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phefics · 5 months

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veritaserum

ship: fred weasley x reader x george weasley summary: fred and george dose the reader with a truth serum, which leads to her admitting a sexual fantasy including both brothers. warnings: dubious consent (truth potion is used to make the reader admit her sexual fantasies which then play out), pseudo-inc3st (the twins don't do anything sexual to each other but are both involved in the same sexual scenario), gender-neutral!reader (reader has a vagina but no pronouns are used) word count: 1.9k

Being friends with the Weasley twins was a constant rollercoaster.

There was never a dull moment, always an adventure to go on, a prank to pull, or witty banter bouncing between you and the brothers. Sometimes, you were helping Fred and George pull off their next big joke, but other times, you were their target. Sure, it could be frustrating, but it was also fun for you, and you always found ways to get them back.

You had been friends with the twins since your first year at Hogwarts, and that friendship had continued past Hogwarts and followed you into early-adulthood. You visited them at the flat over their shop in Diagon Alley often, where they showed you prototypes for new products and made you laugh until you cried with their antics.

It was a cold evening when you appeared in their fireplace, a bit dusty from the ashes, and were greeted with excited shouts from Fred and George before being pulled into a group hug.

As you looked up at their grinning faces, you couldn’t believe that there were people who still got the twins confused.

Fred had more freckles on his face, while George’s shoulders and arms had an abundance of them. When Fred laughed, he threw his head back, cackling loudly, while George usually gave more reserved chuckles, laughing down at his lap. And, well, George was fully missing an ear now, and Fred had a large scar on his temple from the Battle, where a piece of castle wall had crashed down on top of him.

“Finally,” Fred said, man-handling you onto the couch. “We’ve been waiting ages!”

“I’m only a few minutes late,” you replied, glancing at their clock, which wasn’t even working—it read 3:15, but it was well past 7:00 judging by the darkness outside.

“And are our few minutes not important to you?” George asked, sitting by your side. “We could have been using that time to come up with more brilliant inventions.”

“Or planned a clever scheme to spill a bucket of water on your head when you arrived,” Fred added.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to have wasted your precious time,” you said, tone thick with sarcasm.

It was nice catching up with them. They updated you on each member of the Weasley family, such as Fleur’s pregnancy with her and Bill’s first child, or Percy’s upcoming wedding. You updated them on your own life as well, and it wasn’t long until they had pushed a glass of Firewhiskey into your hands.

“So, Y/N,” Fred said, leaning against the back of the couch. You immediately recognized the glint of mischief in his brown eyes, and braced yourself for whatever ridiculous question he was about to pose.

“Which of us do you think is the better looking twin?”

You opened your mouth, intending to say something like ‘neither of you’ or ‘you’re identical—what kind of stupid question is that?’ but the sentence that spilled from your lips instead was, “Well, you look pretty much the same, so I’d say you guys are equally attractive. I think the scar makes you look pretty hot, Fred, but George can really pull off the whole missing ear thing.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, face burning.

The twins both erupted into giggles.

“Oh, you’re too kind!” George said. “I’m glad you find my lack of an ear sexy.”

“And my scar is flattered,” Fred added.

“What did you two do?” you asked, scowling.

“We might have stumbled upon a vial of Veritaserum…” George said, trying and failing to look guilty. “And put it in your drink. Just a drop, though! It’ll wear off soon.”

You wanted to insult them, yell at them, call them every insult and curse under the sun, but no words would leave your tongue. It was like the truth serum wouldn’t even let you pretend to be pissed off. Sure, this was an invasion of your privacy and totally sketchy, but you had known Fred and George for so long, you were sort of used to their antics by now. You should have been way angrier than you were, but it was just so typical of them, you couldn’t muster much more than annoyance.

What you did manage to say was, “Why?”

Both twins shrugged.

“For fun,” Fred said.

“And because we were curious about something,” George replied.

“About what?”

“About which of us you like better.”

You blinked at them. “Are you serious? We aren’t eleven anymore. Is it really a contest between you two to be the better twin?”

“Not really, no,” Fred said. “Even though we all know that it's me.”

George reached over you to playfully shove his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not about proving anything. We’re just curious. So, Y/N, who do you like better: me or Freddie?”

“I like you equally,” you said. “You are both hilarious, intelligent, and my best friends. I find it easier to connect with George on serious things, but Fred always knows the right thing to say when I need cheering up.”

Your face was flushing deeper, embarrassed at the cheesy, sentimental words that left your mouth. Fred and George had grown up in an incredibly loving, affectionate family and had never shied away from making their love known, but it was awkward to voice your own feelings out loud like that.

Both twins seemed rather touched, though

“Wow, I was expecting you to have to pick,” Fred said. “But that’s oddly sweet.”

You groaned. “Okay, okay, yes, I love you both, can we knock this off now?”

“No, we have more questions!”

“Such as…?”

“Would you fuck either of us?” George asked.

Fred was normally the more vulgar of the two, and the question coming from George’s lips instead took you even more off guard.

“Yes,” you said, unable to stop yourself. “Either of you. Or both of you.”

“At the same time?”

“Yes.”

Fred and George also showed their emotions differently. Fred was better at keeping his feelings to himself, but when he was flustered, his ears would turn pink. His ears had flushed slightly, and his eyes were wide as he licked his lips, clearly intrigued by your answer. George was also flushed, but the color went to his face, and he brushed his thumbs repeatedly over his thighs, a nervous tick he’d always had.

“Have you thought about this a lot?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell us how you’d want it.”

You couldn’t help but answer. “I would let you strip off my clothes, groping me. One of you is behind me, kissing my neck as you take off my shirt. The other is at my feet, pulling my pants down. Neither of you shut up the whole time, talking about me like I’m not even there. Commenting to each other about how pretty I am, how wet my pussy is for you. Whoever is between my legs starts to go down on me, while the other holds my body still so I can’t move away from how good it feels. I cum on your tongue, and the other wants a turn, too…”

The twins were both clearly aroused as you spoke.

“Do you want that? Now?” Fred asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” you breathed.

They waste no time switching their positions on the couch, George pulling your back against his chest while Fred positions himself between your legs, his hands eagerly moving to the waistband of your pants, tugging at it.

George took his time, hands sliding up your shirt, touching softly as he felt you up, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, lips teasing the skin there.

You couldn’t help but whine under their touches, loving every moment of it. You had truly dreamt of this for years, always too afraid to ruin the friendship. Sure, you had kissed both twins for dares back at school, but this was real and intimate and beautiful.

Fred made quick work of getting your bottom half undressed, and he kissed his ways along your thighs, cupping your ass with one hand, squeezing hard.

“So fuckin’ hot,” George breathed.

“I know, right?” Fred replied. “So good for us, too. Are we making your fantasy come true, love?”

You nodded, whimpering softly.

“So needy, too. You want to cum for us?”

You nodded again. “Yes, yes please.”

George chuckled, nipping at your ear as Fred’s mouth finally reached your pussy, his tongue licking tentatively at you before he found your clit, which he immediately focused his attention on.

Your noises only grew louder, more desperate.

“Already? You’re not very good at this whole build-up thing, Freddie,” George said.

“I think we’ve waited long enough for this,” Fred replied before returning to his task.

“You don’t want to be patient, do you, darling?” George asked, hugging you tightly from behind. “You’ve wanted this for so long, you just want to be good for us, take everything we’ve got?”

“Fuck yes,” you moan.

Fred was clearly just as eager as you are, apparently trying to make you cum as quickly as possible, like he was placing bets in his head.

“You like that, hm? Is he good at it? Making you feel good?” George said.

“Feels so fucking good.”

“Good. You gonna cum for him?”

“Yes, yes, I’m—”

It didn’t take long at all. Fred’s tongue was good for more than just witty comments, and your legs trembled as he sat up, lips shining with your slick and a smug smile on his face.

“I think this is the part where we switch jobs, Georgie.”

Your pussy was already so wet, so sensitive, you knew that George would be able to make you cum fast, too. It was almost embarrassing how easy you were, how turned on they made you.

The twins switched positions, and Fred wrapped his arms around your middle sweetly, dragging his fingers over your waist and making goosebumps spread over your abdomen, squirming in his grasp.

“Don’t try and get away, sweet thing,” Fred said. “Otherwise George won’t be able to have his turn. Just be good for us, okay? Be a good little slut.”

You whined, face hot as George’s lips found your inner thighs and kissed the skin there, slowly, teasingly. He was the more patient, more methodical of the two. He wasn’t going to go straight for your clit, he was going to keep you wanting. Maybe until you begged.

Fred began sucking a hickey into your throat, leaving you a moaning mess as the twins both worshiped your body like it was something sacred.

Finally, George’s tongue found your pussy, teasing your hole and folds before even bothering to touch your clit.

“Should he put his fingers inside you?” Fred asked.

You nodded fervently, thrusting your hips.

George complied immediately, sliding one finger inside which was quickly followed by a second, pumping slowly before curling into that special spot, which he had found surprisingly easily.

Your second orgasm came just as quickly as the first, your hands balling into fists and your toes curling. Once your body was able to relax, you looked up through teary eyes to see George licking your taste off of his fingers.

“Was that everything you dreamed?” Fred asked.

You opened your mouth, expecting the answer to roll off your tongue, but it didn’t. You realized that the potion had worn off, and smirked.

“It could have been better,” you said, thrilled with your ability to lie again.

Obviously, Fred and George had to remedy that immediately.

#fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #weasley twins x reader #fred weasley smut #george weasley smut #weasley twins smut #hp fic #ophelia's fics

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astayinwonderland · 4 months

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Do you think we are about to make a terrible mistake? | Zhong Chenle

pairing: chenle x f.reader

genre: besties to lovers | smut +18 MDNI

summary: chenle has been away for a while and you miss your best friend-- however, everything changes when you realise you might actually love him more than a friend

wc: 2.2k

warnings: mentions and use of alcohol, anxiety, consensual sex, unprotected sex (pls no), oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms-- lmk if I forgot anything

It’s 15 minutes past 11, where the fuck is he?

You already texted him twice. You called. The party had already started and your friends wondered if you would make it. Hell, you were wondering if you should just go on your own. But no– you promised you would get there together for old-time’s sake. It’s been a little over a year since Chenle moved out of the country, your days of embracing nothingness together are gone, movie nights are just nostalgic memories, and maybe some words left unspoken. You missed your best friend dearly and even though you often called each other, it was not the same. Not at all. You missed more than his company. You missed his essence, aura, sparkly eyes, smile, and touch…

Your heart suddenly ached. Were you truly in love or is it just the fact that this is the first time you will see him since he left? The thoughts that rudely invade your brain get interrupted by three loud knocks. Running to the door, you can feel the thundering beating of your heart ringing in your ears.

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry…. Please don’t be upset–”

You open the door abruptly and there he is.

Zhong Chenle.

Blue 3-piece suit. His hair graciously falls over his forehead, framing his beautiful face. He gives you the brightest of smiles, your heart skips a bit.

“Don’t hate me. Come here!” he opens his arms to embrace you.

“Shut up,” you throw your arms around him, and suddenly everything is fine. Time has not passed.

His nose lowers to your head and he inhales your scent. This is home to him, he can’t believe he’s been away from you for so long. All he yearns is to keep you close, but doing so means having to accept the fact that he is irremediably in love with you.

Smoke and bright lights danced around the place and the crowd made way for you and the man of the hour apparently. Everyone reaches out to Chenle. Hugs, high fives, praises, and kisses shower him. You can’t help but feel a tad bit jealous. This was supposed to be a fun night for you and your best friend… and your other friends as well. But Chenle is loved, popular, and missed, of course, people would be all over him. You feel silly for suggesting going to the party in the first place.

You’re snapped back to reality when your body crashes into Chenle’s. His hand is possessively placed around your waist. Your audible gasp makes him laugh.

“Where did your mind go, silly?”

“Nowhere, I just wish we were somewhere else. This is not how I envisioned tonight, you know… after spending so much time apart,” you force a smile and feel his thumb caressing you softly. There was something up with him, but to your surprise, you couldn’t read him.

Chenle closes the distance between you too. He's a little too close, his breath fanning on your face. Is he going to–

“Chenle!”

Shiny hair, plump lips, white smile. Her manicured hand was already snaking its way to Chenle’s arm. She looks at you, scanning up and down as if she were trying to figure out who you are.

“Oh, hey! Wh- what are you doing here?” Chenle replies. A kiss on her cheek makes your heart sink.

Chenle’s eyes go from you to the girl and again to you. He is about to introduce you but you suddenly feel like your heart is going to burst out your chest, your palms are sweaty, your eyes getting watery and your ability to breathe fades as you try to fight the feeling.

“I really need to go. Sorry– Nice to meet you,” you say politely. You try not to cry as you make your way out. Chenle watches as you leave, but he feels how his chest tightens more and more with each step you take away from him.

After his third call, you get into the shower hoping that the pain would fade away with the hot water hitting your vulnerable skin. With tears streaming down your face and sobs that echo around your bathroom you finish your shower. You are too exhausted to do anything else but sleep, and your phone has long been forgotten in your purse.

You think you just blinked but in reality, it is a little past 3 a.m. and the faintest sound coming from your door seems to wake you up. In a panic, you rush and open the door to find a sobering Chenle by your door.

“...it was about fucking time you opened that door, silly, I’ve been knocking for hours I thought–”

You cut him off, pulling him in.

“Chenle what the fuck?”

He smiles at your puzzled expression. His hair is a bit messy now, blue suit is wrinkled. You can’t help but wonder if anything happened with the girl in the club.

“I’ve been waiting for hours… I followed you back here but you locked the door. I called you so many times… ” he frowns.

You go to the kitchen and fetch him a water bottle. As he starts drinking it, you find his eyes searching yours… Sparks. No. No. This is your best friend Chenle. Nothing can ever happen between you and your best friend. The one who taught you how to ride a bike, tie your shoelaces, and give the best hugs ever.

“You look so pretty,” he finally says.

“Drink your water, Chenle,” you sigh.

“You do!” he insists.

“Who has she?” and you can’t believe the words that leave your mouth. You weren’t supposed to ask.

“We did a semester together abroad. She is a good classmate that’s all. I never meant to upset you– you are too important…”

You weren’t sure where the conversation was going, but Chenle assumed he talked too much. He puts the water bottle down and makes his way to you. Now you find yourself between your best friend and your bedroom door. The hard wooden surface against your back reminds you that once you cross that threshold with him, your relationship will change forever.

His hands touch your waist, not sure if he has permission to do so, but you welcome him as the drug you need. His lips inches from yours and you pray he will kiss you, but time stops. It’s really only you and him at last like you dreamt of so many restless nights.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something since the moment I came back…”

“Yes?” your voice comes out as a breathless whisper.

“Can I kiss you?”

You can’t even wait to answer him when your lips are already on his. His tongue teases yours and your lips part. He tastes of expensive wine, lust, and love. Chenle moans into your mouth and that is it for you. You want every single inch of you to be consumed by him. You reach out to open the door to your room.

“Please,” you ask.

“How can I say no to you?” he smiles and kisses you once again.

Each second you spend kissing him you feel your skin getting hotter, desire coursing through your veins making you dizzy, and then you feel him carry you. Bride style, his lips never leaving yours. He carefully lowers you onto the bed, his hands now exploring your clothed body, the feeling of sparks under his fingertips making the moment intense, and urgent. Little moans and cries escape you both as Chenle helps you to straddle him. Your delicate fingers move his hair away from his face. The most beautiful man is underneath you, eyes on yours, lips parted. His chest rises and falls, you contemplate him for a moment. He takes your hands into his, everything seems surreal, you have spent countless times in this bedroom but not like this—a new territory.

“Do you think we are about to make a terrible mistake?” your voice is small, you may not want to know what he has to say.

He shakes his head. His hand reaches your cheek.

“Do you?”

Now you shake your head.

“Good. Then kiss me, silly, and don’t stop unless you don’t want to do this–” but you don’t let him finish his thought and your lips already found his.

It is then that you finally understand that he needs you as much as you need him. The pieces of clothing now are forgotten somewhere on your bedroom floor. Every part of you reacting to Chenle’s heavenly but sinful touch. His fingers finally take the only item of clothing left, your panties. He lowers himself, eye level with your wet cunt.

“So pretty,” he murmurs.

His tongue licks your entrance, ending in your clit which he sucks and your soul seems to leave your body as your back arches for him. Your hands immediately reach your breasts increasing the sinful pleasure coursing through you. You feel one of his fingers slide in you with almost no resistance. That’s how aroused you are for him. You gasp and your hips move, making the feeling of his hot mouth on your cunt even better. With his tongue flat on your slit, Chenle’s hands squeeze your thighs, encouraging you to use his face as you please. Only stopping to spit on your throbbing core, he eats you out so deliciously your soft moans turning louder. Legs over his shoulders now, he adds two curling fingers in you.

Again and again, he kicks your clit, his fingers working magic inside you, fogging your brain and heightening the urge to cum for him.

“Fuck! I– I’m–” you can’t think, you can’t speak… and so your orgasm hits you with such intensity you are shaking under him. Your legs turn to jelly. The heavy breathing that follows your cries echo in your ears. Chenle plants one last kiss on your clit and your legs close from the overstimulation.

He lets out a low-pitched chuckle and the vibration travels straight to your clit again.

“You okay?”

You look at him in between your legs. Did this just happen? Your head falls back once more to the pillow. An involuntary laugh escapes your lips. But Chenle knows you, sometimes better than he knows himself he thinks and to him, this moment is making his heart go a million miles an hour. What an honour to have you like this, all fucked out, and all for him.

Little kisses are planted on your thighs, on your lower stomach, your hands, your breasts, until he reaches your face. You giggle in response. His eyes meet yours, and different from what you thought, you are not embarrassed. You want him more than ever, so you kiss him.

“More than okay,” you finally replied.

Reaching south of his body you find his erection already leaking for you. You stroke it slowly, the faintest of moans leaving Chenle’s lips. This is the greatest reward you can get. His breath hitches as your pace gets faster.

“Aaahhh…” a long, whiny moan.

“You like that?”

He nods reassuring you.

You bring his hips lower, aligning his tip with your entrance. In anticipation, your eyes shut but immediately your jaw falls open when Chenle’s cock begins to stretch your needy cunt. Inch after inch, pleasure builds on pleasure and you silently pray the moment never ends when he starts moving in but not completely out of you. Your nails digging into his biceps, loving the way he stretches you out.

“Ch-chenle,”

“I know, I got you,” and he wraps one of your legs around his waist, making his thrusts deeper, his cock dragging against your walls that clench tightly around him.

“Feels so so good,” your hand goes to his head, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling slightly.

“Say. That. Again,” he moans.

“It feels so good”.

Chenle buries his face in the crook of your neck. Mild sharp pain fades into pleasure when he bites your skin, licking the now sensitive spot to ease the harsh sensation. You pull his hair once more, this time to make him kiss you. And he does, so lost in passion, so lost in you. The kiss is sloppy, messy, perfect. His thumb presses circles on your clit acting as the perfect trigger for your orgasm. You feel climbing higher and higher, his cock twitching inside you, his hot breath fanning on your face, his lips curving into a smile. Fuck, he is everything.

“Chenle! Fuck… ah!” you cum for him.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes,” he repeats as a broken record as he pulls out and cums letting out a high-pitched moan that you will remember for the rest of your life.

Chenle kisses your face, your hands, and helps you clean up. However, you didn’t exchange a word then. Now, you find yourselves back in bed, still naked. His arm around your waist, your head on his chest. His heartbeat is a love poem itself.

“You know,” he breaks the silence. “I don’t ever want to say hello or leave without kissing you… I guess what I’m trying to say is–”

You kiss him. It’s a long kiss, your lips pressed against his. Everything feels just right like it’s meant to be.

“I really like you, Chenle,” you whisper, somewhat scared of what he will say back.

“I really really like you too, silly,” he smiles.

————————————————————-

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨

I hope enjoyed this :3 ~ masterlist

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fics #zhong chenle #zhong chenle x reader #zhong chenle smut #chenle x reader #chenle smut #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct scenarios #nct smut #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #chenle imagines #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fanfiction #astayinwonderland

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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FOURTEEN

in which eddie finally offers you an honesty hour. which is great, until you learn you've bit off more than you're capable of chewing. (oh, and we find out more of what happened at steve's infamous party)

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5k+

→ a/n: there is still one more bit of the memory left for steve's party!! i broke it into three bits because otherwise it would be too long as one giant clump lol. sorry this is being posted so late... but hey! it's here! see y'all again thursday lol thank you to everyone for continuing to be so kind about this story and show it so much love

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

14:00 ────────ㅇ─────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

It’s Eddie. You only know because when Nancy opens the door, she greets him loudly, letting her drunken squeal echo down the hallway and into the kitchen.

“Munson! Finally!” her voice carries, and you fight the urge to try and move to peek through the doorway to see him, “Took you long enough!”

Eddie's voice is too quiet for you to hear his reply. He’s not drunk, not fueled by reckless decisions and overflowing affections like most of the other friends were already.

There’s a terrible twisting in your gut at his arrival, and you know it shows across your face when Robin looks at you apologetically. As if for a moment, they had forgotten they way you and Eddie avoided each other. As if for a moment, they had all pretended that the entire group could convene and it could be easy, and that was on them instead of you or Eddie. But it wasn’t on them. That blame could never fall on them.

It was on Eddie, you decided. He was the one who more ardently avoided you rather than vice versa. He was the one with a sharper tongue between the two of you, always snappy, always irritated with you. It was on Eddie. It should be on Eddie.

Except, you still felt bad about the Chrissy ordeal. He may have acted as if he disliked you for no reason before, but now he was hating you with reason. You can’t blame him; you’d do the same thing. If he ruined a date like that, stomped all over possible potential and threw it away without even considering your feelings involved, you’d be out for blood.

You sort of needed to apologize, and needed to apologize soon.

“Eddie, my man!” Argyle calls out from the couch. It captures your attention just in time to look over and watch as Eddie enters the room, his back facing you, his shoulders slack beneath his leather jacket.

He’s relaxed. You’re immediately sure that he doesn’t know you’re here yet.

“Hey, man,” he greets with a gravelly voice, an edge of fatigue to it you’re familiar with. It’s the kind of tiredness that follows long weeks, as you two had spoken about that first night. For a second, you wonder if he’s still having those. And if he is, how often they happen, if he ever comes home from them and thinks about that night, if he has anyone to call when it’s late and they haunt him.

You know you don’t. Neither Steve nor Robin are ever awake that late, or at least don’t answer the phone at that time of day, and you don’t feel close enough with the rest of the group to burden them like that.

There had been a time where you would wonder if Eddie could have become that person, if the type of conversation you two had at the bar the first night could ever translate over phone lines. But that time had been early on, and was long dead. It laid in an unmarked grave with all your other ponderings of what a friendship with Eddie might look like.

“We can keep you two apart,” Robin whispers, or at least tries to whisper. She’s loud, “He said he had work and wouldn’t make it. We… We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

Oh.

Oh, what a knock to your pride. Robin means nothing harmful of the words, they should be neutral and just an explanation offered to you. But your mind takes them in its grasp and runs, runs, runs.

“We thought he wasn’t going to come, so we invited you instead.”

You’re the backup plan. You see it now, and it sucks, but you press your lips into a cellophane smile that Robin can’t see through in her flurry to distract you with an offering of you two plus Steve having another round of drinks. You decide to take a straight shot of the nearest bottle of vodka, swallowing it down to drown your already sinking heart. You fake laugh when Steve tells bad jokes, you make up lies about your dates of the last few weeks, deciding you no longer care if you add in more details to look less pathetic.

You’re the backup plan. So you’re sure they won’t notice when you spin a new version of yourself.

This version of you that spews from your lips has gotten lucky more times in the last month than you have in the last year. This version of you is always the one having the last say in conversations, the one leaving men on read rather than the tables being flipped as they were in reality.

Robin says nothing, even when she notices some of the things you say not aligning with what you’d told her earlier that week. She only side-eyes you as Steve drinks in every detail, only disrupting to suggest another shot.

At some point, she gets too drunk to side-eye you.

“Fuck,” Steve sighs, throwing his head back as he glances out to his living room, where Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, and Eddie have taken to sitting in an oblong circle around on his and Robin’s furniture, “I need some fresh air. Anyone else?”

“Me,” Robin responds so quickly, you would have made fun of her if you didn’t notice the sickly shade of green creeping up on her.

Steve looks at you, raising an eyebrow, but you only shake your head. It makes the room threaten to spin. Maybe, just maybe, you should have slowed your roll with the vodka shots. Maybe.

“I’ll stay in here, hold down the fort,” you promise, letting your eyes fall shut before you inhale deeply through your nose, exhaling softly through parted lips.

No way. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough tonight to excuse getting sick as Robin was seemingly about to.

Robin and Steve leave you be as you compose yourself. You think you hear them extend the offer to everyone in the living room, but you can’t make out who agrees to go and who stays. But as you listen to all the footsteps making their way out the front door, Steve calling out that they’d be back soon, you start to become convinced you’ll open your eyes to an empty apartment.

You open them to an empty kitchen. So far, so good.

But then a voice clears their throat from the living room, just as you pull your phone out of your pocket. You open it to find the cursed dating app still open, your messages with the bartender still staring you back in your face. The bartender you thought you’d hit it off with. The bartender that had stood you up the night before.

Fuck him, you think bitterly as you turn to find Eddie entering the kitchen. Because of course, given your luck, Eddie was the only one who stayed back.

“Those apps fucking suck,” Eddie notes, using the neck of his beer bottle to gesture in the general direction of your phone.

You look between him and the lit up screen for a moment, finding half the mind to click out of the private messages, “You’ve used them in the past?”

“Nope.”

You wait for a second, giving him the chance to elaborate. But he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, he’s Eddie. If he explained himself to you, that would just be too easy.

“Okay,” you sigh, squinting at the page and past the vodka, trying to fumble your way back onto the screen that would show you eligible bachelors in your area, letting you swipe and judge them by solely looks as if they weren’t actual people on the other side of the phone. As if they weren’t more than a reservoir of attention at your fingertips.

Maybe that had been your mistake with the bartender – you let him become a real person to you.

“Why are you even still on them? I heard you’ve been having a shit time with the guys on there – quite the opposite of what you’ve been telling Harrington tonight, might I point out.”

It’s something in the way he says it. One moment, you’re looking down, ignoring him. The next, you can’t help but lift your head in shock. The words all felt sharpened and poised for a kill, ready for an attack you hadn’t expected so early on in the night.

“I-” you don’t know how to defend yourself. You don’t know whether to stick by the lies you’ve told tonight, or to be concerned with who was telling Eddie about your love life, “You win some, you lose some. It’s the nature of the app.”

Eddie grins and leans on a counter across from you, “You haven’t made it sound like you’re losing at all tonight. I nearly started a drinking game with Nance where we took a swig every time you said you managed to pull another ‘fuck ‘em and leave ‘em’. Quite the body count you’ve got there, player.”

You’re drunk. You tell yourself that’s why you take his words straight to heart – you’re drunk, and therefore, you’re sensitive.

“You’re bluffing,” you snap, “You couldn’t hear me from all the way over there.”

“We could.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, we could.”

“You’re lying,” you spit finally, crossing your arms defensively. Your emotions were rising too high, too quickly, and you blame the vodka. You blame the vodka and you blame the drink Steve had made you. You blame the bartender who stood you up. And most importantly, you blame Eddie.

“I’m lying? You’re the one who’s been telling Stevie nothing but lies tonight,” Eddie narrows his eyes at you, as if he expects you to shrink in cowardice when he stands up straight and takes several steps across the kitchen to be closer to you, “Why do you need to even lie about all that, anyways? It’s not like the truth would be any more pathetic than the act you’re putting up. Everyone strikes ou-”

“I’m pathetic?” you scoff and interrupt him, not even paying any attention to where he was going. The tips of your ears are starting to flame with a red tinge, “Just last week, you lied to the group. You were trying to avoid being where I’d be and told them you had to walk your neighbor’s dog.”

“I did!”

“Your apartment has a strict no pet policy, Eddie.”

He freezes up entirely, grin faltering before your eyes, “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t, but Nancy did,” you roll your eyes at the cracks in his composure, “It’s all I had to hear about the entire night. How she wishes we could get along, how she hates when you lie to her. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“It’s not my fuckin’ fault you go out with my friends,” Eddie grumbles, reserving himself back to his side of the kitchen. If someone came in and squinted closely, they’d find that imaginary boundary between the two of you, an invisible line that would not be crossed. Not here, not tonight. You wouldn’t touch Eddie Munson with a twelve-foot pole if you could help it.

“And it’s not my fault that you don’t.”

You can see his agitation spreading like wildfire across his face, in the tick of his jaw and the twitch of his eyes. You can practically see the words that linger on his tongue as he bites down on it – it is your fault.

“Whatever. Why are you lying to Steve?” his voice goes monotonous as he crosses his arms, and the muscles strain against his shirt. His leather jacket has long been discarded, probably thrown over the back of the couch or a chair in the living room.

You mirror him, crossing your arms, letting the screen of your phone press into your side, “I’m not lying.”

“You are. With Steve, and with me at this very moment,” his eyebrows furrow and you consider the consequences of chucking your phone at him.

Your irritation, your own agitation, is all bubbling beneath your skin. If it wasn’t for the vodka mingling with it, you would have been squirming from the discomfort. Usually, he doesn’t get to you. Normally, his off-handed comments come with a sting that can quickly fade.

None of the jabs are fading tonight. They only seem to linger. Because he’s right, and you hate that he’s right.

“How the fuck do you even know how my dating life is going?” you uncross your arms, waving your hands wildly into the empty air between you and Eddie, “We aren’t exactly friends. Did Robin tell you? Did Steve tell you?”

Eddie swallows hard, and you can watch the words wash over him, but you’re unsure of which of your drunken slurs specifically got to him. You weren’t wrong in any of your statements, you weren’t outlandish in either of your guesses. But your words have frozen him up all the same and you aren’t sure why.

“You’re right,” when he physically melts, the deathly chill remains in his voice, “We aren’t friends. But Rob and Nance are, and Nance and me are. See where I’m going with that one?”

It’s in the way he says it, confirms it.

We aren’t friends.

He hisses it out as if it were a painful reminder, as if saying those words burn him eternally. He says them as if they are capable of sending ice through his veins and bones alike.

You know why he froze now, and it’s too late.

“Well-” you pause, unsure of how exactly to respond. You’ll be having a talk with Robin, surely. But technically, Nancy was your friend, right? Surely, she was allowed to know the drama of your love life, wasn’t she? “You say that as if Nancy and I aren't friends.”

“Are you?” he tilts his head tauntingly, as if he knows something you don’t.

“We… are.”

He catches the hesitation; he runs with it. He finds the handle of the knife you’d tried to keep so hidden, and he twists as hard as he can.

“Would Nancy agree if we asked her?” he hums, as if he were seriously contemplating this, as if it were a mediocre debate rather than a question of if you had friends or not, “Do you even have her on Instagram?”

“You, her supposed best friend, don’t have her on Instagram.”

“Because I don’t have Instagram, full stop.”

“Instagram isn’t the normal gauge of friendship,” you defend yourself, “Some people can have thousands of followers and no friends.”

You don’t have Nancy on Instagram. You don’t follow her, she doesn’t follow you. The most she’s acknowledged your presence on the app was tagging you in a photo on a night out once.

“It’s not about follower count,” Eddie shrugs, “It’s about mutual followings. That’s how Hollywood dictates whether celebrity couples are still together these days, yeah? If they follow each other. If you’re friends, you’d follow each other.”

The vodka makes you bold. Bold enough to mutter out, “Oh, fuck you,” in response to Eddie’s prodding.

“Wait, I-” you watch an unfamiliar emotion pass over Eddie’s face, something kin to regret. But his words are already out in the air, he’s already twisted the knife in your gut fully. He’s already spilled your blood in the middle of Steve’s kitchen, with no one around to witness it. He did it for himself – he did it for his own pleasure, his own enjoyment.

He enjoys hurting you.

“Save it,” you mutter, slowly deflating as you turn your back to him, facing the counter to grab your drink to nurse your wounds.

If you looked close enough in the corner of the room, you would have seen the shovel you should have used to bury away your hope of a friendship with Eddie. You should have piled the dirt over the casket, should have put 6 feet of soil and earth and worms between you and that fruitless yearning.

But you didn’t. He hadn’t taken it quite far enough yet.

Yet.

But then he had to cross that invisible barrier. He just had to walk across the kitchen, come up behind you, and not mind his own business. He just had to look over your shoulder just as you opened the bartender’s profile again, if for nothing else than to further hurt yourself for the night.

You were so caught up in your own disappointment, you never saw the flash of recognition that crossed Eddie’s face. Only the anger that followed.

—

HOUR FOURTEEN - 5:00 AM

You don’t bother with putting pants back on, only Eddie’s sweatshirt. At this point, pants were just beginning to feel like a nuisance when it came to the two of you. A nicetie, as one might put it.

What were the points of niceties with him if he could never hate you?

You have the entire five minutes he spends in the bathroom to try and compose yourself. To try and desperately ruminate through these feelings and detach them from everything that was transpiring. The emotions didn’t belong here, there weren’t twists of guilt and sorrow of loss involved for Eddie when he was fucking you.

So why is that all you could feel right now?

He could never hate you, but he had spent the last year doing exactly that, hadn’t he?

“Hey,” he reappears in the entryway of the kitchen with the worst possible timing, right in the eye of the storm that had begun to cloud over your mind. He holds up a pack of cigarettes you can only assume he’d snagged from his room, “I’m, uh- I was gonna grab a smoke out on the balcony. Join me?”

There’s something of desperation in the way he asks you. All the words are casual, but his tone is an undermining plea; please say yes, please join me, please let me in. He knows something’s wrong, and he’s not just turning a blind eye and ignoring it this time.

You stare at the pack of Marlboro Reds for a few seconds before shrugging, “Sure.”

It’s certainly not as enthusiastic as you’re sure he was hoping for, but he smiles at the small victory nonetheless.

The first thing you notice about his balcony, aside from the clustered furniture, is the view. You’ve never thought your city to be very charming, always looking at it from a pedestrian’s view or through the lens of a tired, crabby college student embarking on another late night. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d step foot on a higher floor of a building like Eddie’s, one just tall enough to see over the rooftops of most of the mundane buildings, one that could peer right over the skyline and show a new dawn breaking. It’s a flourish of pink, orange, and violet, each shade stealing away another breath. The sun is just barely yawning over the horizon, just finally awakening.

God, you’re going to regret not actually sleeping during this time.

“What’s got you scowling?” Eddie mumbles the question out around a cigarette, pausing with his lighter in midair.

You turn your head, and- just like that, all the anger and confusion melts away. He’s painted in the same shades of the sunrise, in a golden light that almost seems to be emitted from him rather than the waking sun. He is all soft edges and tired eye bags, a stubble that you can imagine the itch of against your palm if you were to reach out a hand to hold his face. If you were to kiss him right now, you fear he might dissolve all over your tongue, leaving nothing but his sweetness behind to remind you it was all real.

It’s real. Even if it doesn’t make sense with what you guys projected before tonight, even if it doesn’t align with how your lives will continue on, tonight was real. You were here, he was here, and what happened…. Simply happened.

I could never hate you.

You get it now. Because in this lighting, with a soft breeze tugging your hair and mind alike, you know you feel the same way about him. And you know it contradicts all you have shown him in the past.

You could never hate him. He could never hate you. It’s unfortunate that that’s what you’d been calling it before tonight – hate.

“It’s going to really suck,” you breathe out half a sentence. Two endings before you: letting this night go or, “Not sleeping for a full twenty four hours.”

You don’t know how he does it, how he looks at you like he knows you had something else to say. But he gives you those eyes, and they almost elicit the truth from you.

Almost.

He throws his head back in laughter, and the pinks and purples and all the fights wasted are now trailing down his neck, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

He’s much better at pretending than you are. You know that now.

“Seriously,” you turn and walk to the railing, crossing your arms against the metal grate before he joins you at your side, “I’ll probably ditch my classes on Monday. I’ll have to sleep twenty four hours straight to even the score.”

“God, I wish I could fuck off for Monday,” Eddie groans. He’s throwing his head back again, and you can’t help but wish you could replace the golden rays with your lips. You wish your warmth could sink beneath his skin like the sun’s does.

“You can’t?” your voice cracks with the question as he finally lights the cigarette between his lips.

He takes a long drag, shaking his head with the exhale of smoke, “Nope. I work Mondays at the shop.”

“The shop?”

“Myo’s,” the way his lips curl around the filter of his cigarette as he fights his grin burns a hole in the middle of your chest. Burning and erupting, yearning and longing, ignored and buried, “The auto shop on Main street.”

You know by the way he looks at you that the name should ring a bell, but considering you don’t own a car, you don’t have the slightest clue what his job is, “Oh, so you’re a mechanic?”

“I- Yeah,” he nods slowly, “Yeah, I’m a mechanic,” he pauses and you can see that he has more to say, it just takes him a moment. He looks off the balcony, shifts his weight between his two feet, takes another drag of nicotine. When he finally gathers his thoughts, you’re patient and waiting, biting back a small smile the moment he whips his face towards you, “Have we seriously never talked about that before? I swear I’ve told you I’m a mechanic.”

“Nope, seriously. Never.”

“There’s no fuckin’ way.”

“There absolutely is a way,” you laugh, letting your head fall backwards and not catching the way his gaze falls on you. The sunrise paints you in just as beautiful of a lighting as it had him. If someone asked you, you’d say that you doubt he noticed, but he did. He noticed. He always noticed, “Usually, by now, we’d be at each other’s throats.”

“We sort of were,” he shrugs, eyes still glued to how your collarbone peaks out from beneath his sweatshirt, “Surprised we didn’t leave more hickies.”

The topic you’d been avoiding. The topic he seemed indifferent about.

I could never hate you.

You decide to put his words to the test.

“Are we going to talk about it?” you ask, looking down now and picking at flakes along the metal railing, still not noticing him noticing you, “About…. what we just did?”

“Are you always this straight to the point?” he chuckles nervously. In your peripherals, you catch the way he leans and mirrors you, side by side on the railing. His light cigarette hung loosely between indifferent fingers. Indifference, indifference, indifference.

If you’d just look at him, you’d see anything but indifference written across his face.

“Only when it matters,” you reply, breathing in his secondhand smoke, “Only when it’s important.”

His pinky is within reach of yours once more, just like at the parking garage. Even after feeling the entire expanse of his bare skin against yours, you still crave more – you crave for the intimacy that comes from hooking pinkies as grown adults, from knuckles curling into each other like hinges of a door of possibility.

You don’t see the way he swallows hard, or how he nods subtly to himself before he says, “Alright. Let’s talk about it.”

Those words make you look at him quickly, taken back and not expecting for him to give so easily. If you had noticed him noticing you, it would have been the expected reaction; if you’d seen the way his eyes traced over the pink and orange shadows of your features, you’d know he can’t really say no to you. Not anymore.

“Yeah?” you only ask for the confirmation because you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He won’t let it. He holds it tightly, just nodding, “Yeah. I… You deserve my honesty.”

You deserve my honesty.

I could never hate you.

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling of deja vu, Eddie. We don’t have to do honesty if you don’t want to-”

“Ask me anything. Right here, right now. I’ll answer with the full truth.”

You flashback to hours before, when he’d offered his honesty this willingly and you’d only thrown it back in his face. But right now isn’t that moment, the two of you aren’t in the heat of an argument, there isn’t an impending doom on the horizon and the weight of the night no longer rests on either of your shoulders.

You don’t care as much about why he hates you now, or what he meant by never hating you to begin with. You don’t care much about the porn magazines and you don’t care what changed that first night.

They’re all petty details that have had too long to gather dust.

You do care about his job, you do care to know why he chose to fix cars. You do care about if he still takes night classes, and if yes, which ones. You care to know his favorite color and you care to know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Maybe you even care to know if he has a favorite coffee shop.

You care to know all the new petty details you’d never uncovered about him. Miniscule bits and pieces of him you crave to hold in your hands, if only just for tonight- or today, at this point.

But you need a baseline question. Something that won’t throw him off, but really doesn’t twist around your heart as severely as the others. Something that does neither damage nor nurture to the vines and blooms still occupying your chest.

You suddenly remember a small detail that had been revealed to you by a third party tonight, “Okay, um, well…” you ponder on phrasing, and Eddie edges ever so closer to you, “At that bar we went to tonight, the bartender – Frank – mentioned how you’d been going there for about six months.”

Eddie pales, but he nods nonetheless. Maybe the question is more loaded than you’d anticipated.

“I guess... I…” you continue to stumble over your words and it only leaves Eddie more time to panic, “I’m just curious why you started going? Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s my question,” you tilt your chin up, try to be seem more confident in your question.

Even in his panic and sudden blanching, Eddie looks ready to laugh at you as his eyebrows scrunch. Somewhere between the wrinkles, you swear you could find something like affection, “That’s your question? Why did I start going to a bar that’s conveniently close to my apartment?”

Maybe it is a good baseline question. Maybe he was just nervous from the other possible questions you could have asked about your time spent together at the bar.

“That’s my question,” you confirm.

The color isn’t returning to Eddie. His hand shakes when he brings his cigarette to his lips. His breath is evidently shaky on the exhale as the smoke puffs out unevenly.

It’s not a good baseline question.

“I…” he won’t meet your gaze, and all your gut can do is twist, twist, twist in anticipation, “I got kicked out of my last bar I was a regular at.”

“Got kicked out? Why?”

It’s ripping the bandaid off the wound of honesty, and neither of you even realize it. Neither of you notice the blood of your history catching up to you.

Eddie sighs and rolls his shoulders before looking at you, “I got into a fight.”

Your twisted gut stills. A fight? Why is he freaking out so evidently over a fight? Does he think you’ll judge him that harshly?

“A fight?” you echo your thoughts with a soft laugh into the morning air, “You… Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? Jesus, did you go to jail that night? That would suck, but… Eddie, I won’t judg-”

“I didn’t go to jail,” he interrupts, “I mean, they should have called the cops on me, but they didn’t. They gave me a second option of leaving immediately, and being banned for life, effective the moment I stepped out of the building that night. I took the ban.”

“Well,” you relax your shoulders, looking over at the rising sun, “That’s nice of them, I guess, right? I’m sure whatever mean drunk swung their fist at you deserved to get their ass handed to them-”

Eddie interrupts you with a soft utterance of your name, making you look back to his hues of gold instead of the sky’s, “I swung first.”

Oh. Maybe that’s why he still looks so wrecked with nerves. Maybe he thinks that’s the piece you’ll judge him on – it has to be the reason you can see sweat gathering along his eyebrow, just beneath his bangs. “Then I’m sure whoever it was deserved it? I-”

“He did,” he interrupts one final time. You’re about to finally snap at you, telling him to just let you speak, to just accept that you weren’t going to judge him over some bar brawl, when he drops the final bomb of an answer. Here is the honesty, you both realize at the same time, as his words slice through you, “It was about you. I got banned because of you.”

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #gotta blast off to the gym now lol

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eddiemuonson · 6 months

Text

I will be your fool

Summary: You are friends with Steve, who is about to perform for the very first time. You find yourself feeling jealous of him, not knowing he has a hold of you. He wrote "Fool" when he was thinking about you, though.

Note: This is based on DJO. I might have been obsessing over him and his music lately.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, unprotected sex. p in v. oral sex (f receiving) + 18 DNI

Word count: 2.6k

Sitting next to Robin at The Hideout, you both watch as Steve rehearsed for his first concert. After graduating, he decided to devote himself to a musical career.

He adopted the alter ego "STV" (Steve, but without the vowels) and formed an indie band that gained notoriety before their first official concert. He even decided to use another persona as well.

Steve was being supported by Eddie, because the metalhead was part of a band that had performed at the same venue.

He was sitting on the edge of the stage, strumming a few notes of his song "Climax".

As you and Robin sat on the chairs near the stage, you watched him intently.

"How's the sound over there?" he asked, waiting for feedback from both of you.

Robin gave him a thumbs up.

"Terrible, this is awful. It sounds like a cat being beaten" You replied, laughing as you watched him flip you the middle finger.

"Remind me to never call you to a rehearsal again, jerk" He replied.

The three of you laughed, and not long after he finished the rehearsal, he approached the two of you. Steve was sipping water from a bottle after coming down from the stage.

"So, overall?" he nervously asked. It was no surprise; it would be his first performance.

You and your friend smiled at each other; it was just what he needed.

"That's great, dingus. You're going to do great!" She squeezed her friend's shoulder, her smile wide and open.

He looked at you, waiting for your answer.

"She's right, it's gonna work out!" You smiled too. Steve let out a sigh of relief.

He rehearsed with his bandmates before setting up the stage for the big moment.

Eddie came later on to offer his friend advice and moral support. As a veteran of the place, he found it easier to deal with moments like that.

Besides Robin, your group of friends were there, including Dustin who wouldn't miss the performance of one of his best friends.

Steve had asked both of you to stand on the side of the stage, but you both decided to watch him from the crowd instead so that he could look at you both and feel less nervous.

When the band was announced, everyone applauded including the students from Hawkins High. He showed up in a white jumpsuit, Nike sneakers, a wig, a questionable mustache, and sunglasses.

The resemblance to Steve was almost imperceptible, except for the voice.

The band started the concert with "I Want Your Video". It was the first time you heard him play his music live. He wanted to leave the "first-time" experience as a surprise.

As the first two songs came to an end, more people started to arrive at the venue. The room was filled with the sound of applause, and Steve had a smile on his face. You could tell he had been looking at you and your group of friends for the entire time.

His music had a hint of psychedelia along with synth instrumentals, auto-tune, and drone chords.

You couldn't resist when your friend sang "Go For It." His voice was admired by you and many girls. But something unrecognizable bothered you. Was it jealousy?

Were you jealous of having to "share" your friend with other girls?

Robin was the only one who knew that "Fool" had a meaning for him, especially after he dedicated it to her.

Steve moved closer to the microphone as "Figure You Out" began to play.

"This is for my dear friend, Y/N. Thank you so much for helping me with this song" He crouched in front of you and handed you the guitar pick he used during the entire concert.

He stood up and grabbed another guitar pick from the mic stand. Your friends were elated and may have commented about it, but you were caught off guard.

Robin sang along to the song with her arm wrapped around your neck. At that moment, you tried to pay attention to the rest of the concert, but his words lingered in your mind.

Deep down, something between the two of you was different, but you never really realized it before. Maybe you needed to find out about it later.

Steve's husky voice brought a unique essence to his brilliant performance, surprising the crowd with his guitar solos. He was completely ecstatic with the audience's reception.

It seemed like the concert had gone well, as the band received a standing ovation at the end, while Eddie celebrated his friend's success from the corner of the stage.

Steve had already changed his clothes and removed his wig and mustache before arriving at the bar. As soon as he got there, he was surrounded by his friends who hugged him and touched him everywhere. The amount of affection he received caused his hair to tangle.

As he approached you and Robin, he wrapped both arms around both of you and pulled you both in for a hug. It was surprising how the combination of his sweat and cologne made you feel dizzy.

Your nose was pressed against his neck, breathing in his scent.

"Holy shit, dingus! That was amazing!" She celebrated as soon as she let go of her friend's arms.

"Steve, you definitely killed it!" Your voice was a little slurred. Clearing your throat, you disguised so he wouldn't notice.

The boy was smiling too much, he was happy and proud of himself.

Before letting him respond, you narrowed your eyes and sipped your drink. "What's that about me helping you with your music?"

He widened his eyes, taken aback, and looked at his friend in confusion. She shrugged and muttered, "I'll leave you two alone."

He cleared his throat, fixed his hair, and then looked at you.

"I'll tell you later. There's a lot of noise here, a lot of people. I prefer a quieter place," he explained, turning to ask the bartender for a beer.

Steve looked at you again, smiling, and you nodded.

After he was greeted by your group of friends, no one else welcomed him besides a blonde girl who seemed to be overly intrigued. She examined him from top to bottom and even went as far as kissing him on the cheek.

You kept your eyes on her as she whispered something in his ear.

He could talk to anyone, but why did it affect you? No clear explanation.

The two of them talked for about a minute, then she gave him a subtle smile and left.

Steve turned around and downed the beer, causing you to raise your eyebrow. You waited for your friend to explain, but all he did was laugh and lower his head. "What is it, Harrington?"

He looked provocative as he said, "You can't hide it, can you?" The boy left his beer on the bar counter and approached you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hide what, Steve?” You held your own breath as you saw him get closer.

He leaned in close to your ear and whispered, "You feel jealous when someone gets close."

You tried to steady yourself on the stool, feeling your legs wobble. "Me, jealous of you, Steve? We're friends," you said.

It was clear that Steve had a hold on you, as you felt repulsed by any girl who came too close. Despite your efforts to resist, he laughed in your ear, causing the hairs on your body to stand on end. You couldn't help but feel weak for him.

As he placed his large hand on your face, you could feel the roughness of his calloused fingers, a result of his guitar playing.

The sensation heightened your senses, and your body was filled with restlessness. "We are friends, but why do our bodies seem to crave each other's touch?" He traced his lips down your cheek until he reached your mouth.

It didn't take long for you to respond and he kissed you passionately.

His tongue hits yours with pressure and need, pulling your body closer, like a magnet. Your hands wrapped around his neck and Steve pulled you by the waist with his other hand.

The background music and the noise of people talking seemed to fade away, and time appeared to stand still at that moment.

The way he held you showed his desperation for you, but the kiss remained gentle and calm. He held your lip between his teeth, causing a muffled moan to escape from your mouth.

You abandoned your friends back at the venue and arrived at Steve's house. The idea to go there was yours, not his. Steve insisted that he wouldn't do anything without your consent, which triggered a strong reaction inside you.

As soon as you got inside his bedroom, he pushed you towards his mattress and watched as you fell with bliss in your eyes. He laid on top of you, spreading kisses all over your neck, both of his hands wandering through your exposed skin.

His rough fingers were pressing against your thighs as he rode up the hem of your dress a little.

“God, I’ve been expecting this for so long” He grumbled against your chest. You were quickly panting as you could barely control your breathing.

Steve quickly spread both of your legs, pulling a sigh from your throat. He used both hands to remove the piece of lace panties that matched the color of your dress: black. The boy kissed your breasts covered in fabric and your stomach.

When he got close to your cunt, he looked at you with lust. Your eyes glistened as you looked at him. You lay down, and he pulled you to the edge of the bed, still looking at you.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this” He whispered. Steve couldn't handle his own lust, but he would like to give you something he had wanted for a long time.

He gently moved your legs apart and slowly dipped his mouth into your clit, sucking lightly on your button, eliciting a grunt from your mouth. “Steve” You almost sobbed.

The boy used the tip of his tongue through your slit, keeping his pace as he reached your hole. He licked you greedily, savoring your taste, murmuring in pleasure. It had barely started and it was already making you dizzy with so much pleasure.

Your breathing was uneven and your legs were already weak. Steve rested one of his hands on your thigh, digging his nails into the skin, leaving marks on it. He used another hand and pressed his thumb on your clit, feeling as you arched your back.

He kept the movements light and slow, taking advantage of every inch of your skin, leaving long licks on your cunt. When you felt him insert the tip of his tongue inside you, you groaned loudly, gripping his hair.

He was going crazy as you mumbled disjointed words and rolled your hips into his face. Steve was loving it.

His finger circled against your clit, while his tongue thrust in and out of you, making you whimper. You were about to hit your orgasm if he didn't stop. Pulling the strands of his hair, you rocked your hips against him hard, and Steve got the message.

He removed himself from you, placing a light kiss on your most sensitive spot, looking back at you. His face was glistening from your juices, his lips were red and swollen, and his eyes were flickering with pleasure.

He leaned forward for a more intense kiss, swirling his tongue against yours, teeth clashing with yours. With one hand, he pulled the strap of your dress down, watching your breasts bounce out. Still kissing you, he cupped one of your tits with his hand and rubbed your nipple.

The kiss started to get sloppy as soon as you started moaning against his mouth and Steve undressed quickly, getting rid of his boxers soon after. He really wanted to fuck you, but you took his cock with your delicate hand, pumping him with lust.

The tip of his cock was already red and swollen, practically leaking with precum. You spread it all over his length, until you reached the base. Steve grunted into the kiss and you smirked against his mouth. It felt good to be the one in control.

But he couldn't take it anymore so he broke the contact, leaving you on all fours for him. You looked over your shoulder to glance at him and you felt a knot in your stomach. This had become a moment of lubrication you both wanted to enjoy.

He arranged himself behind you, resting one hand on his cock, while the other rested on your ass. Steve slid his shaft in a slow, painful motion across your clit before burying his length inside you.

You both hissed when you felt each other. He was thick, and you were too tight. The sensation sent Steve into a frenzy as he thrust further in and hit your cervix. “Holy shit, you’re so tight. And so wet” He murmured.

You felt his balls hit your ass and you rolled against his dick, watching him twitch with excitement. You rolled your eyes at the sight.

As soon as he settled inside you, Steve began to thrust hard and fast, gripping the bands of your ass with his calloused hands. The air in the room was thin, stuffy, and your moans were echoing in sync.

“Yes, Steve” You whimpered, feeling the tip of his cock hit against your most sensitive spot.

He murmured disjointed words while resting his body on your back. He kept his chin resting on your shoulder as you felt his breath hit your ear.

Yes, it was the most exciting thing you had ever felt in your entire life.

“You’re all wet for me, aren’t you?” He whispered and you couldn't reason out a response. “God, your pussy is taking me so well.”

You didn’t have time to rest your elbows on the mattress as Steve used two fingers to rub your clit.

In an involuntary movement, you rolled faster against him, trying to feel his entire length inside you. Your head was down, also resting on the mattress. You could barely breathe.

“Fuck-” He growled into your ear and your stomach sinked. The more his dick pounded inside you, the more your skin burned with desire for him.

His fingers’ moves became faster, your body responded too well to his touch. A shiver ran through your body, before the orgasm hit you. Your fingers curled, your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, and your breath hitched.

He pounded against your cervix until you came for him and moaned his name.

Soon after, he collapsed on top of you, reaching his own orgasm, cumming inside you. His warm liquid enveloped your hole completely, as you felt his cock pulse inside you in a moment of pure ecstasy.

After you both cleaned up, he lay down next to you, wearing comfortable sweatpants. It was the first time you were staring at his naked body like that, and the countless moles spread across his skin were irresistible.

As Steve leaned against the headboard of the bed, he gazed at you with tenderness, softly stroking your face.

"I mentioned that song earlier because, at different times, you've helped me figure out who I really am," he explained.

You repeated his gesture and rested a hand on his chest. "Steve Harrington, you are wonderful."

He smiled at the compliment, pulling your body closer to his. “I will be your fool” He hummed, watching you look at him curiously.

“Steve…” You started to speak and he kissed the top of your head. "You don't…"

He shrugged, not caring if you knew you inspired his song.

“You never stop looking at me anyway” Steve continued, ignoring your surprised face. He pulled you into another kiss, this time it was more tender.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #userashe

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heavcnslyre · 9 months

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chapter six — j.f. ( masterlist )

THIS IS ME TRYING.

“and my words shoot to kill when i’m mad

i have a lot of regrets about that.”

taglist: @jellybassett @glowingtree @always-reading @yla-aira @infinitywarnatenthusiast @imogen-skye @ilovegilmoregirls @lucidlivi @rubydubytuby @creepynativekid @miniemonie2001 (comment or message me to join!)

you sat alone in your room for a while, attempting to calm yourself down. it really seemed stupid after a while, honestly. jeremiah was probably just trying to be nice, and she might find someone else to bring her anyways. it wasn’t something you had to freak out about.

jeremiah knocks on your door after almost an hour.

“come in,” you call out. you’re laying in your bed, aimlessly scrolling on your phone. jeremiah comes in and smiles at you softly, then takes a seat on the edge of your bed.

“moms are back,” he says. “storms pretty much let up now, but they’re still trying to figure out the power.”

“that’s good,” you reply. he studies your face.

“is everything okay? you…left kinda abruptly.”

you look down at your hands. “oh, uh, yeah. i just…i don’t know.”

“what is it, (y/n)?” jeremiah asks, his tone serious. you look up at him.

“are you seriously going to be belly’s escort?”

he flinches. “oh. that. yeah, i think so. i mean… she told me that apparently conrad asked to be her escort but he’s been so shitty to her lately i just figured that i would do something nice for her. why not, right?”

“yeah, sure,” you say dismissively, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling. “why not?”

“what’s the problem, (y/n)?” he asks genuinely. you sigh and shake your head.

“why is she the exception for you, jeremiah?” you ask. “why, out of everyone, is she the exception?”

he stares at you, confused. “what the hell are you talking about?”

“every single time a debutante ball has ever been brought up you’ve sworn to never be an escort in your life. why is now your one exception?”

“why does it matter?” he asks. “i care about belly. of course i’m going to do something nice for her. why are you so mad about it?”

“are you kidding?” you ask, anger suddenly rising in your chest. “do you not remember when i was going to be a debutante last year?”

“(y/n), what does that have to do with me?”

“the day we sat down at dinner and i said that i was thinking about being a debutante. you immediately sat there and scoffed, and said that debutante balls were terrible and you would never be an escort,” you shake your head. “i gave up on being a debutante after that.”

jeremiah’s voice dropped. “but, why? why did my opinion matter to you? you had so many guys who would have been your escort.”

“you were the only person i would even consider asking, jeremiah,” you blurt out, and he lifts his head in surprise.

“what?”

“i genuinely cannot believe that you don’t know this already,” you run your hand through your hair. “i wanted to be your exception, jere. i would’ve loved to be a deb if you were my escort. but you couldn’t stand the idea of being my escort, could you?”

“(y/n), if i had known…” he trails off. you shake your head.

“whatever, okay?” you say. “it doesn’t matter anymore. i’ve moved on from it.”

“you could have told me,” he says.

“you really don’t get it, do you?” you ask. “you made it such an obvious point to bring that up in that moment. you knew what you were doing, jeremiah. you didn’t think of me the same way. it’s whatever. be belly’s escort. she deserves to have someone who cares about her.”

“why do you just assume i was trying to hurt you?” he asks, his tone suddenly defensive. “why couldn’t it have been an honest mistake, that i didn’t realize you thought of me like that?”

“what do you want me to think, then? that you tried to hurt me or that you’re blind?”

“you’re being ridiculous.”

“ridiculous? really?” you scoff. “how more obvious could i have fucking been? the last three summers i have done nothing but basically throw myself at you and you just—“

“no!” he yells, suddenly standing up from your bed. “no, (y/n), you don’t get to do this! you came here this summer with a boyfriend and didn’t tell me! we got so close this past year and you never fucking told me you had a boyfriend, so i walked in to this summer stupidly thinking that now was our time for something to happen. then you drop that fucking bomb on me and expect everything to be normal? you cannot call me blind when all summer you’ve been the one pretending that everything is as it’s always been.”

“jeremiah, you’re literally not listening to me,” you reply, mirroring his frustrated tone. “everything is as it’s always been to me because you’ve always treated me like this! you’ve always acted like i was so special and then walked away from me into the nearest arms of some other guy or girl! you’ve never made your feelings clear. i’m so fucking sorry that me getting a boyfriend ruined all of your plans for us that i was never a part of.”

“you’re such a fucking hypocrite,” he groans, running his hand through his hair. “you’ve always done the same thing! neither of us have ever expressed our feelings to the other. you cannot place all of this on me!”

“whatever, jeremiah,” you say, not looking at him. “whatever makes you feel good about yourself.”

he stands there and stares at you for a moment before turning around and leaving your room, slamming the door behind him. for what felt like forever, you sat motionless, staring at the door behind him. your mind was racing. jeremiah fisher just admitted he has feelings for you. that was a conversation you had imagined in your mind for years, but this wasn’t at all how you wanted or expected it to go. part of you hated yourself for being so harsh. maybe he truly just didn’t see the signs you gave him. maybe he talked himself out of believing them, just like you had for so long. but part of you was relieved that you got those feelings out. being in love with someone brings about positive emotions, but no one talks about the genuine resentment that goes along with the pining. as your feelings grew, so did the pain. a weight was lifted off of your shoulders. but, a new, maybe even heavier one replaced it. you just had the biggest fight of your lives with your best friend. no matter what, your friendship had to come first.

as much as you do genuinely believe that, you are still beyond pissed at him. you have so many unanswered questions that you aren’t even sure how to ask him. part of you talked yourself out of even believing that he had meant that he had feelings for you, but you had to try to ignore those thoughts, or else you knew you’d make things worse.

although it was still early in the evening, shortly after he left, you put your phone down and go to sleep. you decide that being asleep was better than having to stay up and think about that conversation. the power still wasn’t on, and it continued to rain outside for a while, the dark sky being a pretty good representation of how you were feeling. as dramatic as that seemed, it really was true. you felt so shitty. that was truly the only way to describe it. shitty and pathetic.

#jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher x y/n #jeremiah x reader #tsitp conrad #tsitp cast #tsitpbookseries #tsitp spoilers #tsitp belly #tsitp steven #tsitp s2 #tsitp #tsitp fanfic #tsitp jeremiah #belly conklin #steven conklin #conrad fisher #the summer i turned pretty

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familyvideostevie · 7 months

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october twelfth

day twelve: james potter you encounter james at the bus stop | fluff, pre-relationship, flirty friends | 1.1k

The dark clouds loom ominously as you wait for the bus. It’s the best way to get to the pub for the birthday party you’ve been invited to. You don’t know the birthday girl that well, but Lily invited you because she’s nice like that and you don’t have anything else to do tonight.

Your small gift — a bottle of wine — is in your bag and you’re glad you brought your umbrella because you are almost positive it’s going to start raining any second and you’ve got a nice outfit on.

A fall wind rips down the street and you pull your coat closer, eager to be at the pub already with a drink in your hand to warm you up. You wonder who else will be there. Frank, of course, and Lily and the girls. Sirius and Remus and…James. They’re all new friends, all people who seem to like you, and you can’t help but hope that one person in particular will be there.

And then the skies open. You fumble with your umbrella for just a second before it pops open and keeps you dry. It’s absurdly big — an old flatmate left it behind when she moved out so you took it. You could fit three people under here and you hope the wind dies down otherwise you might be like Mary Poppins flying down the street pretty soon.

You check your watch. The bus isn’t due for almost ten minutes.

There isn’t anyone else waiting for the bus though the street isn’t deserted, instead dotted with people pulling out their umbrellas and hurrying to wherever they’re headed. Heavy footsteps clomp to your right and you turn to see who is running in this weather. It’s someone rather tall who inspects the bus stop sign and then curses. He pulls off his wet glasses and runs a hand through dripping dark hair.

Oh shit, you think. You know this guy.

“James?” you call. You don’t know if he’ll recognize you, truly, even if you’re a bit infatuated with him, but you’ve met him a few times at dinners and parties and such, so surely he will? You think of him as Lily’s cutest ex-boyfriend in your head to stop yourself from calling him hot James.

He looks up at you, squints, then puts his glasses back on and grins.

He calls your name and waves but doesn’t move. Thank god he remembers it. “James, come here. You’re going to get soaked!”

Water splashes under his shoes as he jogs over and under your umbrella. It’s big, sure, but it feels much smaller with him hunched under it with you.

“Bit late for that,” he says. “Can I hold it?” He’s taller than any of your other friends so you hand over the handle and he shuffles a bit closer, raising the canopy to a better height for him. “Thank you,” he says with genuine warmth.

“Of course,” you reply automatically. You get a bit silly around him, which Lily has teased you about, but you can’t help it. He’s so handsome and quite flirty and very nice.

“Are you going to Alice’s birthday?”

You nod and he grins again.

“Brilliant,” he says. “I am too. Thought I’d miss the bus so I left without one of these.”

James strikes you as someone who does not carry an umbrella even when he knows it’s going to rain. You wonder if he lives around here. Maybe you’re neighbors.

“Lucky I’m here then.”

He turns his body a bit so he’s facing you more directly. “Yes, lucky indeed.”

“What did you get her?” you ask. How do you make small talk, again? You’re not terribly sure how to speak to James. All you know about him is that he and Lily dated at school, he’s tall and handsome, and he plays some sort of sport. And you’ve certainly got a small, tiny, totally manageable crush on him.

“What?”

“Alice,” you clarify. “For her birthday.”

“Oh,” he says. He looks sheepish. “I forgot, actually. Bit classic of me, I’m afraid. What did you get?”

“Wine.”

“Clever girl,” he says. You feel warm down to your toes. “She loves wine.” He sounds genuine in his praise. “I’ll just buy her some shots when we get there.”

You like how quickly this has turned into we, even if you’re just taking the same bus to the same party. It feels nice to be going with him. There’s something about him that’s…magnetic.

“When is your birthday?” you ask.

James looks a bit surprised. You’ve surprised yourself. Water runs down his nose as he studies you. “March,” he says. “The 27th.”

“Aries,” you say softly.

He winks, so quick you might have imagined it. “Well done. When’s yours?”

You tell him and he nods. “I’m no good with star signs, I’m afraid, so I’ve no idea which one you are.”

He sounds so genuinely put out that you laugh. James chuckles with you.

“Why do you ask?” Great question.

You shrug. “I just like to know. Maybe I’ll get you a present.”

James looks delighted. “Really? Well, now I’m absolutely getting you one.” Is this flirting? Are you flirting with James Potter under your own umbrella while waiting for the bus?

“I guess you’ll have to find out,” you say, nose turned up. Your face feels a bit hot despite the chill. You’re about to make another quip when James moves very quickly and suddenly his arm is around you, tugging you away from the curb moments before a car rushes by and sprays water all over where you were standing.

“Sorry,” he says. He releases you and situates himself so that the umbrella handle is between you once more. “Saw that coming. And those are nice shoes.”

“Thank you,” you say, a bit shy. You would like him to touch you again.

“In fact, all of you looks quite lovely despite the fact that it’s raining absolute buckets.”

Yeah, definetly flirting. “James,” you chastise, but he looks downright pleased that he’s flustered you.

The bus rounds the corner.

“And we were just starting to have fun.” He fumbles for his bus pass in his pocket. “Will you sit with me?” A silly question.

“Of course,” you say through a smile. “You can hold this, though.” You point to the umbrella. “Don’t let it drip on my shoes.”

He gasps as the bus pulls to a stop. “I’d never.” His palm is firm on your back for just a second before you get on the bus. Maybe tonight’s birthday party will be more fun than you’d hoped.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

#fvspromptober23 #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #marauders fanfiction #james potter fluff

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thebucketpail · 11 months

Text

When You Accidentally Kill a Clown pt. 5

Pt.1 Prev

Pt.5 (tws; mention of unhealthy eating habits,)

Danny let out a long sigh as he stood up, cursing whatever gods decided to mess with his life. He had just gotten comfortable too! He was in the zone, productive, then this.

“Terry, if you two so much as touch my bed I will kill you.” His roomate, Terry, had just come in loud and boisterous as always, rambling about how Danny had to leave for the night, again. Ancients what was with this guy.

“Yeah, yeah dude I got it, don't touch your shit. Now could you please hurry? She’ll be here in like 2 minutes,” Terry said as Danny, grumpily, shoved books in his backpack.

“You,” Danny pointed at a finger at him, “Have a problem.”

“Uh huh, now move. Come on vamanos,” he replied, ushering Danny through the door.

“And you owe me,”

“Mhhm,” and the door shut in his face. Great. Now he has to find somewhere to stay for the night, preferably without getting mugged. It had been almost two weeks since his terrible awful horrible day featuring the Joker, Red Hood, and a very hangry seagull, and nothing too out of the ordinary had happened. Well, aside from the fact that Danny was being stalked by an ex-crime lord turned vigilante.

Some would say he’s being paranoid and that would probably be fair, Danny had nothing to go off of save for an unsettling feeling of being watched, and the occasional hum of a muffled core. But it was so clearly the hooded man who had taken him for burgers not two weeks ago. It didn’t really matter that much, he just had to keep a lid on his ghostliness is all, but being watched like that was still unsettling.

Regardless, Danny hoisted his bag further onto his shoulder and headed down the hall, he’d probably find a coffee shop or library or something to study in. Classes had only been in session for about a week and a half but the ghost was already swamped with homework. Well that’s what he gets for dumping all his required classes into the first semester.

A brightly colored blur moved in his peripheral vision as he entered a quaint shop. Danny had found this place roughly ten days ago while hunting for some decent espresso. The coffee shop stayed open until eleven at night, one might figure how that would attract coffee addicted insomniacs, as such, Danny had visited this shop every evening usually around 8. So it was a bit of a surprise to see him settling into a nook at 4 in the afternoon. Once Danny was thoroughly satisfied with his setup, he went to order.

“Hey Danny!” Anne greeted from behind the counter, she was busy tying an apron around her waist but gave a small wave anyway, giving a slight nod, “Aren’t you here a bit early? You're usually my closing customer, not my opening,” she joked.

“Yeah, well my roommate kind of kicked me out,so here I am,” They said, smiling as they gestured to themself and the shop at large.

“You want your usual?” she asked, hand poised over the tablet at the register. Their usual was 8 shots of espresso with, what sam called, ‘an ungodly amount of sweet cream and chocolate.’

But at 4 o’clock Danny figured they’d get an early dinner/late lunch instead.

“Actually I’ll have a hot chocolate, dark, with extra cream,” they said grinning, “Oh and add some caramel.”

Anne raised one eyebrow, a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she held back a small chuckle, “Anything else? Food maybe? You look like you haven’t eaten,” and, well, maybe that was true, when was the last time they’d eaten? 6 am maybe? They had a bagel.

“Uuuuuummmmm,” Danny’s eyes scanned the board on the wall behind Anne, “Surprise me? Something with chocolate,” They said. Anne smirked.

“You got it, give me one moment,” Danny moved to the side as she began work on their order. The shop was quiet, save for the loud whirring of the various machines behind the bar. There were a few patrons scattered around, engrossed in their own devices. Which made it all the more noticable, to Danny apparently as no one else seemed to bat an eye, when a scruffy, black haired teenager dressed in red and black stumbled in.

Red Robin’s eyes swept the small shop for a moment before he started moving toward the counter.

“Hey RR, I’ll be with you in a moment,” Anne called from her place at the espresso machine. Danny just stared, mouth probably hanging wide open. Why was Red Robin at their favorite coffee place? And why was everyone here so chill with it?

Danny was pulled from their wondering when Anne deposited their hot chocolate and some coffee cake next to them. They took the food but didn’t move from their place. Seriously? Danny knew plenty of superheroes/ vigilantes (Okay maybe only like two but that's semantics) They should be acting cool about this. But it was just so strange. Maybe this is how Amity Parkers felt whenever they had to watch Phantom have a screaming match with a faulty vending machine, or Red Huntress and Phantom sharing a burger whilst covered head to toe in ectoplasm.

“Your regular five o’clock death wish?” Anne asked, already typing the order into the register, not even looking up when Red Robin nodded. Ancients, did that kid look tired. It was hard to tell with the mask, but he couldn’t have been more than 17. No 17 year old had the right to have such a weary look to their eyes at only 5 in the afternoon. Danny should know, they had sported the same look at his age.

And wasn’t that a thought.

Anne handed off the DeathWish to RR who immediately took a very long drink. Danny was surprised the kid hadn’t chugged it all in one go. He thanked Anne, paid and disappeared out the door, curling himself around the coffee all the while, like it was a precious artifact or something.

“Was that Red Robin?”

“Mhhhm,” Anne replied, “He comes in here before patrol every once in a while. Treats coffee like a lifeline. He’s addicted if you ask me. Once, he ordered three Death Wishes in one sitting. I asked if he was sharing and he just stared at me with dead eyes.”

“oh. Well that’s… something.” Danny said, moving back to his study nook. And Danny thought they were obsessed with coffee. But three death wishes? Three??? At once????? This city's vigilantes were all batshit insane. They'd have to talk to Lady Gotham about her taste in knights.

“You’re telling me,” She snorted. As Danny returned to his English homework. God why did it have to be English homework. Well at least he had chocolate.

About two hours later, Danny almost spit out their coffee when Red Robin came back for more.

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

Notes; Ahhhhhhh, just a little blrb. I was gonna do more but then I didn't feel like it, so have this little encounter while I think of ways to work civilian Jason into Danny’s life.

And If you think I’m projecting my chocolate addiction onto Danny than you are absolutely right.

I Love Comments! I love reblogs! I read them all and they fuel my willpower to write more!

Uuuh dont know what else to say sooo… *Throws glitter and scampers away*

Pt.6

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc #dp x dc crossover #tim drake #buckets writes things?#Danny just wants to study wth #stupid roomate #coffee shop time!#Tim is addicted to coffee #its actually scary at this point #we dont mention hiw Danny's chocolate addiction is any better #or projection in any way #when you accidentally kill a clown

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klein-sodor-bahn · 6 months

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The lost express engine

Gordon on his way encounters an engine. At first all seems fine, but then the engine becomes more and more distressed until she suddenly races away into the next station: Bitterfeld.

Let me tell you a story about a lost engine which was even forgotten by her own sisters. Based on the story of a German pacific that met a terrible fate.

The lost express engine

Gordon loved visiting Germany. He was traveling down from Berlin. The night pitch black. Neither moon nor stars were visible. Gordon’s lamps cut through the dark like mighty blades of light. “I can’t wait to see Henry again.”, chuffed the big engine excitedly. Then from afar they heard an engine approaching behind them. Its barking chuffs were deep and powerful. “Who has to haul a train so late at night”, wondered the engine. The noise got louder and soon Gordon’s crew could recognize its shape. It was an 01, the sort which had been rebuilt in East Germany. “Hello”, called out Gordon. The engine looked over and Gordon couldn’t help but feel uneasy. “Hallo”, a female voice responded it was like a whisper. “Where are you heading?” “To Leipzig” “Oh I’m heading there as well, but in Dresden I’ll take on water and rest”, remarked Gordon. “Water”, gasped the other engine, “I… I need water”. Gordon was alarmed. “Hey, stop your engine is running out water”, his driver called over, but no response. “Hilf mir, bitte”, the Black Engine began to whimper. Gordon and his crew shouted and shouted, but the men on the footplate didn’t react. Suddenly the engine accelerated and rushed past Gordon. He gave chase. “You have to stop! You have to stop!”, the blue engine yelled desperately. On the horizon lights of a city appeared. The screeching of the brakes cuts through the air. But to Gordon’s horror he heard the other engine scream in agony: “STOP! STOP! SOMETHING IS WRONG!?!” Then Boom and a gut wrenching scream shatters the nightly silence. “Noooo”, cried Gordon. He slowly crept into the station, but there was nothing. Just silence. Gordon stops. He looks around. The rails were empty. Not even a hint of steam was in the air, beside his own. Only a cold wind that made him shiver “You saw it too, didn’t you”, whispered the engine. “We did”, his crew replied. Gordon slowly continued his journey. In Dresden he took on water, before going to rest in the sheds. Beside him snored Viktoria. She looked just like the engine Gordon had seen.

The next morning Gordon awoke to the other engines chatting and sizzling in their berths. “Good morning, Gordon”, greeted Viktoria him. A warm smile on her smoke box. “We didn’t hear you arrive” “We?”, he looked around and to his shock four other engines that looked just like Viktoria sat in the other berths of the shed. “Are. Are these your sisters?”, Gordon asked rather stunned. “Indeed they are”, chuckled Vicky. “Are you sure those are all your sisters?”, Gordon asked suspiciously. “What do you mean?”, asked the engine right next to Vicky, “Only five of our sort survived” “Oh” “Good Morning, ladies”, chortled Heinrich who had just woken up. Gordon jumped. He hadn’t noticed the massive green pacific. “Don’t be frightened, Gordon. It’s only me”, Heinrich laughed. “Only you, haha so funny scaring me like that”, Gordon scoffed. Heinrich glanced confused at Viktoria who looked equally as helpless. “What has gotten into you”, she asked confused. The other 01s stopped their conversations and looked at Gordon. Gordon with a lump in his throat recalled last night’s event. When he had finished the German engines were pale and gave each other nervous looks. “I think you might have met 01 1516”, Heinrich spoke up with a shaky voice, “I…I met her a couple of times…one time I chased after her and arrived at Bitterfeld before her…” The usually so straight forward and powerful engine stared horrified into the distance. “She…exploded right before my eyes” Gordon couldn’t believe what Heinrich had said, but he felt deep down the big engine was right. But then Gordon frowned: “Viktoria” “Ja- Err yes?” “What was her name?” “Her name? Who’s name?” “The name of engine that died at Bitterfeld”, Gordon pressed her. “I- We-“, her eyes dart to her sisters who just sit there like fish in the water, “We don’t know.” “What?!”, Gordon fumed, “She was your sister!” “That’s enough Gordon”, hissed one of Viktoria’s sisters, “Don’t meddle in our matters. You have kicked up enough dust for the day.” Gordon wanted to retort something, but kept it to himself and decided to just glare at the 01 that had spoken up. She just snorted.

Later Gordon visited Henry who began to ponder after Gordon told him what had happened: “Odd…maybe my driver knows someone who knows that engine’s name” Gordon and Henry explained Johanna Drachenzorn the situation. The young woman had heard of the story of 01 1516. “I’ll see what I can do”, she promised. Throughout the day Gordon couldn’t help, but feel the burning glares of Viktoria’s sisters on his boiler when he met one of them. They didn’t even whistle a quick greeting. This went on until it was Gordon’s time to leave. He sat again with all five 01.5s in the same shed. But to his surprise Johanna Drachenzorn came to the shed, a piece of paper in hand. “I found her name”, she smiles. “You did what?!”, Viktoria gasped and her sisters began to whisper. “Gordon asked me”, Mrs. Drachenzorn continued, “ Do you wanna hear it?” “Yes”, Viktoria was on the verge of tears. “01 1516-2 died in 1977 due to her crew mishandling her leading to a boiler explosion. She went by the name Alix” “Alix…why did we forget her”, Viktoria wept. “It’s okay”, soothed Gordon. The other 01.5s looked down at the rails. “Maybe she can rest now”, one wondered.

This evening Gordon left for Hamburg so he could return to England the following day. And when he approached Bitterfeld he noticed a black shadow sitting on the platform. As he drew closer he recognized the engine. It was Alix softly smiling surrounded by thick clouds of steam. Henry’s driver had shown him a picture of her. So Gordon was sure it was her. “Thank you, Gordon”, she said as he raced past. But as his driver turned to look back. The German express engine was no longer there. Gordon could sense a set of buffers touching his own for a brief second. He lets out a sigh of relief as he puffs along the line. Leaving Bitterfeld behind.

#ttte #thomas and friends #ttte gordon #gordon the big engine #ttte fanfic #ghost stories #ghost engine #Bitterfeld 1977 #ttte henry #henry the green engine #Viktoria the motherly engine #ttte oc #akagi’s ocs #my writing #A ghost story for Gordon #Humble Gordon moment #happy halloweeeeeeen

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licensedqueerio · 2 years

Note

OMG OMG could u write an eddie munson x reader where they like each other but are both awkward little shits so robin has to help them out and get them together?? ILY and tysm if u write this !!

So I kind of adjusted this and added Steve into the mix with Robin (and Gareth and Jeff make an appearance in Eddie's corner) but I hope this fulfils your request :)

---

Word count: 2.6k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Warnings: swearing

Request here

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“So…how’d it go?” Robin sang nudging your shoulder as she joined you behind the counter, getting on the computer. “Did you finally tell him?”

You groaned and shook your head, burying your head in your hands. “I didn't go,” you mumbled, completely indecipherable as your hands muffled your words.

“In english?” Robin asked, poking your hands repeatedly in an effort to get you to lower them.

“I blew him off,” you cried, ducking down to hide behind the counter, a cloud of misery hanging over your head. This was a common occurrence when Eddie Munson, your crush of two years, was involved. “I blew him off, I couldn’t do it.”

“You…oh god, you’re helpless,” Robin scoffed, patting your head condescendingly. “You, Y/N L/N are totally, undeniably helpless,” she stated. “Steve, guess what Y/N did!” She called. You assumed Steve had returned from organizing the shelves.

“What was it this time?" Steve drawled. He leaned over the other side of the counter to stare down at you. “That bad, huh?” He asked, hair hanging weirdly in front of his face thanks to gravity.

You glared up at him. "Not helping. Either of you."

“They’re about to have you beat on dating fails,” Robin ignored you. “They blew Eddie off. Again. Y'know I don't know who's worse. You, who can't get a date to save your life. Or Y/N, who's got dates but never shows up!"

You whined in pure misery, “you don’t have to keep saying it! I feel terrible as it is!”

“Really, Y/N?” Steve deadpanned. “You cannot keep standing your dates up. You’re going to get a reputation and then you won’t have any dates to blow off.”

“I know,” you groaned, standing up when your legs began to ache. You stared at Steve with a crestfallen expression. “I feel terrible about standing him up, but you don’t understand! He came to my locker to ask if we were still on, and I said yes. Because I planned on going, but then it got quiet and awkward. And he wasn’t saying anything, and I wasn’t saying anything, and it was painful! I didn’t want to do that for actual hours!”

“How do you know it would have been awkward?” Robin chimed in. “You would have been at his place, and might I remind you, high, so I doubt it would have been awkward.”

“Yeah, I realized that. But by then it was too late for me to show up and I didn’t…I couldn’t just…”

“You’re pathetic,” she stated, shaking her head. “He probably thinks you hate him.”

“He definitely thinks you hate him,” Steve replied, pushing off the counter and going towards the back. “You blew the guy off for what? The third time?”

“Shut up,” you said. “I’ll figure out some excuse to tell him.”

“I think you’re running out of family members,” Robin snorted.

You grimaced. The first time you stood Eddie up, you said your cousin died. The time after that, your uncle. You didn’t have either. But you could only cover up your own faults with dead relatives so many times.

“He’s going to end up hating you if you do this a fourth time,” Robin said. “I would have hated you after the first. But Eddie is a softie at heart.”

“I know,” you sighed, a smile forming on your lips. “That’s what I love about him.”

“Gross,” Robin pulled a face. “Go clean the store windows. You can think of your excuse then,” she said, making a shooing motion with her hands. “I have inventory to do.”

You scowled. You hated cleaning the windows. But you dutifully went to complete the task (that felt more like a punishment that you totally deserved.)

---

“They hate me,” Eddie said, aggressively cutting the old strings off his guitar. “They hate me. They hate my guts.”

“Maybe,” Gareth agreed, tapping the snare drum to make sure the tension was nice and tight.

Eddie glared at him.

“What?” Gareth exclaimed, setting his sticks down.

“You weren’t supposed to agree, man,” Jeff shook his head, idly plucking the strings on his guitar.

“What? He got stood up three times. The first time? Fine, life happens. The second time? They get the benefit of the doubt. But three times? They’re not into you, man,” Gareth said, restlessly picking his sticks back up and spinning them between his fingers.

Eddie set down his tool before he lobbed it at poor Gareth’s head. He went about removing all the strings. Honestly, he likely didn't need to do this for another few weeks, but he was stressed, goddammit.

"Maybe something came up," Eddie said, ever hopeful. "Maybe this doesn't mean anything. Maybe they were busy," he said.

"Sure, man," Gareth replied.

"Gareth," Jeff hissed.

"No, let the man speak," Eddie stared at him consideringly. "Gareth, you're honest."

"It's my worst quality," Gareth agreed. "You hate when I'm honest. You threw my own drumsticks at me once."

"Do you think I should give up?" Eddie asked regardless. "Things just get so awkward. I don't know what to do. Or say. I'm speechless when I see them so I don't say anything, and Y/N doesn't say anything, so we're just staring at each other—"

"Gross, dude," Gareth interrupted, lips twisted in disgust. "I don't need to hear about your crush. Thanks."

"I'm about to throw my guitar at your face, Gareth," Eddie threatened.

Gareth raised his sticks threateningly.

"Let's not throw any guitars or drumsticks," Jeff said, holding his hands out to prevent any physical violence. "Gareth. We talked about this. You don't need any more bruises."

Gareth scowled at the scolding and turned back to Eddie, setting his sticks down with an annoyed huff. "I dunno, man. Sounds like they're behaving the same. Only difference is they're scared so they blow you off. I don't know." He held his hands out and shook them. "Now I'm done talking about this while you have a guitar in your hands."

Eddie pondered that for a minute, a very thoughtful expression on his face. It soon turned to hope. "You're not fucking with me, man?"

"I said I was done talking about this," Gareth answered, shaking his hands again for emphasis.

"Gareth!" Jeff hissed with more irritation than the first time.

"Shit, what time is it?" Eddie asked. "Shit!" He stood up, setting his stringless guitar aside. "I'll be back," he said, yanking his jacket and vest back on before hurrying off.

"He's going to them, isn't he?" Gareth asked, rolling his eyes. "Pathetic."

"Like you aren't the same," Jeff replied with a knowing grin. "Let's go. No slacking during practice," he said, clapping his hands together.

---

"Shit!" You loudly swore, staring out of the newly cleaned windows, spotting Eddie's car pull up to the curb. You spin around, diving behind a shelf. "Shit, shit!"

You ran towards the counter, hopping over with grace, albeit clumsy grace, and ducking down in your favorite hiding spot. You did not want to face him today.

"This will be fun," Robin said, dashing forward towards the door.

You peeked over the counter to see what she was doing, screaming, "no!" When she flipped around the closed sign that you just put up. She stood there, in front of the glass door and waved to Eddie. "Robin, you're dead to me," you snapped.

"You'll thank me later," she replied out of the corner of her mouth. She opened the door.

Steve, who stood beside you behind the counter greeted Eddie with a, "what's up?"

"Where's Y/N?" Eddie asked, sounding breathless.

You looked up, making eye contact with Steve, who arched a brow. You shook your head in a panic.

"Hiding," Steve said, looking back up at presumably Eddie.

You swore under your breath and pinched Steve's leg in retaliation. You mentally prepared yourself, armed with your excuse as you popped up.

"I was not hiding," you stated. "Just so we're clear. I wasn't hiding. I don't hide," you said, looking at Eddie, who was smiling.

"Hello to you too, sweetheart," he replied, braced against the counter.

Behind him, Robin dramatically and silently mocked him. You forced yourself to ignore her.

"Hi," you said shortly, staring at him. At his beautiful brown eyes. You loved his eyes, how soft they were. How they twinkled in the light. And how they always displayed his emotions.

"I'm gonna…go rearrange the tapes in the back," Steve excused himself, making a quick escape.

"That's it?" Eddie prompted once he was gone, leaning closer to you.

You looked away, reaching for Steve's tapes piled on the counter and began to rearrange them. "...I'm sorry," you said eventually.

"This is the third time you've ditched me," Eddie stated. "Without even a courtesy phone call!"

You grimaced, looking up at him. "I'm sorry," you repeated. "Really, I'm—I'm so sorry for doing this again."

"Y'know, I'm starting to think you don't like me," Eddie mused, tapping his fingers against the counter. "Gareth said you hate me and I'm starting to believe him."

"I don't hate you!" You quickly exclaimed. "I don't hate you, I swear. I just…it's stupid."

"...hanging out with me is stupid?" Eddie asked.

"No!" You shouted, your nerves worsening. You really didn't want to ruin this before it was even a thing. "No! No, shit—"

"Hey, relax," Eddie said, reaching across the counter to take your hand. His rings cooling the top of your hand where they touched. "Relax."

"I'm sorry," you whined. "I'm just…I didn't expect to see you here, it threw me off I guess," you nervously chuckled.

Eddie nodded. "I wanted to talk to you," he said. Then proceeded to say nothing.

You stared at him awkwardly, and he stared back with his hand still resting on yours.

"Why yes, Eddie!" Robin suddenly exclaimed as she came up behind Eddie. "They would love to join you at your place to hang out." She smiled, tossing an arm around his shoulder.

Your eyes went wide.

"Or wherever you wanna go, they're not picky. Right, Y/N?" Robin asked.

"...right?" You asked, brow furrowed.

"And Eddie's gonna be a real gentleman, aren't you?" Steve chimed in, strolling over and throwing an arm over Eddie's other shoulder.

Eddie quickly let go of your hand and stood up straight. He nodded quickly. "Yeah, man. Totally," he replied.

"Great," Steve and Robin chorused before stepping away.

"Alright. You two have fun," Robin said as she ushered you forward.

You walked around the counter, looking between the three of them.

"Curfew is midnight. Unless you wanna…have some more fun," Steve smirked. "Then call so we know Eddie hasn't murdered you. Got it?" He clapped you on the shoulder and gave a light squeeze.

"Yeah, dad," you said with a sarcastic smile. "Anything else?"

"Have fun, kids," Steve said, pushing Eddie around towards the door. Robin did the same to you.

And then you and Eddie were walking out of Family Video. He opened the door to his van for you, shutting it once you were inside before going around and climbing in the driver's seat.

Metallica began to blare through the speakers as soon as Eddie turned the car on and he scrambled to turn it off.

"So," he said, tapping the steering wheel as he began to drive. "Where to?"

"I don't mind," you replied with a shrug. "We can…go to your place if you want?" You asked.

Eddie nodded, going to fiddle with the radio again. "Do you mind?" He asked.

"No, no way. Go ahead, I love Metallica," you replied honestly. You loved it because he did, in all honesty.

Eddie turned to you with surprise evident in his eyes. He grinned, turning the radio back on but lowering it to an acceptable level. "I didn't know you liked metal," he said.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Munson," you slyly replied.

"Oh yeah, L/N?" Eddie replied in the same tone. "Like what?"

"Like I like metal music," you replied with a laugh.

Eddie joined you in the laughter. And when that died down, it was quiet. Metallica filling the car.

"Why did you blow me off again?" Eddie eventually asked, glancing at you. "If you don't like me, you can just tell me. It won't hurt my feelings. Promise."

"It's not that I don't like you," you sighed. "It's…it's complicated."

"Oh wonderful," Eddie said unenthusiastically.

"Eddie…I do like you. A lot. A lot a lot. I like you so much that I'm at a loss for words when I see you. I get so nervous when I'm around you that words fail me and it just turns awkward. That's why I blow you off, because I'm scared you'll see how awkward I am and you'll hate me," you confessed, picking at your fingers because it gave you something to do with your hands after dropping that bomb.

Eddie suddenly jerked the steering wheel to the side, turning sharply onto the side of the road. He pulled over into the dirt and killed the engine. "I knew it!" He cheered, first bumping the roof of the car. He clapped his hands and turned to face you with a brilliant grin. "I knew it," he repeated.

"Knew it…?" You asked.

"That you liked me. Duh! I knew it. Why didn't you just say that?" He cried dramatically, clutching his chest. "I feel the same way! You didn't have to ditch me!" He exclaimed.

You began to smile at the confession. "You feel the same way?" You asked.

Eddie seized your shoulders, shaking you gently. "Of course I do!" He exclaimed. "Yes, Y/N L/N. I feel the same way. I like you a lot a lot," he parroted. "I like you so much that words fail me—"

"Alright, alright, please don't repeat my cheesy words back to me," you laughed, holding onto his leather clad forearms.

Eddie shut up and stayed grinning at you like a goof. "So…" he trailed off, his hands moving to cup the side of your neck, his thumbs caressing your jaw. "Can I get a kiss now?"

You answered his question by leaning in and kissing him. Once. Twice. And a third time before pulling away. You grinned at his lovesick expression. His puppy dog eyes looking even more adorable. And if it was physically possible for his pupils to form hearts, you had no doubts that that's what they'd currently look like.

You were no better, really.

"If we're gonna do this, then I want to propose a deal," Eddie said suddenly, releasing you to take your hands instead.

"Let's hear it," you replied with an easy smile. You felt so much more at ease now that it was out there and you knew he felt the same. You felt safe.

"No more ditching me," Eddie said with a huff. "Not unless you have a very good reason. And I expect to be repaid for the past three times you left me waiting," he laid out.

"And what kind of repayment do you want?" You asked, trying to control your expression, but you'd never been very good at keeping a poker face.

"I'm sure we could think of something."

You chuckled and pulled him close, capturing his lips in a kiss. You pulled back a bit, "I'm sure we could," you mumbled, lips brushing against his as you spoke.

Eddie's lips curled up into a grin, chasing your lips for another kiss but yo were already sitting up straight.

"Let's get off the side of the road first," you suggested.

"Wonderful idea!" Eddie said, turning the car back on, Metallica once again greeted you as he tore down the road like he was being chased by the police.

#ransomswriting #ask box #reader insert #reader #answered asks #fanfic #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #gender neutral reader #gareth stranger things

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catofadifferentcolor · 5 months

Text

Terrible Fic Idea #79: Harry Potter, but make it Petunia Evans

I once asked my mother If you could travel into any fictional world, which would it be? and she unhesitatingly answered Harry Potter. While there's much to be said about the HP universe, it's not exactly a world I'd want to live in, and so I spent the last several months figuring out how, if I were to write an HP SI, would I do it, and eventually came up with this.

Or: What if the SI were to replace Petunia Evans as a young girl?

Just imagine it:

Rather than a true self-insert, I see this as more of modern muggle meets the British Wizarding World, with a middle-aged HP fan waking up in the body of 5-year-old Petunia Evans following a minor illness. The keyword here is fan - or rather, a critical fan - who enjoyed the books but is not unaware of their problems, be they with they author or the text - and particularly the way that, as one gets older, the less benevolent Dumbledore seems.

Once the SI has resigned herself to waking up in the body of Petunia Josephine Evans (two wars, puberty, and all of the 80s to live through again!), she realizes very quickly there is very little she can do to change the events of the first Wizarding War. All she can do is try to live the best life possible and provide a better life for young Harry Potter when he eventually shows up in her care.

(Starting with choosing to go by a short form of her middle name, Jo, instead of Petunia, as she thinks she might stab the next adult who tries to call her Pet after less than a week in her new life.)

Jo does this in number of ways - mainly by taking advantage of once having been a middle-aged woman with an engineering background and breezing through her education. Having been born only 18 months before Lily, Jo is 12-and-a-half when Lily gets her Hogwarts letter in January 1971 and studying for her A-levels and preparing to go to Oxford in the fall.

Unlike canon Petunia, Jo has no desire to go to Hogwarts - not only does she know exactly what the professor who comes to introduce Lily to the Wizarding World isn't telling her overawed parents, but she's never been close with her sister. Or any of her family. She's tried - she really has - but the Evans family had a clear favorite long before Lily ever learned of her magic. (Jo knows her parents' wedding date, precisely five months before she was born, and thinks that explains much of their feelings towards her; and the way her father in particular is taken with magic makes her think he might be a second-generation squib over the moon to see magic return to his line.)

While Lily is studying magic, Jo attends Oxford. By age 16 she has a BA and MA in Medieval History - specializing in the history of science (Think Diana Bishop in A Discovery of Witches). She gets herself emancipated the same year and starts in on her doctoral studies.

Once a week, she'll slip into the magical section of the university library system and pick up some back copies of The Daily Prophet, just to keep abreast of all the things Lily never tells their parents.

Mr. and Mrs. Evans die in a car crash in late 1977, when Jo is 19 and Lily has just started her Seventh Year. Lily doesn't come home for the funeral, which Jo is left to plan all by herself. As Lily is not yet an adult in the muggle world, her care is left to Jo for the last few months, but when she finally gets a reply to her letters it's all don't pretend you care now, you abandoned us the first chance you got and you were always jealous of my magic anyway. This is the last Jo will ever hear from her sister, not getting so much as a birth announcement for little Harry.

By Halloween 1981, Jo has earned her doctorate in Medieval History and is working as an associate professor at the university. The pay is terrible, but she has all the insurance money from the Evans and some healthy investments based off her knowledge of her original world, enough for her to buy a small house near the college.

She stays up all Halloween night, waiting.

Harry Potter never arrives.

Jo spends all of 1 November fretting over what she might have changed to change this and falls asleep early, exhausted. When she wakes on the morning of 2 November, she finds her 15-month-old nephew on her doorstep.

And here's where things truly start to change.

That first week, Jo reaches out to a friend in the muggle child welfare department she may have originally cultivated for just this reason, explaining that her estranged sister's son has just appeared on her doorstep without any documentation other than a letter saying that his family has been killed and Harry's care falls to her.

Once the emergency paperwork has been filed on the muggle side, she girds her loins and heads to Gringotts. The goblins aren't the friendliest beings around, but they are fastidious. Jo has the muggle paperwork and a mildly threatening letter from Dumbledore stating she is to be Harry Potter's guardian, and so she gains control of the Potter financials and another layer of paperwork to back up her claim.

From there, a trip to a Wizarding lawyer to 1) file everything with the Ministry and 2) keep her underage nephew's name out of the papers is all she needs to finalize things. It may be overkill, but she's taking no chances when it comes to Dumbledore and his greater good.

And then she settles down into the business of raising Harry.

Jo is not the maternal type, but she manages to be a fairly decent parent nonetheless. Besides, Harry is a happy, easygoing baby, eager to explore his new home even if he doesn't quite understand why his parents had to go away.

So it's a surprise when, nearly a year into the endeavor, an auror and a representative from Wizarding child services arrives at her door. (Apparently her paperwork was all that was needed to remind the wizarding world that they had a duty of care to a magical orphan, no matter how famous, and the last year has been spent in legal battles where Dumbledore tried to suppress all knowledge of Harry's whereabouts and various others tried to attain that knowledge for various reasons, none of which anyone bothered to inform Harry's muggle guardian about.)

Regardless of the exact reasons for the delay, the visit goes well, and Jo ends up inviting the auror - Kingsley Shaklebolt - to return and tell Harry about his parents and the Wizarding world as he grows up, as she certainly can't tell him anything.

Harry's childhood is a montage of exactly what you'd imagine growing up in the care of an Oxford don would be. Kingsley is his most regular visitor, but with a Wizarding section to the college he eventually is introduced to others and their children for the occasional playdate. He's happy and healthy and a little more bookish than canon - a Ravenclaw with Gryffindor tendencies - and never quite forgets his aunts early lessons that critical thinking should be applied to everything, be it textbooks or news reports or children's books.

Harry's Hogwarts years pass exactly as one might expect when a child with an active and motivated guardian is placed repeatedly in danger. Particularly when that guardian is close friends with an auror who continues to pay weekly visits even after her charge leaves for boarding school.

Dumbledore is placed on suspension on allegations of child endangerment following the events of First Year, meaning Lucius Malfoy never feels the need to drop the Diary into Ginny's cauldron to cause trouble for the Light. He makes it out of the legal proceedings with all his titles, but with more than a little egg on his face. Part of the settlement involves increased security at Hogwarts - and changes to the ward scheme mean both Sirius and Wormtail are found shortly after the start of Third Year, given trials, and dealt with accordingly.

Sirius tries to gain custody of Harry immediately, but Jo refuses to even let him near the boy until he's gotten some of the mental help he so clearly needs after so much time with the Dementors.

Jo absolutely puts her foot down for the Triwizard Tournament, which Harry manages to get out of with her help, but he still ends up kidnapped at the end of the year while everyone is too busy watching the Third Task to notice. Voldemort is resurrected with help of Barty Crouch Jr - but because Crouch failed to check Harry for emergency portkeys, is able to escape as soon as his bindings are cut. He's dropped, covered in blood, straight into the middle of the Auror Offices.... which helps a lot of people to believe someone at least tried to resurrect Voldy, even if very few believe he succeeded and it's not an imposter running around.

With the Wizarding World aware there's someone running around calling himself Voldemort, even if very few believe it's the original, events of Fifth Year are vastly different. Dumbledore tries to pull most of his HBP tricks - the lessons, Slughorn, Snape taking over DADA - but they fail, largely because of that critical thinking thing Jo hammered into Harry as he was growing up. He passes along everything he's learned to Jo and Kingsley - the latter who, with some nudging from Jo, puts together Horcruxes and mobilizes the parts of the Ministry he can trust.

Sixth Year is largely Kingsley and co tracking down and destroying Horcruxes while Voldemort rages war across the Wizarding World. It goes so well he makes an open play for the Ministry at the end of the year - only to be killed by Kingsley during the battle, the last of his Horcruxes having been destroyed without his knowledge not long beforehand.

Kingsley is hailed as the new savior of the Wizarding World - a position Harry gladly abdicates - and is very quickly installed as the new Minister of Magic.

Harry goes on to graduate Hogwarts, gain a Mastery in Alchemy, and make several advancements in medical fields that earn him an Order of Merlin in his own right.

As for Jo? Well, she continues teaching at Oxford, eventually gaining a full professorship and writing several well-received books popularizing the History of Science. She never marries, but by the middle of Harry's third year is more or less living openly with Kingsley. They end up having one child together - very much a surprise, as Jo was convinced it was early onset menopause until the fifth month - born May 2, 1998, whom they name Elizabeth Evans-Shaklebolt. There are many in this Ministry who take umbrage at their Minister's ongoing affair with a muggle, but oddly enough its Kingsley's openness about his relationship with leads to an easing of tensions between the purebloods and muggleborns on the theory if a muggle is good enough for the minister, there must be something to them. Things are still far from perfect in the British Wizarding World by the time he retires, but the political situation is less tense than it's been since before the First World War.

Bonuses include: 1) A slow-burn friends to lovers arc for Jo and Kingsley that surprises both of them, with their friendship developing over the years as he visits Harry and not switching gears to romance until Kingsley continues to visit Jo's little house in Oxford after Harry goes off to Hogwarts (and realizes those visits were never just about Harry.) Theirs is not a grand, fated romance, but sneaks up on them like a sunrise after a long, dark night, and settles quite quickly into domestic bliss; 2) The Evans family being portrayed as not evil or intentionally cruel so much as personal circumstances led to Mr. and Mrs. Evans playing favorites with their children, and Lily internalizing herself as the "good" child and Jo as the "bad" one, deserving of scorn, regardless of her actions. For Lily, this was helped along by her childhood friendship with Snape, where she internalized the magic good, muggles jealous of magic, and the political situation at Hogwarts, where it became Light magic good, Dark wizards bad, everyone else in need of our guidance. It's a very black-and-white view and she might possibly have grown out of it in time, but she was never given the chance. (Or she might have played favorites with her own children, as her parents had done with her). She, like James, was far from perfect; and 3) Harry portrayed as a Gryffindor-leaning Ravenclaw who is friendly across all houses but who occasionally runs into trouble for not being Gryffindor enough for those who grew up hearing his story and a bit off-putting to children his own age after spending so much time around adults growing up. He grows out of the latter in time - though, as with Hermione in canon, there are growing pains - but not the former - which leads him to go after the stone in his first year in the first place. He should always be a little disappointed there's not more to Hogwarts and should always keep one foot in the Muggle world, earning Chemistry degrees to go along with his Alchemy Mastery. This too works to popularize Wizards getting advanced muggle education, which paves the way in time for greater advancements in the Wizarding World.

And that is all I have - admittedly light on Harry's Hogwarts years, but then again my issue with HP SI is that I, personally, would not want to attend Hogwarts. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you ever do anything with it.

Other SIs: Lysa Arryn | Petunia Evans | Princess of Dol Amroth

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #self insert #harry potter #wizarding world #petunia evans #petunia dursley #kingsley shacklebolt #hogwarts #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #wizarding society

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radiant-reid · 2 years

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Beyond Breaking // Chapter Nine

Damage Control

Summary: Spencer is finally ready to get it together... with the help of a friend, a gift, and some honesty.

Content Warnings: divorce, swearing, mention of vomiting/stomach bug, mention of drinking

Word Count: 4.7k

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After Spencer was left in his office alone again, the dread sunk in.

He couldn’t believe how twisted things had gotten in a few days. One minute he was in hospital after a hallucination about fixing things, and he blinked, and now things were in a worse state than they’d ever been before.

This was not meant to happen, but somehow, his worst nightmares were playing out. The life they’d built was all slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass, and it didn’t feel like there was enough time to flip it.

Looking at the divorce paper, he felt nauseous. His stomach had dropped so far down it felt humanly impossible, and his heart was twisted.

His eidetic memory was killing him, repeating the words she’d said so flatly, ‘sign it uncontested.’ What type of parent would that make him? How terrible had he sounded being more concerned about getting in legal trouble over an event 15 years ago than getting to see his own kids more than a few days a month?

Granted, he wasn’t doing much better right now, but he would be if he could get it together.

The thoughts plagued his mind, repeating over and over.

But he wasn’t solely in the wrong. He knew that. And he couldn’t figure out why Y/n would group together all his years of trauma and used it to defend why she should have the kids.

It was out of line, and while he was predominantly upset, he was furious about that.

He couldn’t dwell on it for much longer without having a complete emotional breakdown, and when his amygdala took a break and let his cerebrum work, he grabbed his car keys and ditched the tedious faculty meeting.

Emily was who he first ran to, so it made sense to go to her place to find her. But the BAU worked late hours, and she wasn’t home, so he called and drove to a bar.

It wasn’t a good idea. Spencer knew that walking in. He’s not in the mood to drink. He rarely is, but today it’s a bad idea. It doesn’t stop him from ordering a drink... and a shot to accompany it.

His misery apparently isn’t evident on his face because the BAU team greets him warmly, exchanging hugs and pleasantries. The longer he sits there, the longer he realizes they’re no longer his favorite group of people like they used to be before meeting Y/n, and Spencer knows he wants to be somewhere else.

It takes him far too many drinks to finally get Emily alone. “Something happened.” He admitted, biting his lip and trying to distract himself by collecting the condensation on his scotch glass.

“I can tell.” She said lightheartedly, but it wasn’t funny. “Spill it.”

So he told her. Everything he’d done and said and what was written on the divorce partition. By the end of the story, he was close to tears but hiccuping instead.

What he left out was everything he felt. That would take too long, and even though alcohol made him more honest than usual, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Emily has always been a woman of action, so her next question shouldn’t have surprised Spencer as much as it did. “Okay, what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?” He asked in reply. “Can I not just wallow here in grief?”

With a laugh, she shook her head. “No, and no offense, but you’ve wallowed enough.”

Spencer scoffed and muttered, “Harsh.”

“But fair.” She reminded him, unwilling to let up until it got through his skull. “You have to stop fucking with her.”

“I’m not. I wasn’t.” He defended. The influx of emotions that came with being drunk made him more argumentative. “When we were at the hospital, I told her I wanted to be with her. She was the one who said we have to be done, but it was so calm, and now I get served with this shit, and I might only get to see my kids a few weeks of the year-”

Emily cut him off before he could keep going. “Take a breath.”

He did so overdramatically, drawing air in and out, but it helped him control his thoughts. “I don’t want to leave them.” He stated sadly. “Or her.”

“You need to be clearer about that,” Emily told him. There was a reason she was Unit Chief. “When it all blew up, you told me you didn’t believe in being married to her. Then in the hospital, you wanted to get back together, and I get it, near-death experiences are good at supplying us with revelations, but you cannot flip-flop with this.”

He threw his head back, resting it against the booth seat. “I don’t think I can fix this.”

“What do you want to do?” She asked, taking the remaining scotch from in front of him.

The answer was simple. It was maybe the only thing that wasn’t foggy in Spencer’s brain. “Be with her.” He answered quickly. “I just had everything I ever wanted since I met her.”

“Shush, don’t focus on that,” Emily instructed, sick of his self-pity. “Think of it like a case, Spence. What was her trigger?”

Spencer’s brain worked slower than usual, thanks to the liquor, but Emily could help him build on his theories. “I don’t know. Seeing me in hospital? I didn’t see her after that.”

“Well, something else must have happened.” Emily kept him on track. She was going to help him, but she didn’t know enough.

“She mentioned that night, actually.” He recalled. “That day... oh. Oh, fuck!” He exclaimed loudly, drawing attention he wasn’t paying attention to.

It was terrible. So much more detrimental than Spencer first thought. The pieces began to click together like a puzzle. A puzzle he should have gotten quicker. If Y/n knew that, there was an easy conclusion to come to. A deduction that would make her furious and prompt that course of action.

His brain ran with the idea, calculating the probabilities and outcomes of the situation now that he knew all the variables. Knowing what Y/n thought made him feel horrible, worse than anything he’d done so far. Although he didn’t blame her, he hated the fact she believed it because that meant she could fathom him cheating on her.

Spencer worried for her the most, and he could only speculate how much that would have destroyed her faith and ruined her trust. He had been in many stressful situations in his life, more than a usual person, but nothing made him panic like unlocking that piece of knowledge.

“What? What?” Emily asked, grabbing his arm and trying to ground him. She’d seen the switch flick in his brain.

“She thinks I’m cheating on her with one of my students.” He blurted out with a deep sigh.

Emily had heard a lot of surprising facts, but her eyes were comically wide. “Why would she think that?” She asked, her tone coming off sharply. There’s not usually an explanation for something like that, as much as people claim there is.

Damn, sometimes he hated being honest. “Because I made another mistake.” He said truthfully. “The day before that night, I had Wren. We were at work, and I had a class, so I let this student, Lily, stay with Wren because she is doing her dissertation on language in early childhood.” He explained it all without taking a breath. “How am I going to explain that?” He stood up abruptly, grabbing his jacket and putting it on. “I have to go see her.”

“No.” Emily stopped him. “I mean, yes, you need to, but also no, you can’t. Not when you’re drunk.”

He conceded, sitting back down and sighing loudly. He ran his hand roughly through his hair. “What am I going to do?” He asked again, tears prickling in his eyes.

“We’re going to go home, and you’re going to sleep it off. In the morning, you’ll tell Y/n that you need to talk. The good news is, you have 21 days.” Emily formulated the idea, and Spencer had never been more thankful for her and the high alcohol tolerance that allowed her to think logically.

“Yeah, okay.” He agreed, more than ready to get out of the bar.

And he had learned just how easy it was to fall asleep after crying for a couple of hours, so it wasn’t hard to fall asleep quickly that night. The next day came with a hangover, mentally and physically. He didn’t even want to move.

Since she had become his big sister, Emily dragged him out of bed, and they went to the BAU.

Of all the things he thought might happen that day, a call from Bennett’s kindergarten was pretty far down the list. He had his satchel packed up within a couple of minutes, and he was in Emily’s office within three minutes.

“I need to go.” He said, satchel over his shoulder as he held onto the door frame and leaned in. She raised her eyebrows and waited for an explanation, hoping he hadn’t made a spur-of-the-moment decision to confess his love to his wife. “Bennett is sick at kindergarten, and they can’t get ahold of Y/n.”

She nodded in understanding. “Of course, go.”

He left the office without a second thought about the paperwork he had to do, driving to his son’s kindergarten. Bennett looked pale with red cheeks from crying, and there was nothing Spencer hated more than seeing the people he loved hurting.

“Hi, bud,” Spencer said softly, leaning down to scoop the little boy up. “Not feeling too good, huh?” He asked, only getting a reply in the form of Bennett’s head shaking against his shoulder.

Spencer signed him out quickly, carrying him to the car and strapping him into his car seat. He knew there was one other thing he needed to do before sort of kidnapping his child, so he texted Y/n a quick, informal update.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” He asked, looking at the little boy who was frowning.

“My tummy hurts,” Bennett mumbled.

One thing Spencer thought he’d hate about having children was their sickness, but he had never cared about the spit-ups and diaper blowouts. “Have you had anything to eat?”

“Mommy made oatmeal, but I was too sick to eat my cookies at snack.” He complained.

It occurred to Spencer then that he had no idea what food was at their house. “Why don’t we go to the store and get some bananas, pretzels, and ginger ale?” He offered.

“Some jello?” Bennett asked hopefully.

There wasn’t much in the world Spencer wouldn’t do to see him smile and the tiny ghost of a smile flickering across his son’s face made him feel a little better. “Of course.” He agreed, reaching behind his chair to grab Bennett’s foot and make him smile slightly.

“There is something else I have to tell you, daddy...”

The trip to the mall was quick because Spencer didn’t want Bennett throwing up all over everything, and they were back at home. It felt, to Spencer, like stepping back into a time machine. Eight years of love were built into the walls, and all the photo frames prompted little memories back into his head. It was hard to feel out of place when everything looked like it did when he left the first time and after they had sex. Even the drawings on the fridge were the same.

He carried Bennett through the house, leaving both their shoes at the door, and lay him down on the couch facing the TV where he could be seen from the kitchen. “Wanna pick a movie, bubba?”

Bennett frowned at the nickname but nodded anyway. “Cars, please.”

“Sure.” Spencer agreed, grabbing the remote and rubbing the little boy’s back to comfort him while he tried to figure out how to work it.

“It’s the middle one,” Bennett spoke up when he realized Spencer wasn’t getting it.

He finally got it, and the movie began playing. “My smart boy.” With a kiss on his forehead, Spencer got up from the couch, finding a bucket in case Bennett was sick before unpacking the food he’d gotten in the kitchen. Then he made a special platter of bananas, pretzels, toast and jello, and ginger ale, Gatorade, and water to drink.

Like it was the normal thing to do, Spencer started tidying the house, putting the coloring pens Wren must have left on the table away and doing the breakfast dishes.

He loved how domestic it felt, looking after his sick child while cleaning their house, and he liked having nothing more to do than be there. Maybe, more than any other feelings, being home was his favorite. And it wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time.

Bennett fell asleep halfway through the movie, brown curls splayed out against the pillow. He stretched out longer than Spencer thought he used to. All three of them seemed to be growing faster and faster each day, and he couldn’t do anything but wish he would be there to see it. Bennett’s nose was the only one of the three that mirrored Y/n’s, and Spencer traced his finger lightly over it while he slept peacefully.

The front door slammed a little while after he started the second movie just so he’d have something to keep his mind off how weird it was to be there. “Fuck!” Y/n cursed, ungracefully tripping over Maddie’s ballet flats.

She couldn’t go a day without something dramatic happening in her life, and apparently, she couldn’t go a day without seeing Spencer. When her meeting ended, she was on edge as soon as her PA told her that there were voicemails left from Bennett’s kindergarten. Then she found out he was sick, which always upset her because it meant he was in pain. The nail in the coffin came as a text message from Spencer, who was looking after Bennett. Usually, it would be nothing but relief that she felt, but it made her uneasy now. But being with her sick child would always outweigh having to see Spencer, or anyone for that matter, so she went home almost as soon as she got out of her meeting.

“Is he okay?” She asked frantically, walking into the living room. She crouched in front of the couch, holding the back of her palm to his forehead. Her ignoring Spencer went further than concern for her child.

“Yeah,” Spencer answered, still stunned to see her, and to be so close to her. This was not how he thought it would go, and it was not going well. He cleared his throat, continuing to fill the awkward silence. “H-he, uh, said he had a stomach ache, but he’s eaten and slept.”

When she finally looked up at him, he couldn’t do anything but stare back blankly and admire her like it would be the last time he saw her. It might be, he figured, without lawyers at least.

She knew she had to say it, even if she didn’t want to. “Thank you.” It wasn’t just for looking after his own child. It was for the living room and kitchen and their remarkable cleanliness.

“It’s okay.” He replied, not mentioning how much he loved and would do anything for them. He also omitted how much he enjoyed being home and how he’d do anything to come home.

“I, uh, need to go get the girls.” She told him, hoping he’d had enough people training to read between the lines.

It took him far too long to snap out of the trance he was in each time she looked at him. He knew what she meant, though, and it would be much easier for all of them, for varying reasons, if Spencer wasn’t there when Maddie and Wren got back. He wasn’t about to push his luck by arguing with her.

“Y-yeah, sure, I’ll carry him out.” He said, standing up as she did and reaching down to pick the little boy up.

Bennett missed the awkward silence and tension-filled atmosphere until they got out to the car, and he woke up. “No, daddy!” He cried when Spencer moved to put him in his car seat.

“Hey, hey, mom’s here.” He soothed him. “You feeling okay?”

“Don’t leave!” He screamed harder, cheeks already wet as he tightened his legs around Spencer’s waist.

Spencer rubbed his back. “You gotta go with mom and pick up your sisters.” He told him.

“Daddy, please,” Bennett begged. Spencer tried to make himself believe that the little boy was just overtired and feeling sick, not that he hated him. His heart was broken for the umpteenth time.

Spencer managed to wrestle him into his car seat, but it took everything in him not to turn around and beg Y/n to let him stay.

“Promise I’ll come back,” Spencer assured him, trying to wipe up his tears and kiss him goodbye.

“No!” Bennett kicked his feet against the chair. “You never come home. You don’t love me.”

That would be hard not to think about at night, and Spencer was unsure about how he managed not to break down hearing that. He knew that past-him wouldn’t have felt so numb to it.

Behind them and witnessing everything, Y/n was tearful also. She immediately knew she’d made a mistake hearing Spencer’s hoarse voice. Spencer was hurting her, but she was hurting them. Bennett begging him not to leave was proof of that.

“I promise I do, so much. I’ll come to see you as soon as I get back from work.” Spencer assured him, but nothing was helping calm the child.

The guilt sunk even deeper at Spencer taking the fall for his being away. Bennett might not remember this moment when he was older, but eventually, all three of them would start being able to recall the lies of times Spencer told them he needed to work and he would be the bad guy.

“I love you, okay?” Spencer repeated to the crying little boy. “Please be good for your mom.” He couldn’t take anymore. It was why he shut the door, took a deep breath, and turned around to look at her. “Sorry, I didn’t think he’d cry.”

“I can do this alone, you know?” Y/n asked, her upset and guilt coming out as bitterness.

He knew her well enough to know what she needed, and this time, oddly, it was comfort. And he could do that, even if he was feeling bad and could really do with some reassurance. “You have been since Maddie was born.”

For the slightest time, Spencer swore she shook her head, but he knew he could be a little delusional. Y/n stood in front of him, trying to find something to say, and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Mutually and silently, they agreed that it was easier to walk away without saying anything.

But Spencer couldn’t let her go again. “Hey, uh, when you-” He stopped, clearing his throat. “If you want to talk, I can explain it.” Those were the exact words he was trying to avoid. Words that really did make him seem like a cheater.

She looked at him dead on because of all the things she didn’t know, she knew she could read his eyes and... he was telling the truth. And fucking complicating everything.

The hope in his increased exponentially when she nodded slightly, and it filled him with something lighter than air. Maybe he really could fix things.

The phone call from Bennett’s school was far more expected than a call from Y/n that night, but his phone really was ringing, and he was so shocked he had to confirm it with Emily.

Emily left him with wise words of advice, “If you fuck her, I’ll cut your dick off.”

It was past 9 when he got there when the kids would be asleep, and he took a deep breath before unlocking the door and walking in. Was it the right thing to do? He wasn’t sure, but he proceeded through the house to find his wife- technically- on the couch.

Children were the best conversation starters, he’d learned. Even better than dogs. Although he never thought he would be using the tactic that he used on strangers at Wren’s friend’s birthday parties on his wife, yet here he was.

“How is he?” He asked, trying to relieve the strain they were both feeling by sitting on the couch.

“Good, ate like two servings of spaghetti.” She reported back to him. He nodded slightly, and any words he had got stuck in his throat. She seemed to be having the same problem, so she threw a Hail Mary. “Tell me something, Spence.”

Maybe it was the nickname or just sitting in the living room like they used to, but he blurted it out before he could help himself. “You’re so beautiful.” He wanted to bang his head against a brick wall at the obvious overstep. “Fuck, sorry.”

Y/n was blushing, and he could see it, but it might have been out of secondhand embarrassment for his misstep. She didn’t say anything to the comment, but she was happy. She couldn’t help it.

“Did you have something to do with this?” She wondered, holding up her wrist so he could see the brand-new, diamond tennis bracelet. It was too nice for a nearly 6-year-old to have mysteriously gotten.

“Sorry.” He apologized again. Where was that brick wall that he needed? “Bennett said you lost a bracelet, and he was really upset about it. I just hate seeing him sad...” and thinking about you being sad, he didn’t add.

She chuckled humorlessly, crossing her arms defensively. “Just wanted to make sure Bennett didn’t steal it from your girlfriend.”

Oh so she did want to address the massive elephant in the room.

“I promise I can explain that.” He assured her. Instead of making a comment, she sat there waiting for his explanation. “She’s writing a dissertation on language development in children. I had a class, so I left her with Lily. I promise Wren was safe. The campus has, like, a million cameras, and she’s a good kid. I would never cheat on you, Y/n, I swear.” He talked too much, and it made him look guilty. He knew that, and he wished he’d been more succinct. She just sat there stunned. “Jesus, you really thought I did.”

“Do you blame me?” She wondered blankly, blocking out the tears.

“There’s no one that could ever make me disloyal to you.” He told her more firmly than he wanted to.

Yes, he was telling the truth, and yes, she had jumped to some bad conclusion that had even worse effects. She was only feeling more and more guilty about it, overwhelming, all-consuming guilt.

When he looked up again, she was crying. It was too sweet for her not to be in tears. “Please don’t cry.” He begged. “I hate it when you cry.”

She tried to wipe the tears up with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. He’d only feel like that if he still had feelings for her. “I hate it when Bennett cries.” She added.

"Me too.” He agreed.

She knew it must have, and she couldn’t imagine any one of them saying she didn’t love him. “He knows, though.”

Spencer just wished she knew. “I’m sorry you had to find that out from Wren.”

“We should talk about that, though.” She redirected the conversation, still holding eye contact. He didn’t anticipate what was about to happen to sting so much. “What we’re going to do when we get a boyfriend or girlfriend.”

It took him a moment to figure out what she was saying, and then he was the one with thick tears rolling down his cheeks.

He couldn’t stand the fact she might one day be with someone else. It wasn’t a fair objection, so he didn’t voice it, but he knew they were meant to be together with everything in him.

They were meant to be together in every universe. They were soulmates, something he didn’t believe in until he met her.

What he didn’t believe in was having more than one soulmate. Y/n was it for him. He would never be able to love anyone the way he loved her. He didn’t even want to think about trying to.

“We’re not getting back together?” He whimpered out, like a puppy dog that had been left outside.

She paused before speaking. “I need time.”

Time.

Spencer could do that.

Time meant to could win her over and they wouldn’t be divorced within the next month.

He wasn’t going to push his luck too much, so he just reached out to touch her hand. “Not tonight.” He told her. “Take your time, Y/n, but I’m willing to do whatever I need to get this family back.”

Then he was gone, standing up before either of them could say anything further and make a mess of it all. “Good night, Spence.” She waved softly.

“Can I?” He asked, pointing his finger up and motioning to the floor where their kids were sleeping. “Kiss them goodnight.”

“Of course.” She agreed, although her heart was urging her to ask him to kiss her.

Spencer made his way upstairs, pushing open Wren’s door first and arranging her teddy bears differently so she’d still believe in magic for another day, then Bennett’s where he left an ‘I love you’ note for the little boy, and finally Laine’s.

The torch flashed off quickly, and he knew exactly what that meant from his years of staying up late and reading. “Hi, Laine.” He whispered, trying not to trip in the room only illuminated by the hallway light.

“Sorry.” She apologized quickly, shutting the book and smiling up at him. She knew it always worked with him.

“It’s okay.” He assured her. “You do need to rest your brain, though, sweetheart. I just wanted to come to give you a goodnight kiss.” He leaned down to do so, pushing her hair out of the way so he could kiss her forehead.

“Is mommy better now?” She wondered innocently.

Spencer frowned, concerned about what she meant, and sat down on her bed next to her. “What do you mean, sweet baby?”

“She just cries a lot,” Laine said nonchalantly. Of course, she knew it was wrong for her mom to be crying a lot, but figured it was adult business. “But she hasn’t cried since she got her bracelet.”

That thought made Spencer smile. Wider than he’d smiled in a long time. “I think it’s a magic bracelet.”

“Good.” Laine agreed although she insisted she was too old to believe in magic. Spencer was set to prove her wrong, even if she’d never know it, he was about to perform a miracle. “I want her to be happy.”

He nodded at that. “Me too.” Even on their worst days, he wanted her to be happy, and he’d sacrifice it over his happiness any day.

“Are you coming to Bennie’s party?” She asked, changing the conversation as kids tend to do.

“Hmm, when is that?” He wondered jokingly. She laughed a little at him, shaking her head because of his silliness. He couldn’t exactly forget his son’s birthday was in a few days. “Of course, and we’re going to eat lots of cake.”

“And there’s going to be a bounce house.” She promised, excitement lighting up in her eyes.

Spencer nodded before kissing her forehead again. “You need to dream of it though, Lainey, because otherwise, you’ll be tired for school tomorrow.” He warned, standing up and walking away with a little wave before he shut her bedroom door.

He didn’t say goodbye when he left, knowing Y/n would be so deep in thought she wouldn’t hear it. Plus, maybe it was easier to leave quietly. He just hoped it would be the last time he would leave at all.

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phdmama · 1 year

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So my darling frond @phoebe-delia gave me the following prompt:

Okay here's what I got: Drarry coming back from a date where everything went wrong. Doesn't have to be their first date, but an early one. The waiter got their food wrong, one of them was late bc of stuff out of their control, an ex showed up on a date—your call. Anyway—one insists on walking the other home, and when they arrive, they're both laughing, and a comfortable silence starts, and they realize they don't want it to end. And one says, "D'you want to come in?"

My dear, this is what came to mind - I hope it suits!

Drarry, T, ~1200 words

Tags: first date, bad date, like epically bad, brief mention of accidental minor injury/blood, gratuitous use of italics and parentheses

This is, quite possibly, the worst date Harry has ever been on.

Okay, to be fair, the date a couple of years ago, with that French wizard, would probably be considered worse, technically, given that it had ended with Harry in St. Mungo’s on blood-replenishing potions and the guy being arrested.

Or the date with that witch who had, it turned out, been utterly delusional and convinced that Harry was not only the second coming of some obscure American deity (who even knew the Americans had gods?? Not Harry!) but that Harry was particularly eager to plant the third coming of said god into her… how had she put it? Oh yes, her exceptionally fertile temple of joy.

Just the memory of it makes Harry shudder.

So yeah, he’s been on some bad dates, and while he’s pretty sure this one won’t end up with anyone being arrested or sectioned to the Janus Thickey ward, it’s still been terrible.

First, he’d been late. Really late. Like, not just fifteen minutes but three hours. True, he’d been splashing through a mossy swamp after some asshole criminal and he’s pretty sure Draco had believed him given that Harry had apparated directly to Draco’s townhouse from the swamp, as he’d been so anxious about being so late. To Harry’s credit, he’d sent several Patronuses and Draco had replied telling him not to worry but still. Late. Very, very late.

And, did he mention, he’d been in a swamp? So he’d showed up, not just late, but also dripping and smelling of swamp. Not a good look. Or smell. Draco had gotten him sorted out, loaned him some clothes, and they’d headed out to the fancy restaurant.

Except that sometime during the two weeks between when Hary had optimistically made the reservation and showing up for tonight’s date, the restaurant appeared to have changed ownership and now had a very different theme. Much less high-end Italian cuisine and much more, well. BDSM club. They didn’t even have entrees. Just finger food.

And for some reason, Harry had felt compelled to stick it out, so they’d ordered drinks and food while watching a demonstration of something. Harry’s not sure what, but it had looked… complicated and uncomfortable. In any case, the drinks had been overpriced and watered down, and the food had managed to be simultaneously undercooked and thoroughly scorched. Harry’s not even sure how they’d managed to achieve that particular balance.

The server had been, well, not rude exactly, but more, just… profoundly incompetent. It had taken her twenty minutes to put in their drink order, and then after another half an hour, she’d drifted over to ask if they’d like dessert menus and had seemed genuinely startled when they’d politely mentioned that they hadn’t actually ordered dinner yet.

The club had been so loud, they hadn’t been able to make conversation, and when the band had started to set up, Draco had given Harry a panicked look and suggested that they might want to head out. Harry hadn’t been able to hear him, and when Draco had leaned in to shout in his ear, Harry had accidentally smacked Draco in the nose. With his head.

They’d gotten the bleeding stopped, but Harry is pretty sure Draco’s lovely, silk tie is never going to be the same.

So now, Harry is walking Draco home because Hermione had insisted that was proper, but he’s pretty sure this date is going to end on the doorstep of Draco’s townhouse, and with it, all of Harry’s hopes for more, better dates.

“So,” he says glumly and wracks his brain for something to talk about that, and then, of course. It begins to rain. Not just rain. It’s pouring.

It’s freezing cold, they’re already both soaked to skin, and it’s the worst date Harry has ever been on, so when he hears a strangled noise from Draco, it’s not surprising that he immediately thinks Draco is crying. Not that Draco’s much of a crier usually, he’s more prone towards snark and sulking, but still. So Harry stops, turns, opens his mouth and is about to apologize when he realizes.

Draco isn’t crying. Not at all. He’s laughing. He’s laughing so hard that he has to stop walking, and is just standing, bent over at the waist, hands on his thighs as he howls. Harry stares at him in astonishment.

Finally, Draco manages to calm himself down, straightens up and grins at Harry. He’s as wet as a person can be, hair hanging in his face and his shirt is saturated to the point of translucence. He’s shivering but his grey eyes are shining and he’s so, so beautiful, all Harry can do is stare at him, aching with want.

“That,” Draco pronounces with glee, “was quite possibly the worst date I’ve ever been on, and I have to tell you, Potter, I’ve had some bad dates.”

Harry swallows. Draco doesn’t seem angry at all, or even disappointed (which would be far worse, Harry thinks). No, Draco is so clearly amused and Harry starts to think that maybe, just maybe, he hasn’t ruined this. Not yet.

They stare at each other and Draco’s lips quiver as he tries to hold back his laughter, and as lightning flashes overhead, Harry gives up, throws his own head back and starts to laugh as well.

“It really was terrible,” he agrees and takes a step closer to Draco, who just watches him approach, eyes knowing and sure. Thunder booms so loudly that they both flinch. “Not my best work.”

Draco snorts, reaches out and snags Harry by the belt loop. “I should hope not,” he agrees as he reels Harry all the way in, winding his arms around Harry.

“I can do better,” Harry whispers, and then Draco closes the last bit of distance between them, his mouth warm and insistent on Harry’s.

Draco tastes of cheap vodka and rain, and Harry reaches up with one hand to push Draco’s sodden hair out of his eyes while the other hand lands low on Draco’s hip. Harry feels sparks under his skin everywhere they’re touching, and he groans as he pulls Draco even closer.

They stand like that for moments or hours, Harry has no idea how long, he’s lost to everything but Draco in his arms. Finally, Draco pulls back with a gasp and as the silence between them is broken by another crash of thunder, Harry realizes that he’d missed the lightning strike that preceded it, too caught up in Draco to be dazzled by anything else.

“So,” Draco says and Harry can hear the smile in his voice. “Do you want to come over?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, his voice rough. “I really do.”

“Well then,” Draco says, and plants an affectionate kiss on Harry’s chin. “Why don’t you do that?”

As they make their way down the wet pavement to Draco’s townhouse, Harry slips his hand into Draco’s, feels the way Draco’s fingers thread perfectly through his own, the way Draco holds on tight, and when Harry slants him a sideways glance, Draco is looking forward and smiling.

Draco is smiling, it’s pouring rain, Harry is starving and there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than right here, right now, just like this.

Best. Date. Ever.

#my writing #prompt #drarry vignette #gentle reminder #I do prefer people not finish my vignettes without talking to me first!#thank you for understanding!!

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weirdthoughtsandideas · 8 days

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So, here's an original story I wrote like 3 years ago...

I had a whole thing with this story back then, planning on everything that was going to happen in it (I still know what's gonna happen later), but I only ever wrote 5 chapters. One chapter is also really unfinished.

But, I thought, I am not sure if I'm gonna just let it rest on a google doc for all eternity. So, I have decided to post these on tumblr.

I'm thinking I'm starting with the first chapter, and if people are interested, I might post the other chapters too.

I wanna give some disclaimers first:

As mentioned, I wrote this like 3 years ago, so my writing has evolved since then.

This story is about six siblings, and one of them has a name that I wrote was "ridiculous". It's not really a ridiculous name in retrospect, it just sounded like it to 18 year old swedish me who had never heard the name before.

Yes. Yes, this is very based off a thing I love.

This story doesn't take place in the modern times, so no one has cellphones (only stationary phones located around the house). It's not said when it's set, though.

This is the first chapter, titled "Meet the Spins", and is essentially a character introduction chapter.

The day started with the birds tweeting early in the morning. But that’s not what woke Jessica Spins up from her sleep. It was the baby’s whining. “I’m coming, sch…” She climbed down from her loft bed and approached the crib that was currently right under her bed. It usually wasn’t, but due to the circumstances the baby had to sleep with whoever was in charge. And Jessica was the oldest, so she was the obvious choice. “Okay, sweetie, you had a bad dream?”

She picked up the baby and tried to rock her back and forth. The baby sniffled. Jessica was unsure what to do - she was still pretty tired herself. As she looked out the window she noticed the sun was coming up, so she might aswell get up.

Jessica Spins was the oldest out of six children. Yeah, six is a lot. That could be a reason why their parents decided to take a trip across the globe and leave all six children alone for a week. Jessica was 15, almost 16 now and had taken care of her siblings ever since an early age. Of course her parents didn’t put all the responsibility on her. They just simply asked her to take one of her little brothers to the park across the street so he could “play off all that energy” or change her little sister’s diaper once in a while. She had also been alone with her siblings during the times their parents went out for a date or just came home late from work, so them going on a one week trip was honestly like an extended date. It had already gone three days and everything ran on smoothly. Jessica promised to call them if something was wrong.

Right now, she was trying to feed the baby, who refused to eat the mashed apples or whatever it was.

“Come on, eat your breakfast!” Jessica tried, but was only met with whimpers.

“Wow, you’re terrible at this!”

In front of her now was Erica. Erica was 14 years old and took the role as the second oldest pretty well - she still had responsibility too, but with less pressure on her. That way, she could be more laid back and relaxed… and more fun.

“Good morning, Erica.”, Jessica sighed, “I’m trying to feed the little rascal here, but she won’t eat.”

“Yeah, that’s why I said you’re terrible at this.” Erica replied. She snatched the spoon from Jessica, “This is how you have to feed her.” She started to make some funny faces to the baby, making her laugh. As her mouth was open, Erica showed the spoon gently inside. The baby ate it without any problem.

“How do you do that?” Jessica asked.

“She just likes me more than you.” Erica shrugged, “In fact, she should have her crib in my room instead.”

“You know mom and dad wanted her in my room. Besides, you don’t have any space for a crib with all the things you have lying around.”

“She could sleep next to me! And we could cuddle all night.”

“You could move over and crush her.”

“No!”

“Yes, you move around so much in your sleep! It’s creepy, really.”

“What’s creepy? Is the ghost girl back in the walls again?”

That came from Darren, the third born of the bunch. He recently turned 12 and were, as their parents described it, “full of life”. He was very into the supernatural - like, very into the supernatural. He claimed he could see spirits and they had caught him multiple times trying to summon them in the attic (but they always stopped him before he accidentally summoned a demon).

“For the last time, there was never a ghost girl in the walls.” Jessica said.

“There sure was!” Darren protested.

“You’re full of shit.” Erica said.

“Erica!” Jessica hissed.

“What? He is full of shit.”

“The only one that’s full of shit is the little pants pusher over there.” Darren said, pointing at the baby.

Erica did a quick sniff. “I’m pretty sure she’s clean.”

Darren glared at the baby. “The one time I try to make a joke you’re clean, you fucking-”

“Darren!” Jessica growled. “We do not swear in front of our younger siblings!”

“We do not swear in front of our younger siblings!” Erica and Darren mimicked.

“Good morning.” said a tired, but unsurprised voice.

“Good morning, Tim.” his three older siblings said in unison. Tim was Darren’s younger twin. When they were smaller they were more identical, but that was just because their parents thought it was cute to dress them in matching outfits and haircuts. The big difference came when they were old enough to pick out their own clothes. Tim dressed in more fashionable outfits. Ties, blazers, you name it. Darren on the other hand stuck to hoodies and dark sweaters with loose pants. Otherwise they had the same hair color, same eye color and were approximately the same height. The kids at the street would refer to them as “the prep and slack twins”.

Tim’s full name was Timothy, but he refused to be called anything but Tim, or only by a few people he’d allow, Timmy. He also had an interest in the supernatural, but was more interested in music. Specifically, older music that his parents and grandparents used to listen to. The children’s mother once bought a gramophone from an antique store for Tim to listen to old classics from before any of them were born. It was not like he didn’t like more modern music - he did, too. It was just the feeling of those old tunes… when he listened to those, he could feel like some old spirit entered his body and possessed him (in that way, he also believed in the supernatural, even if it wasn’t as hardcore as his brother).

“Hey Tim, want an egg?” Darren asked.

“In my face or in my mouth?” Tim replied with a suspicious grin.

“In your hair!”

“No!”

The twins ran around the kitchen, laughing. Darren chased Tim while holding an egg up in the air. Erica and the baby just giggled, while Jessica was visibly stressed and wanted to stop these shenanigans. Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen… but she could try.

“Hey! We eat the breakfast, not throw it!”

“Okay, mom.” Darren said.

“No, she’s right.” Erica said, to everyone’s surprise. Jessica felt a bit calmer, thinking her sister was taking her side. Well… she did not. Because Erica soon picked up some toasted bread. “If you don’t stop throwing eggs, I will throw toast at you!”

Darren and Tim giggled and continued to run around like wild animals as Erica started to throw toasted bread at them. It all soon escalated to Darren throwing eggs at the walls and the baby getting some butter on her head. Jessica just tried to calm everyone down, but no one listened to her. They all yelled and shouted, until they noticed a little girl standing at the edge of the breakfast table.

“Oh…” Jessica said, “Good morning, Salome.”

“Did you sleep well?” Tim asked.

“Want some toast?” Erica asked.

“Or eggs?” Darren added.

Salome was the fifth born of the bunch. She was 5 years old and never said a single word. It was not that she couldn’t talk, she just… didn’t. She preferred communicating in other, more silent ways. Just like a lot of other five year olds, she had a bright imagination, which could lead to her easily getting overwhelmed by her surroundings. Even though she did not say a word she was the one who always calmed her siblings down. Jessica and their parents could try their best, but if a noisy sibling saw Salome stare at them with her innocent glare, they just… calmed down. It was like they felt embarrassed over causing so much chaos when they saw how good and patient she was. Also, they always felt… sorry for her. It must not be fun seeing all your older siblings yell like that. Darren was also a bit afraid of Salome - what if she secretly plotted to kill them all?

The youngest member of the family was, of course, the baby. She had a name, but the thing was that her siblings thought her name was absolutely ridiculous, so they just called her “the baby”. Now, all names feel different to different people, of course. What’s a beautiful name to someone might be the weirdest name to someone else. It all also depends on who you are and where you live. Some countries have names that absolutely no one outside that particular country is named. The Spins parents wanted to name their kids things that most people around the globe could pronounce and understand (that kind of backfired with Salome, as people were quite unsure if it was pronounced “Sah-lom” or “Sah-lo-mee”, or just something entirely different. “Sah-lo-mee” was the pronunciation the parents used, but it didn’t stop others to pronounce it differently). With their youngest child, they wanted something more unique, so they went all in.

The baby’s name was Millicent. Millicent Sunshine Rudy Spins. It was kind of a cute name. If you were a baby in the 1800s or perhaps in the very modern hipster times. The Spins siblings did not live in the 1800s or the very modern hipster times. They had to admit Millicent was kind of cute, but for some reason the children didn’t really want to call her that every time they mentioned her. Of course, they couldn’t always call her “the baby”, so Erica suggested they could call her “Millie” or “Mills”. When talking about Millicent’s middle names, well… all of the siblings had pretty unusual middle names. Just ask Jessica Rainbow, Erica Plumberry, Salome Jane Dot Constance… the boys had pretty common middle names however, but their middle names were before their first names for some reason. Hugo Darren and Hunter Timothy.

The six siblings ate breakfast until the phone suddenly rang.

“I’ll get it!” shouted Darren and rushed to pick up. “Spins residence? Hi, dad!”

He held out the phone so all his siblings could shout “hi, dad!” and then returned to speaking to him by himself. “We’re just eating breakfast. Uh-huh? Yes… i’ll check! Hey Jessica, has the baby been sleeping?”

“She has.” Jessica said.

“She has! I’m sorry dad, but I just can’t say Millicent. It’s too- alright. You were gonna name her what? Oh gosh… okay. Yeah. Okay. Love you!”

“What were they gonna name who?” Tim asked.

“Our dear baby sister over here”, Darren said, walking up to Millicent, “Was gonna be named Moonshine.”

“Moonshine Sunshine Rudy Spins.” Erica giggled.

The rest of the morning went on smoothly. Darren snuck off to try summoning a spirit in Salome’s room, but got caught by Salome when she was going there to play. So he decided to try to hide and scare Jessica in the living room. Tim decided to take the bus to the local antique store and see if there was any old music stuff. Erica decided to spend her day with Millicent and was following her around the house.

“Millie!” Erica squeaked as she followed the little baby. “Where are we going now? Oh, upstairs? You can’t walk upstairs? Is your big sister gonna carry you? Yes! Hey, Millie! Mills! Little Mila, are you little Mila?” “Erica, what are you doing?” Jessica asked.

“Just talking to our cute little baby sister, that’s all!”

“Okay, but she needs to take a nap, so take her up.”

Erica groaned, “Uh, I know! That’s why I’m taking her upstairs now?” She rolled her eyes and made some mumbled groans to Millicent. “She doesn’t think I know it’s your nap? I’m gonna take a nap too, I can’t take Jessica’s bullshit anymore…”

Jessica sighed and turned back to the book she was reading. Everything was silent now, all her siblings were off doing something else. It was nice and calm in the living room. All nice and calm until…

“Bah!”

Jessica flinched as she heard the scream. Behind the couch she was sitting on was Darren, now giggling like a maniac.

“That could’ve been a spirit, I just wanted to prepare you.” he chuckled, “Also, the look on your face-”

Jessica frowned, “Darren, you little shit!”

“Oh my god!” Darren exclaimed. “You swore! You actually swore!”

Right then, Tim got home again and wondered why his brother was jumping around. Darren took his hands, “Jessica swore!”

“She did?” Tim asked.

“Darren, stop.” Jessica sighed, as her brothers jumped around the room.

“She swore!”

“Jessica swore!”

“Well, don’t tell Erica, or i’ll kill you both. Okay?”

Suddenly the boys stopped jumping and nodded carefully, but still having gleeful smirks.

Some seconds later, the phone rang. Jessica picked it up, as it was right next to the couch.

“Hello? Hi, mom! Good! Good… yeah, the twins are playing and so is Salome in her room… Erica’s putting her down for a nap right now. Me? Just reading. Yeah… what? Wait, now? Today? Tomorrow? Why- has something happened? Can’t you tell me now? Okay… okay, yeah. I’ll tell them. Yes. Love you too, mom! Goodbye!”

“What did mom want?” Tim asked.

“She and dad are coming home earlier.” Jessica explained.

“Why?”

“She didn’t say why, she said they’ll explain when they’re coming home again.”

“So… when are they coming home?” Darren asked.

“...tomorrow.”

“Fuck, we have to clean the house!” Tim exclaimed and ran off.

The children didn’t know that this was the last phone call they would ever get… in this house.

So, I have not read this story properly until today... I so wanted to go in and edit a bunch, as I'm a better writer today, but I also wanted to leave it unedited, like a time capsule. While not much happened in this chapter, the rest of them will change drastically. If you're interested in reading the next chapter of this original story of mine, just tell me!

#original story #mine

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diana-bookfairchild · 1 year

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@fluffbruary Day 16

“Finally!” Zack called dramatically, collapsing on Ivy, who shook him off with a disgruntled warning not to bother the driver. “That one was hard!”

Carmen spun the box containing the La Peregrina Pearl in her hand. “Mmm, not particularly. For one of the most famous jewels in the world, security was sadly lacking.”

“Only for you, Red,” laughed Player onscreen. “I’d say a hundred guards plus the no-oxygen room, not to mention the thumbprint and iris scanner would be enough for anyone else. Be careful with that,” he added. “It bid for more than 11 million dollars, you know.”

Carmen clicked her tongue. “It’s a good thing Countess Cleo will not be getting her hands on it then.”

“She would certainly love this,” Shadowsan agreed. “We must be careful for a while. The only thing the Countess treasures more than her jewels and clothes is revenge.”

“They’ll never get us, Carm’s too good,” Ivy scoffed. “Bro, if you elbow me one more time, I’m tossing you off this ship.”

“Chill, Ives,” Zack drawled. “Player, any idea what our next mission is?”

Player had his thinking face on, clearly having switched the screen to go through the hard drive. “Honestly, it’s a wait-and-see game at this point. They’ve been trying to switch up their missions and agents recently.”

“Probably because they know boss will come and get them,” Zack said. “And her suuuuper awesome crew. Hi-yah!” He did a terrible imitation of a kung fu chop. “Sensei, when will my training continue?”

“When you’ve displayed any aptitude for the martial arts,” Shadowsan retorted dryly. “In the meantime – or for the rest of your life, seeing as that seems more likely – I would suggest remaining the get-away driver.”

“The get-away sailor this time,” Ivy commented. “And it’s me, and not him! Ha.”

“Want me to make you a little paper captain’s hat sis?” Zack chuckled.

“I’ll smash it over your head, bro.”

“It might be a good thing to have a break between this and the next caper,” Carmen was telling Player as Zack and Ivy continued their argument and Shadowsan continued to bemoan all the life choices that led him to witness it, “We could have some rest. And you could pay attention in school. And do your homework. And go to sleep on time, for once.”

“You sound like my mom,” Player complained, leaning back with his hands behind his head. The tension always in his voice when he guided them on missions – responsible for his team, his family – bled out as he enjoyed a conversation with his best friend. “Besides. I have absolutely no doubt that you’ll find a way to get into trouble even without any capers. I’ll need to stay up late anyway!”

“Don’t sound so happy about that,” Carmen chided. “Seriously, Player, you need to learn to take better care of yourself. Have you eaten today?”

Player waved a plate of noodles and fork mockingly at the camera.

“Something other than that breathtakingly unhealthy stuff?”

“The unhealthy stuff’s what’s tasty, boss,” Zack chimed in. “I don’t get how you don’t like junk food.”

“I grew up on VILE Island,” Carmen replied amusedly. “Not much time for junk there unless it’s valuable or evil.”

“Coach Brunt set a very specific diet for Carmen growing up,” Shadowsan nodded. “I remember Dr. Bellum contributed – most probably why you were allowed any sweets at all.”

“Weird to think of that huge Coach being a mom,” Ivy commented.

“Carm doesn’t need any moms,” Zack snickered. “She’s got Player.”

“Player’s clearly the mom friend,” Carmen agreed.

Player made an outraged noise. “I’m the mom friend? Red, remind me who was just nagging me about bedtime and food like I’m in preschool?”

“Red, did you just get knifed? Where did she get you? Are you sitting down? Did you take the knife out? How much is it bleeding? Do you know how to clean it? You know the rate of people dying of knife wounds in Canada is 0.49 in a hundred thousand people? And you’re like that with someone who’s been trained all her life to deal with things like knife wounds,” Carmen imitated Player’s concerned fussing teasingly.

“You got stabbed!” Player cried indignantly. “That’s different!”

“You’re like that every time someone’s hurt, Player,” Ivy said. “Also, I don’t get how the stats help.”

“Yeah, what’s with that? D’you reckon knowing how many people die of that particular thing will help us recover from it?" Zack asked, puzzled.

Player flushed. Carmen knew perfectly well he ranted without thinking when he panicked, and that solid hard statistics was his favourite thing to recite. “It’s better than your typical habits, Zack,” she saved him from answering.

“Anything’s better than lil’ bro eating his feelings,” Ivy mocked.

“Ow, that hurts, Ives,” Zack said, sniffing exaggeratedly. “More than VILE’s ego after boss kicked their ass for the thousandth time, I’m sure.”

“Nothing could sting more than that,” Shadowsan smirked, for once joining in on the joking.

“Not to mention the rubbing of salt in the wound when we make the return of the goods public and donate the money to charity,” Carmen added lazily, putting her legs up on the couch, keeping an eye on the surroundings. The boat was still rather in the open, and she didn’t need Devineaux and ACME interfering with a successful caper.

“Speaking of which, we need to decide on whom you’re going to be giving the Pearl to, Red,” Player said, stretching his hands forward and typing. “On this one you’ve liberated. . . . Drumroll, please. . .” Zack and Ivy obliged. “Eight-hundred thousand euros from VILE!”

“Woohoo!” Zack and Ivy cheered, and even Shadowsan cracked a smile. Zack began beatboxing, and Ivy began to sing. “The best thief - in the world? Yeah, it’s Carmen Sandiego. Where in the world is – Carmen Sandiego? Where - will she go next – no one ever—”

“So, any ideas?” Player asked over the music and Shadowsan’s annoyed grumblings.

“Jules, obviously, for the Pearl,” Carmen said, leaning closer to the monitor in order to see her friend better. “And just pick a few non-profits from the list, Player. Though preferably an orphanage, for this loot.” Her face darkened and she turned away.

“Hey. Not your fault, Red. You can’t save everyone,” Player consoled gently, referring to the orphan who had gotten killed by VILE simply for being a bystander.

“No, but it would be nice to save someone,” she replied with unusual bitterness.

“You do. You save loads of people,” Player said insistently. “Think of how many people this money will help. Think of how many trees whose oxygen you’ve saved by making sure Tigress won’t be speaking for a week at least!”

That got a smile. “Fair enough.”

Player watched her carefully, even as he quickly arranged for the wire transfers. She seemed okay, but he’d have to keep an eye out. “I’ll book a flight to wherever Juuuules is,” Player extended the name teasingly. “You do realize you’re the only who calls her that?”

“It suits her,” Carmen said nonchalantly.

“Yeah, and you’ve got a crush,” Player said delightedly. “Black Sheep’s got a crush! Carmen’s got a crush!”

Carmen reached out and tapped the screen, mock threateningly. “Quit it, Player, or I’ll tell Zack all about your antics at the gaming tournament at age eight.”

Player mimed zipping his mouth. “Shut up. Got it.” He couldn’t resist another jab though. “You know you always drop whatever you’re doing to go see her, even on capers?”

“Are we talking about Julia Argent?” Zack said bluntly.

“And Carmen being very obviously smitten with her?” Shadowsan added. Carmen glared at him in betrayal.

“No, we’re discussing how the lot of you are interfering traitors, who are blighting my very good day,” she drawled. Her eyes caught on another boat. “And speaking of blights. . .”

Player caught on, tapping a key, eyes sharpening. “Well that’s a vile blight on the landscape.”

“It is quite a landscape isn’t it?” Shadowsan said, getting up and readying himself. “A perfect spot for taking down more agents.”

“Awesome!” Zack said, tumbling to his feet. “Time for our training to continue, Sensei!”

“Not the time, bro!”

Carmen slipped the Pearl into her pocket, zipping it tightly shut, before taking a flying leap from her boat to the other one, taking two out with a roundhouse kick.

“Grunts!” Ivy called. “Couldn’t send any of the better agents, could you? Haven’t seen the goat for a while.” She blindly swung a club and somehow managed to take one down. “Ha! There’s one!”

Shadowsan efficiently thinned the crowd. “And mine’s six.”

Carmen ducked the blow from the sword, before using a maneuver Coach Brunt had once taught her and managing to knock the owner out with it. “And there’s the last.”

Zack pouted. “I didn’t get a single one.”

“Aw, Zack,” Player said in the intercom. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t either.”

“Hear that, Zack? You’re being compared to a kid sitting a whole continent away.” Ivy laughed under her breath, swinging an arm around her brother’s shoulder as they climbed back on their own boat.

“I believe this calls for a toast.” Shadowsan proclaimed.

“So it does,” Carmen agreed. “Player. ACME?”

“On its way,” he said in satisfaction. “Good day’s work, team.”

“I think this calls for some alcohol,” Ivy said. “Tada! This one’s supposed to be the best around here. Get the glasses, I want to taste it.”

“Cool, sis,” Zack grinned, opening the cupboard to produce the glasses. “Good thing you’re not here Player.”

Player knew he shouldn’t take the bait. He knew.

“Why?” He said anyway.

“’Cause a little guy like you couldn’t drink, and then you’d be all left out!” Zack said melodramatically. “It’d be really sad.”

“Carmen!” Player said in agitation.

Carmen laughed, watching her family bicker.

“Far from VILE Island, is it not?” Shadowsan asked quietly, sipping from his own glass.

“Quite a bit,” she agreed, taking her own glass and holding it in a toast to her best friend who was still angrily ranting at Zack. “And I couldn’t be gladder for it.”

#fluffbruary #fluffbruary 2023 #carmen sandiego #team red #ivy carmen sandiego #zack carmen sandiego #player carmen sandiego #shadowsan #carmen sandiego netflix #carmen sandeigo 2019 #carmen x julia #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #found family

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what-a-weird-rose · 7 months

Text

WolfStar: The Things I Say (Only with You)

Pairing: Remus Lupin / Sirius Black

Rating: E

Prompt: Daddy

Word Count: 3.8

Sirius can feel the tension in his hair and the day’s stress move in waves through his body, riding high after the utterly terrible day he’d experienced. From waking up late to detention in the dungeons to turning in a late, half-finished Transfiguration essay directly to McGonagall- his day had gone opposite how he’d have wished it.

Despite dreading how the universe would screw him further, Sirius soldiered into the Gryffindor common room, then into the dorm, hoping James, Peter, or Remus would cheer him up.

Much to his dismay, he was utterly alone as he entered the room.

Sirius groans loudly and without care for who might be able to hear him as he slams the door shut behind him. As if his day couldn’t get worse, he laments; they’re probably off pranking without him, the twats. Of course, it was doubtful, but Sirius often couldn’t help himself but imagine how much better off the others would be without him dragging them down. He hates it, loathes the way his mother remains with him even so far away- she sewed herself into the fabric of his scars, embedding herself innately into his worst parts that she’s there even at his best. Sirius tries, he really does, to separate himself from her in his mind, as Effie had told him time and time to do, because he is not her, except- he sounds like her when he screams manically. And he rages like her, tearing down everything in his path without care for consequences. And he loves like her, taking and taking and taking with no regard to giving back, or, even worse when he tries to give love back, it comes out twisted and mangled.

Walburga had left scars in the fiber of his soul; she’d left trauma so deep within him that he found new things to fear and hate and learned about himself almost daily.

He was lucky for James, Sirius decides as he lays flat on Peter’s bed, lucky for all of them. But James in particular- he loved Peter and Remus, but they had their reasons for being unable to take him in from Grimmauld. James had no obstacles and no reservations.

It’s on days like these that Sirius reminisces on the bad and less bad of his life; on days that good is so obviously wrong, he enjoys comparing how bad it could’ve been, despite Effie telling him it’s unhealthy.

The door opens with a creak, but Sirius finds himself too caught up in his mind to give much attention to whoever has newly entered.

“You do realize that isn’t your bed, right?” He hears Remus muse from behind him, and Sirius considers flipping over to stare at him. He doesn’t.

“It would’ve been mine if you had participated in the vote,” Sirius had long let go of his resentment at losing the first-year democratic debate 2:1. He’d wanted the bed closest to the door for flopping purposes and had called it first. Still, James and Peter had ganged up on him, claiming it for Peter under “medical reasons.” Of course, when Sirius had called Remus in for backup, Remus had replied with a curt piss-off before stuffing his bag under his bed in the far corner, slipping past the curtains, and not reemerging until the following day. “I will never forgive you for that.”

“Of course not, how could you? I was completely in the wrong and betrayed you in the worst sense of the word,” Remus snips back, without heat.

It had taken Sirius a long time to figure out Remus; primarily as Remus had actively worked against Sirius, James, and Peter’s attempt to befriend him. For the first two years of knowing him, Sirius lived on the edge, constantly afraid of the quick-tongue and cutting words Remus was prone to send to those who crossed him. It wasn’t until mid-second-year -right before he had put the full moons and Remus’ disappearances together- that Sirius had realized that Remus meant very little of the snark he gave to his dorm-mates. Subsequently, Sirius discovered that it was mainly used to cover his hurt. After that full moon in March, Sirius decided he and Remus would be best friends, stemming from their use of meanness and cruel humor to hide their shame and hurt.

“You know, Moony, I always get what I want,” Sirius says nonchalantly, but he certainly can feel in the air as Remus shifts. Sirius curses internally. It would be absolutely true if he could go back in time; he could get whatever he wanted if he could stop his fifth year-self.

The end of their fifth year was a blur for all the wrong reasons. The beginning was fine- fantastic, actually. Sirius and Remus had a budding romance, a will-they-won’t-they situation straight out of one of Mary’s romance novels. Then, Sirius had to open his big, fat mouth on that godforsaken January moon. He’d thought it would be funny, a good scare for Snape, and a hearty laugh for him and his friends. But everything went wrong -or exactly how it was meant to- and Sirius didn’t see the fatal flaw in his plan. There was no hearty laughter; instead, he was all but exiled from the dorm -he could never, and would never, blame James and Peter for siding solely and entirely with Remus- and isolated from the other Gryffindors in his year. Though they didn’t know the whole story, Mary, Lily,and Marlene needed little in the way of motivation to cut Sirius off, especially as it became clear that he’d done something terrible to Remus, which he had.

The Prank had not only managed to fuck up Sirius and Remus’ relationship to the very core, but it also had fucked Remus up to his very core. The experience had shaken him so thoroughly that he had gone non-verbal for two months following and refused to speak to Sirius until the beginning of their sixth year, relying on short notes when absolutely necessary.

Despite all the terrible his mistake had caused, Sirius was sure the worst outcome was the inherent fracture between him and Remus. Remus had forgiven him -thank Merlin for that- but he had said, point blank, that he would never forget it, even if he wanted to. And, perhaps the most heart wrenching thing was when Remus had whispered to Sirius that he would likely never be able to trust him so innately again. Hearing it- thinking about it, made Sirius want to cry.

“I love you, Moony, you know that, right?” Sirius whispers into Peter’s pillowcase, hoping Remus both can and cannot hear him.

“I know, Padfoot. I love you, too,” Sirius sighs, not unhappily. He listens as Remus shifts again, climbing into his bed, likely for a quick nap through the break period. Sirius wishes they could say it as something different than how he says it to James and Peter. Because that is what they are; they aren’t just brothers, nor are they just friends. Sirius is confident that he would never look at James, or Merlin forbid Regulus the way he looks at Remus. And he knows that no one feels the deep-seeded love and lust, need and want for someone who is only a friend.

Sirius rolls over, staring at the stickers and photos Peter has stuck to the ceiling of his bed frame.

“Moony, Moony- come look at these, Pete’s got one of his girlfriend,” Sirius calls, and ignores how childish he sounds.

“Piss off, Padfoot, I’m sleeping,” Remus replies, clearly not asleep.

“Awe, c’mon Moony-pie, don’t you want to see Peter smooch his girlfriend- Destiny? Daisy? Something like that.”

“Actually, Sirius, I shockingly don’t want to see that even slightly,” Remus grumbles, but Sirius could hear the amusement in his voice from the other end of the castle.

Sirius sits up quickly, snatching the photo of Peter and the girlfriend whose name Sirius cannot be bothered to remember, before swinging his legs over the bed and sidling up to where Remus is lying with his arm over his eyes. “Don’t you want to see Peter’s impressive charm work? He finally figured out how to keep them moving.”

Remus snorts, moving his arm and opening his eyes to stare into Sirius. He shifts slightly, opening a space so Sirius can lay next to him; Sirius moves faster than light.

Remus is deliciously warm against Sirius’ always-cold skin. Their arms lay next to each other, and Sirius can feel Remus’ warmth seep into him like fire. Sirius holds the photo up so they both can admire the mastery of Peter’s shabby charmwork.

“He’s getting better.” Remus comments, though he sounds distant.

“That he is,” Sirius replies airily, mostly because he can feel Remus staring at him from where they lay.

“Sirius,” Remus whispers and Sirius can feel the shudder that racks through every inch of his body. He hums quietly, “I want to, but if I do, I can’t turn back. If you say no, change your mind, or someone walks in-, we can’t take it back, I can’t take it back.” Remus doesn’t quite sound panicked so much as he sounds resigned, like no matter the reservations, he intends to do whatever it is anyway.

Sirius turns his head to gaze into Remus’ eyes, cloudy as ever, full of emotion that Sirius has never been able to pinpoint. “You won’t know until you try, Lupin.”

Remus raises the arm closest to Sirius, and for a brief second, Sirius fears he will be hit; instead, Remus lays his hand on Sirius’ right cheek, stroking gently.

“Tell me no right now, please. Don’t let me get the wrong idea. Please, Sirius, let me back out now.”

“I want this as much as you do.”

“That’s what I feared.”

And suddenly, Remus is atop him, straddling his waist, grasping at his cheeks, neck, and shoulders- anywhere and everywhere are Remus’ hands, traveling faster, heavier, and hotter than they should be allowed. Remus’ mouth is hot and wet on his own, clamping together. Their teeth clash, yet it’s far from the way Sirius’ teeth used to hit those of the girls he used to kiss. The way Remus positions himself seems almost purposeful. Remus’ hands land separately on Sirius’ body; one sits solidly on his left cheek, and the other sits smugly on Sirius’ stomach, holding him down.

Remus is rough in ways he’s never experienced before. Sure, some of the girls and boys he’d mess around with got bratty and wanted him to make them submit, but he’d never experienced being under someone like this. He was uneasy for about half a second before Remus ground his hips into Sirius. All his hesitation was suddenly vanishing, along with his self-control.

Sirius whined, long and loud, circling his hips in what he hoped was an enticing display of his want.

Remus chuckled, rubbing a long finger along Sirius’ cheekbone before humping once against Sirius’ fully clothed crotch.

“Please,” Sirius cried, and he wanted to feel shame for a moment, yet found he couldn’t entirely focus long enough for it.

“You beg so pretty, baby,” Remus whispers, moving down to kiss and suck and bite at Sirius’ neck, “tell me what you want, lovely, tell me all your fantasies.”

Sirius grunts, trying again to lift his hips up in some mindless attempt at direct friction against his cock.

“Clothes, please, Remus, please-” Sirius gasps as Remus leans down to press his face against Sirius’ crotch, placing soft kisses against his pants where his erection makes its presence known. “Merlin, fuck me, please Daddy, need you.”

Remus halts suddenly, and Sirius knows he’s fucked it all up again.

He’d heard his casual fucks say it before, and he’d never really thought much of it- if it gets you off, it gets you off. But for him to say it to Remus of all people?

“What did you call me?”

“’m sorry, Remus, I didn’t mean-”

Remus shifts, pressing his hard-on directly against Sirius’ crotch, slowly rubbing them together through their pants.

“What did you call me, Sirius?” Remus says again, evenly, as he presses himself into Sirius.

“Daddy,” Sirius whispers, though it comes out in more of a moan than he means.

Remus starts, roughly slapping both hands against Sirius’ thighs, “That’s the only name you ought to call me until after I’m done with you, yes?” Remus doesn’t wait for an answer, instead deciding to begin unbuttoning Sirius’ pants.

“Yes, Daddy,” Sirius replies, knowing it is obsolete.

Remus smirks, grasping Sirius’ pants and boxers and yanking them down. Sirius had hoped that there might be some resistance with his ass. Still, with how fast Remus had pulled -alongside the slight sting he felt there- he supposed resistance was relative.

Then, Sirius considers asking if he can have his shirt taken off as well before deciding the view of Remus stripping his shirt, pants, and underwear is far more critical. Remus catches him, though he says nothing, moving the hand that isn’t helping in removing his boxer to Sirius’ aching cock.

Remus’ hand works skillfully at quickly bringing Sirius to complete hardness in record time. Then, by the time Remus is entirely naked, Sirius is questioning whether or not he’s going to cum before Remus gets to do whatever he’s planning.

Sirius takes a shaky breath, suppressing the animalistic urge to hump into Remus’ hand and release. Then, he resists the urge to fuck up into Remus’ hand to see what will happen- he loses that battle almost instantly.

His hips lift twice before Remus jerks his hand away to grab Sirius’ ankles and bend him almost entirely in half. He whines again, although he feels more smug about the whole thing this time.

Remus moves his hands so one is positioned well enough to grasp Sirius’ ankles at once while the other moves down to land a vicious smack straight onto Sirius’ ass.

“Did I tell you you could fuck my hand?” Sirius shakes his head, swallowing the groan accompanying Remus’ cock aligning perfectly with Sirius’ ass crack. “Did you ask Daddy if you could fuck his hand?” Remus asks, and Sirius shakes his head again as Remus shifts the hand holding his ankle to be his arm, acting as a bar. “So, tell Daddy why you thought you were allowed to fuck his hand,” and suddenly Remus’ hand was resting on Sirius’ throat, and the world collapsed around them.

“I dunno,” Sirius replied dumbly, a mixture of truly not knowing why he did it and feeling so out of his element that his brain seemed to shut down. Remus stops.

“Sirius,” he says, but it lacks the wildness- the sexiness of Daddy Remus that Sirius was enjoying so thoroughly, “Are you alright?”

Oh.

“What?” Sirius asks, feeling suddenly very, very exposed. Why did everything stop so suddenly? Was Remus done? Did he get bored of Sirius that fast? But wait, he asked-

“Sirius, are you alright?” Remus reiterates, grabbing Sirius’ ankles and laying them back on the bed. He grabs his blanket -an old, ratty thing Sirius had once mocked before being informed Remus’ mum had made it for him- and covers Sirius up from his mid-stomach to his toes. “You looked really out of it- I’ve never seen anyone look like that. I was worried you were, well- I thought I might have triggered something, what with the throat thing.”

Oh.

Sirius lays very still for a second, his head spinning faster than ever before. None of this has ever happened before- not in a negative way, not at all, just never before. He swings Remus’ blanket off of himself, shoving it back into the corner so he won’t have to think about Hope Lupin while he fucks her son, and makes a beeline straight to Remus’ mouth.

They kiss harder than before, likely because Sirius is a hundred times hornier now than when they first started.

His skin feels like embers, and Remus pours whiskey onto growing flames as he drags Sirius’ shirt up and over his head.

“I want you so bad,” Sirius starts, and he wonders if he’s babbling before deciding he doesn’t care if Remus can understand him or not. “Daddy, please. Please, Daddy, take me. Fuck me raw, Daddy.” On and on and on as Remus lays him back down on the bed and pulls his legs back up. Sirius finds he quite likes the position, especially as Remus moves his hand to rest on Sirius’ throat.

He groans deep and gutturally and realizes he has never made a noise like that.

“Hold your legs up, baby,” Remus whispers, pulling his arm back from Sirius’ ankles, “you let them go and we’ll have problems.”

Sirius’ hands move of their own accord, grasping quickly at the flesh of his calves, holding his legs where they are despite the slight burn that resonates in his muscles.

Remus runs his free hand along the shaft of Sirius’ cock, lifting it up and off his stomach. Sirius can see the moment Remus realizes how awkward it would be to try to suck Sirius’ cock, and he really, really wants to laugh, but he swallows it down. Instead of sucking him off, Remus shimmies himself closer to Sirius’ crotch. He wraps his hand around both their weeping cocks, gripping tightly.

Sirius throws his head back, ignoring every sense that tells him to fuck into Remus’ hand again.

“Tell me how you’re feeling, baby,” Remus says, twisting his hand so one of his rings runs right under Sirius’ tip. He shudders, “how does my cock feel against yours? How does my hand feel, jerking you off?” Remus emphasizes his point by tugging slightly at Sirius’ dick, rubbing their tips together, despite knowing Sirius has many choice words about how he feels about the situation.

“So good, Daddy,” Sirius starts. However, it’s a shabby description of the wreckage Remus is leaving him in, “treat me so good, never want you to stop.” He babbles a bit after, and Sirius knows he must sound like a drunk toddler, but Remus doesn’t seem to mind.

“Tell me what else you want Daddy to do ‘so good’ to you,” Remus drops both their cocks suddenly, leaving Sirius to slap against his stomach angrily.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” Sirius moves his ass as much as he can given his position, “fuck me good and raw, split me down the middle.”

Remus grunts and Sirius counts it as a point to get Remus to lose control and take Sirius however he pleases.

Remus nods once before sticking a finger into Sirius’ mouth, shoving it a bit down his throat -Sirius is sure Remus felt something with his hand on Sirius’ throat- pulling said finger out and shoving it into Sirius’ ass at light speed.

Sirius had said he wanted to be fucked raw. Still, he supposes this isn’t too bad, especially once Remus seemingly gets bored of one finger, considers two, and then decides he doesn’t care about stretching him out, lazily using a lubrication charm.

Remus’ cock feels way better than it should have any business feeling. It pushes against Sirius’ walls, demanding attention in a way that Sirius cannot, or will not, ignore. For a moment, he considers how glad he is not to be a virgin, and also for having told Remus this some time ago- mainly for Remus not worrying about stretching.

Remus moves slowly, although Sirius is convinced he is already plowing into him. He sinks in completely eventually, bottoming out as Sirius decides that he’s dead and this is heaven.

“Still good, baby?” Remus asks, rubbing his thumb along the column of Sirius’ throat.

“So good, daddy.” Sirius supplies, lolling his head back as Remus begins slowly thrusting in and out, over and over and over and over again. Sirius listens to the smacking of Remus’ balls against his ass, to the sounds that escape his mouth, and to the sounds of Remus grunting as he ruts deep into Sirius.

There is a moment right before Remus finds Sirius’ prostate that Sirius wonders if he actually fell asleep in Peter’s bed and was now dreaming of being fucked good, deep, and slow by Remus Lupin; then Remus finds his prostate.

Sirius has screamed for several reasons throughout his life: to mock his mother, angrily at Regulus or James, and at girls who flirt with Remus -despite them not officially being together. Through all of his experiences of screaming, Sirius has never, in his entire life, screamed like that, or for such a reason as Remus’ cock pressing right into that beautiful bundle of nerves deep in his ass, before now.

As soon as Sirius finds himself back on planet Earth, he immediately finds himself spent, cum spilled all over his stomach. Additionally, Sirius finds Remus viciously and aggressively fucking into Sirius -slamming into his prostate repeatedly- as he mumbles to himself, chasing his high.

Sirius watches for a second, mesmerized, before realizing that Remus is staring directly back at him. Suddenly, Sirius is snapping into action, releasing his legs to free his hands -holding his legs back with the power of spite- and racing to grasp Remus’ face, pulling him as close as possible.

“Cum in me Daddy,” Sirius begins with, and he relishes in the way Remus shudders at the name, “fill me full of your cum, Daddy, want you dripping from me for the rest of the day.”

Sirius keeps one hand firmly in Remus’ hair, perfect for pulling him into hot kisses and pulling him away so he can hear Sirius’ pleas of desperation; the other hand Sirius uses to force Remus into putting actual pressure on his throat. It is heavenly, in a demented, deranged way -Bellatrix would be proud.

Remus finally moans, and it’s low and breathy and beautiful. It escapes out of him right before he slams into Sirius one last time- groaning for a long, long minute as his cum fills Sirius’ ass.

Despite this, Remus thrusts twice more, pushing his seed back into Sirius with vigor and muscle memory. Remus looks lost for a moment, as if so far removed from reality that he is unaware he’s still fucking into Sirius’ very exhausted hole -not that Sirius was going to do anything to stop him.

After a moment, Remus seems to finally come to his senses, pulling his cock out in one fluid motion- though he stops for a second to watch the cum leak from Sirius’ ass.

Then, Remus flops next to Sirius, taking a hand to playfully shove the other’s leg back down to the bed.

“Want to shower-”

“’Ello gent- holy shit!”

#tales from the hogwarts broom closests #(smutty) tales from the hogwarts broom closets #marauders #young marauders #the marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #mwpp #mwpp era #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black

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