Harry admitted, his voice laced with humor. "Not in a bad way, just... surprised."

"It’s okay," you replied with a shrug, your tone light. "Happens all the time. People see me and assume I’m a PR manager or an assistant. Maybe even a stunt double on a good day. But I assure you, I’m more than qualified to keep you safe."

Jeff leaned forward, a mix of pride and reassurance in his voice. "She comes highly recommended, top of her class. Trained in multiple combat techniques, counter-surveillance, defensive driving—you name it."

Harry hesitated before shaking your hand. "Right. Of course. I appreciate you doing this."

"It’s my job," you said simply, gripping his hand firmly, your touch brief but firm. "And I take it seriously. I’ll be shadowing you from now on. I won’t interfere with your day-to-day life unless I deem it necessary for your safety."

Jeff let out a breath of relief. "Alright. You start tomorrow."

As you left the office, you could feel Harry's eyes following you, still assessing, still deciding how he felt about the arrangement. You had a feeling this wasn't going to be an easy job, but you were used to challenges.

—

The next morning, you arrived early, determined to start taking action. You wanted to make the house feel like a safe space for Harry, not one that reminded him he was constantly under threat. As you entered, Harry’s house was still quiet, but you could hear the faint hum of a coffee machine in the kitchen. Harry’s team had already started arriving, but they barely noticed you as you moved with purpose. You couldn’t afford distractions.

The first thing you did was walk the perimeter of the house. The gates were solid, but outdated. You noted the number of hidden spots that weren’t covered by security cameras. There was an entrance to the side of the house that led to a narrow alley, and another hidden behind a tall garden wall. You couldn’t trust that nothing could slip by unnoticed.

You took mental notes—doorways, windows, gates, and even the trees that created shadows by the fence. No blind spots could go unaccounted for. After another quick call, you arranged for a full security system update.

By noon, new security cameras were being installed. You had chosen ones with facial recognition, ensuring that only those Harry authorized would be able to get past the front gate. Each camera was strategically placed in spots Harry didn’t even think to look. One was on top of the high garden wall, offering a bird's-eye view of anyone who came too close. Another was hidden behind a small decorative tree in the yard, monitoring the back door.

The most important change, however, came at the gate. You had noticed the gate code was easy to remember, but anyone who had once had access to it could still get in if they tried. The security team replaced the old keypad with a biometric scanner—fingerprint and face recognition—making it nearly impossible for anyone other than Harry or trusted personnel to gain entry. It was a decision made in the best interest of both privacy and safety.

Later in the day, as Harry returned home from a brief meeting, you watched him pull into the driveway. He came to a stop, giving you a quizzical look as he noticed the new setup.

"Okay, this is new," Harry said as he got out of the car, motioning toward the new camera at the gate and the biometric scanner you had installed. He raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think I’d need to scan my face just to get into my own house."

You smiled coolly. "Better safe than sorry. You never know who might have access to your old codes. This is the next level of protection."

Harry paused, eyeing the scanner, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. You weren’t just a bodyguard anymore. You were someone who understood how to keep him safe. His face softened slightly, but there was still a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

“I don’t know how I feel about all of this," Harry said, clearly uncomfortable with the changes. "It feels a little... extreme.”

You could sense his resistance, but you had expected this. "The changes are necessary, Harry," you said gently. "And it’s all for your safety. Trust me, it’ll feel like second nature soon enough."

You stepped away, watching him for a moment, before giving him some space. You knew Harry wasn’t the type to embrace change quickly, especially when it came to his personal life. But the new measures weren’t negotiable, and you couldn’t afford to back down.

—

That evening, after a brief rundown of your expectations, Harry seemed to nod along, seemingly compliant. However, as soon as he left Jeff’s office, you noticed his quick pace and sharp turns. You felt a shift in the air—the subtle challenge of Harry trying to lose you. He walked quickly, turning corners sharply, hoping you'd fall behind.

But you didn’t. You kept pace, your eyes scanning the area with precision, anticipating his every move. He stopped by a coffee shop, ordering something he didn’t even want, just to see if you’d relax your guard. You didn’t. By the time he reached his car, you were already standing beside it, waiting for him.

Harry sighed, shaking his head with a small, reluctant smirk. "Alright, I get it. You’re good."

"You should’ve figured that out when they hired me," you replied evenly, opening the door for him. He slid in, still watching you with mild curiosity, his eyes darting over your face as if trying to piece together the enigma that was you.

You didn’t talk much during the ride, but every so often, you could feel his gaze flicking toward you, studying you in his own quiet way. He wasn’t convinced yet, but he was starting to accept that you weren’t going anywhere.

—

After you dropped Harry off, you headed back to the office to wrap up the day’s tasks. Just as you were about to leave, Jeff caught up to you in the hallway. His expression was serious, a far cry from the casual confidence he usually carried.

"Look, I know this is only your first day, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up," Jeff said, lowering his voice. "Harry’s stubborn, and he’s not going to make this easy. He’ll try to shake you, test your limits. He doesn’t believe he needs this level of protection, and he’ll resist at every turn."

You nodded, already anticipating the challenge. "I can handle it. I’ve dealt with difficult clients before."

Jeff glanced at you, his eyes softening just slightly. "It’s not just that," he continued. "Harry doesn’t just push back because he’s stubborn. He won’t admit when he needs help, especially when it comes to anything related to his safety. He’ll act like he’s fine, even when he’s not. Just… be patient with him. This is going to take time."

You absorbed his words carefully, already starting to form a strategy in your mind. This job wasn’t just about physical protection; it was about navigating Harry’s emotional landscape, too. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Jeff sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just don’t back down. He might push you, but that’s just how he is. You’re doing good, though. I can see it."

You offered him a small, confident smile. "Thanks. I won’t let you down."

—

The following morning, after a restless night of monitoring security systems and reviewing the updated perimeter, you decided it was time to establish some ground rules. As you entered Harry’s house early, you noticed he was still in his pajamas, a mug of coffee in hand as he browsed through his phone. His hair was messy, and his usual polished aura was absent. He didn’t look up as you approached, but you knew this conversation was inevitable.

"No unannounced outings," you said firmly, your voice cutting through the morning air. "If you’re leaving the house, I need to know ahead of time. If you’re meeting someone, I vet them first. No exceptions."

Harry scoffed, slumping back in his chair as if the weight of the world had suddenly been placed on his shoulders. "You want to approve my dates now, too?"

You met his gaze without flinching. "If your date is a security risk, yes."

Mitch, one of Harry’s closest friends and bandmate, smirked from across the table. "She’s got you there, mate."

The room was filled with Harry’s band and team, all gathered together. Mitch and Sarah were there, along with Jeff, who had accompanied you to the house early that morning. Sarah stayed mostly quiet, watching the interaction with interest, while Mitch, as always, was ready with a teasing comment. Jeff, however, stood firmly on your side. He knew the importance of what you were doing and had already helped arrange the meeting. His presence was a reminder that this wasn’t just about you and Harry—it was about Harry’s safety, and Jeff understood that.

"I called everyone in this morning to go over some new ground rules," you continued, setting a folder of documents down in front of Harry. "This isn’t just about you, Harry. This is about your team too. It’s important that everyone is on the same page, especially when it comes to security."

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond immediately, still holding onto his coffee mug. Mitch, noticing the tension, leaned back in his chair, making a show of stretching. "Alright, boss," Mitch said with a playful grin. "What’s the first rule? Can we still sneak out for late-night gigs without her tracking us down?"

You shot Mitch a look, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Mitch, you’re not a teenager anymore. If there’s something important you want to do, you let me know first. No more spontaneous plans. You know I need to vet it. Same goes for all of you. It’s for your safety and Harry’s."

Jeff, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up, his voice calm but assertive. "Mitch, she's right. We can’t afford to take any chances anymore. If we’re going to do this right, everyone’s got to be on board with the rules. For Harry’s safety and all of ours."

Harry muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue. He toyed with a bracelet on his wrist, his fingers absentmindedly twirling it, clearly irritated by the restriction. You could tell the added pressure was building. It wasn’t just the rules—it was the idea of being watched, the feeling of someone else controlling parts of his life.

But you had to be firm. He needed structure, even if he didn’t want it. And it was your job to make sure he understood that these boundaries were for his own good. You had to pick your battles carefully, but you couldn’t back down now.

"Look, I get it," you added, noticing the strain on his face. "You don’t want to feel like you’re being treated like a child. But I’m not here to ruin your life, Harry. I’m here to make sure you stay safe. That means I need to know where you are, who you’re with, and if anything goes off track. You may not like it, but it’s non-negotiable."

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. Sarah, always the mediator, glanced between Harry and you. She didn’t speak up, but you could tell she was trying to gauge the situation. Jeff, on the other hand, nodded in approval.

"This is exactly why we need to stay organized," Jeff added. "We’ve all seen the risks. It's better to be proactive than reactive. It might seem over the top now, but trust me—it’ll pay off."

Harry’s eyes flashed with mild frustration, but he didn’t speak up. The rules were getting stricter, and though you could tell he wasn’t thrilled, you weren’t about to bend. His life wasn’t just his own anymore—it was part of a much larger, more complex world now, and everything had to be accounted for. This wasn’t just about protecting him from the outside world. It was about making sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

You turned back to Harry, who was still fidgeting with his bracelet, seemingly lost in thought. "I’ll be reviewing all of your appointments and travel schedules. No more impromptu decisions. If there’s anything outside of the ordinary, you’re to clear it with me first. This includes interviews, public events, and meetings with anyone who isn’t part of your team."

Mitch, always ready to throw in his playful commentary, grinned. "So, does that mean you’ll be approving my plans too, or are you going to let me live a little?"

You gave him a deadpan stare. "If your plans involve a security risk, Mitch, then yes. I’ll be reviewing them."

Mitch raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I see how this is going."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh but didn’t argue further. His team wasn’t exactly hostile, but there was a clear air of tension. They were used to having more autonomy, and now they were all adjusting to the fact that you were calling the shots when it came to security.

As the meeting wrapped up, you found another chance to add more rules. "I’m going to be implementing a detailed daily check-in. If you’re going anywhere, I want to know your exact plans for the day. That means no unplanned stops, no sudden changes of heart. Everything is to be accounted for."

Harry slumped further into his chair, running his hand through his hair. "Fine," he muttered, clearly exhausted from the conversation. "But this better not become a habit."

You leaned in slightly, your voice calm but firm. "It will, for your safety. And we both know this isn’t just a ‘habit.’ It’s necessary."

Harry nodded stiffly, his posture still tense, but you could see a flicker of acceptance in his eyes. There was a silent understanding growing between you two—a recognition that this arrangement wasn’t ideal, but it was the only way forward.

You gave him a small, knowing smile. "I know you’re not used to this, but in the long run, it’ll make things easier for both of us."

Harry nodded stiffly, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. There was something unspoken between you now, a mutual understanding. He might have fought the rules at first, but you had a feeling he was beginning to see the logic behind them.

Mitch shot Harry a teasing smile. "Looks like she’s got you on lockdown now, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. He was adjusting, even if it wasn’t easy. And as for you, you knew this was only the beginning. Building trust took time, but you were willing to work for it. The rules you were setting were necessary. And despite his initial resistance, Harry was starting to realize that he needed them.

—

The next few days passed without incident, but you stayed vigilant, constantly assessing Harry’s routines and the security setup. You knew that with a celebrity like him, the danger wasn’t always obvious, and there would be moments when he’d try to slip through the cracks. He was stubborn, determined, but you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time he tested you.

That night, after another late evening of monitoring Harry’s schedule, you retired to the security room once more. You pulled up a map of Harry’s estate, overlaying it with your notes. Every camera feed was up on the screen, every exit was accounted for, and you had finally established a solid perimeter.

As you closed the laptop, your gaze lingered on the footage of Harry smiling in front of the cameras, pushing through the crowd for his fans. The image on the screen didn’t capture the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes always darted around when he was surrounded.

You’d noticed it before, but now you understood it better. Harry wasn’t just worried about his fans. He was worried about the cracks that formed around him—the way people expected him to be perfect, the endless demands for a version of himself that could never be entirely real. The pressure was immense. Behind that charming smile, behind the carefully curated persona, was a man who wasn’t sure where the public’s love for him ended and where his own fear began. People wanted to be close to him, to see the man behind the legend, but the truth was, they didn’t always know what to do with the raw, unguarded version of Harry. The one who, when the cameras were off, sometimes felt like he was drowning in his own image.

You understood it now—the anxiety that haunted him, the cracks that formed around his confidence. It wasn’t just about the crowds or the pressure to always be "on." It was the constant battle of being vulnerable in a world that only ever seemed to want the version of him that smiled on stage, not the person who carried the weight of his own flaws, fears, and humanity.

Your job wasn’t just about protecting him from the outside world. It was about protecting him from his own vulnerability, making sure that he wasn’t consumed by the relentless expectations placed on him.

As you sat there in the dim glow of the monitors, you couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before Harry truly accepted the help he needed. He had always kept his guard up, never fully letting anyone in. You had learned that much about him already. But you had to admit, there was a subtle shift in the way he relied on your presence. Even if he didn’t admit it, he was beginning to let you in, piece by piece.

You leaned back in your chair, taking a breath. You had your work cut out for you, but it was the job you had taken, and you were determined to make sure Harry never had to face the world alone.

The stakes were higher than just his safety now—he was at a crossroads, and so were you. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that this journey would change both of you in ways you couldn’t yet predict.