#Red sea holidays

[tenspontaneite]

Water,,,,,, blue

[esinnglr]

[djarinova]

[black-salt-cage]

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚

[divinekangaroo]

Monsters Vs Aliens (Giantess Premise) fusion Peaky Blinders, Tommy x Lizzie, for everyone who's contributed to the fanon that Tommy really likes tall women...

*

Music and chatter from the church fading, Ada pushed through the wagon circle, the parked cars. Tethered horses whickered uneasily in the shade of trees. A little further, buildings out of sight, she found a solitary white shoe, strap broken.

‘Lizzie!’

Months of conversations, mutual counselling, doctors and more months of balancing medications, a new house and a holiday just after Ruby was weaned. Ada might’ve had doubts still about her brother, but didn’t think Lizzie would run.

‘Lizzie!’

White flickering through the trees, deeper. Ada went as swiftly as she could in her own heels. If Lizzie hadn’t run, then maybe someone took her; certain people paid attention when politicians with certain backgrounds made unwary public announcements about looking forward to weddings and things like that.

Then Lizzie clawed her way to standing, kicking over a clump of mushrooms, long hair loose from the flower crown and now full of leaves, dress dirty, and both feet bare and stained brilliant green with the long lush grass she’d just come through.

‘Look at the state of you.’ Absconding or abduction off the agenda, the next crisis lined up: less than fifteen minutes to walk the aisle. ‘What the hell happened?’

‘I don’t know. I went for a walk, clear my head. What’s— Oh, my God. Ada. So dizzy.’ Lizzie sniffed, clutching Ada’s hands. ‘I didn’t miss it, did I? I didn’t fuck it up?’

‘Of course not. Come on. Do you have your other shoe? All right, Polly will work it out, and the hairdresser’s still here, it’ll be all fixed in no time.’ Fuck. Neither she nor Polly would have shoes that fit Lizzie’s giant feet. Ada gnawed a nail; maybe one of the Lees. She’d ask Johnny.  ‘Are you all right, Lizzie?’

Lizzie looked at her, a little wild-eyed. ‘I’m fine.’

*

Arthur cleared his throat, again. Tommy tucked his watch away, again. He glared at his brother, ready to say something slicing about punctuality, when the string quartet finally raised their tune.

Instead of falling silent at the appearance of the bride, half the church whooped and hollered, wolf-whistling. The other half promptly joined in competition, petals, hymnbooks and pamphlets volleying both ways across the aisle, the opposite of hostility, as the canon drowned in the chaos. Johnny patted Lizzie’s arm and darted over to the string quartet, grinning, a chat and wide gestures. The four nodded, discussed, and immediately started – a fucking shanty?

Lizzie cackled, gleeful, as Johnny scurried back, hooked her arm again. The boisterous pews fell into line with the new tune, stomping and clapping, shouting in rhythm.

—wedding on the meadow, the finest ever seen—

Tommy watched wide-eyed as his wedding, his fucking wedding, everything exactly as Lizzie wanted and absolutely no hidden agendas, slipped entirely out of his hands.

—priest spake words as sweet as the breeze, ‘neath those ancient, whispering trees; blessings from t’fae and the leprechaun's smile—

Sauntering mostly up but sometimes down that aisle, casual as if at market, Lizzie waved and laughed, ‘Maggie, you made it! Donna-aa! Michael, look at you, all shiny!’ She paused multiple times to chat and embrace people, kissing cheeks.

Tommy stared at her feet, which were bare and grass-stained. Somewhere over his shoulder, he could feel Arthur nearly killing himself not to laugh. Charlie ran circles around Jeremiah that even Polly couldn’t contain.

‘S’good,’ Arthur said, conciliatory, as finally Lizzie reached the altar and everyone fell silent after a final spasm of stomping. ‘S’happy, see, brother? Remember happiness?’

Tommy stared past Jeremiah’s shoulder at the man suffering on the cross.

Eventually, they reached the part where they were supposed to face each other and speak the vows. Mind unacceptably blank, Tommy found himself hard-pressed not to reach out and cup Lizzie’s cheek, which would be a suitable stalling action. Brush whatever that little smudge of dirt or makeup was from the corner of her eye.

Frowned. He would have to reach up. A few inches here and there, all right, but she didn’t even have shoes on.

Much further up.

Tommy stepped away. ‘Lizzie. What’s happening?’

Her face fell in response to his. ‘Tommy? Why are you shrinking?’

‘It's not me. It’s you.’

Lizzie’s shoulders hit the rafters and she hunched in reaction, ducking her head, dress splitting down the seams. Tommy staggered, Arthur already with an arm around Charlie and pulling Tommy away from the near-radius of whatever this was, the flash of Jeremiah in his robes sweeping to the far wall. Ruby, Ruby – no, but she was all right, in Polly’s arms at the church rear. The nearest pews cleared in a rush, some screams, as Lizzie’s heel pushed through them, one knee down and the other knee tucked under her chin, dress and boned undergarments suddenly exploding in confetti shreds. The flower crown fell like autumn leaves, and Lizzie curled tighter to avoid any further damage to the architecture.

After a while, the screaming slowed. Stopped, deprived of the originating shock. Not to mention they were a fairly hardy crew, his and hers. Lizzie uncurled slightly, those huge green eyes wide. Fixed on him in horror. She must be so embarrassed, she was barely able to stay modest, curled like that.

Tommy could see straight up between her legs. He could—

Abruptly, Tommy turned and shoved Arthur’s head down, away from the view, Charlie already tucked faceless into Arthur’s shoulder. Jeremiah had his gaze politely averted. Back, to the shocked watching family and friends. To Lizzie, stunned and terrified.

‘Is that it?’ Tommy demanded. To the pews, threw his arms wide. Couldn’t stop pacing, turning, didn’t know what he was looking for. Answers weren’t likely to be had in a situation like this. ‘Is that fucking it? You lot, sit the fuck back down, on the floor if you have to. We're not done here. Jeremiah, what’s next? In front of the altar, man. Come on. We’re finishing this.’ Forward, he hadn’t come this far to—Jesus, those fucking legs, filling his periphery no matter which way he turned. ‘Everyone shut your fucking eyes! Not you, Lizzie. We’re fucking finishing this!’

No hope for the rings Arthur held out, one hand over his eyes. Tommy put his on, then forced Lizzie’s ring onto his little finger as far as it would go so it wouldn’t be lost, which wasn’t very far at all; such slender fingers she’d had. Then there was still the obligatory. Rapid and fruitless, multiple scenarios raced through his mind, scaling that ankle, climbing hair like a rope, settling for kissing any portion of abundant flesh in near reach, when Lizzie put an end to the mad loop in his head by gently lay her palm flat on the floor, lips writhing in some unreadable expression as their eyes met across the distance.

It was inevitable. Tommy climbed on.

*

Celebration at the wagons in full swing from the sound, Lizzie kicked her feet as gently as possible in the river, trying not to scream, or cry, or something. If she stomped hard enough, the whole river receded from her foot and showed the bare mud below: Moses parting the Red fucking Sea.

It was a dream, wasn't it? Some kind of queer nightmare. The thought might be the only thing stopping her from panicking.

That, and Tommy.

After the ceremony, he’d immediately launched into a rapid-fire debate with Arthur and Johnny deciding what would be cheaper to fix to get her out: the roof, the stained glass window or the wall. They’d decided the wall, then argued more on which wall was non-loadbearing. Johnny dragged in some cousin who did masonry work, and despite the pleas his speciality was dry stone walling in fields, forced him to make a call. Lizzie then pushed the wall out with all the ease of squashing a sandcastle.

They’d gone very silent at that, shrouded in masonry dust, Tommy with a look she’d never seen on him before.

Lucky she’d wanted a celebration in summer, more outdoors than indoors: no rooves or walls to deal with in the short term. Polly rousted the women, kinfolk and Lizzie’s old street friends together without any tolerance for comment or complaint, getting them working on unpicking multiple skirts and restructuring them into a patchwork dress, if barely enough to cover the pertinent bits. After that, Lizzie ate the entire wedding feast, given she’d not eaten breakfast or lunch out of nerves. Johnny rounded the men with an odd kind of glee, and they’d all gone out somewhere for a couple of hours and returned madly drunk with a fortune of live and dead animals, probably stripping the nearby farms, one way or the other.

Lizzie moved so she could see Tommy. He inched closer again.

‘Will we wake up tomorrow, and it’ll all be back to normal?’

‘Lizzie. How would I know?’

He didn’t sound upset in any way. Just steady.

‘You’re taking this very easily, that’s all.’

‘How else should I be taking it?’

‘I just can’t believe I’ve ruined it again. My perfect white wedding. Did everything right, every fucking thing. Ruined anyway, now and after. Wedding and marriage.’ She couldn't bring herself to ask why he'd gone through with it. He'd been almost tearing himself to bits with some kind of emotion in there, until they'd sealed it with that very strange kiss, him crouched on one knee and one hand down on her palm for balance as she'd lifted him, a position as confident and instinctive as if he'd done this before, then he felt along her lips with his hands, until—

After, he'd relaxed.

‘Yeah? How’s it ruined?’

‘Oh, come on.’

‘A bullet would ruin it. This isn’t a bullet.’

So quiet, maybe she wasn’t supposed to hear. Lizzie went quiet, too.

‘Need a bigger house, that’s all.’

Lizzie laughed. Stopped, desperately, before it could become hysterical.  She moved again, trying to keep him in line of sight. She kept panicking she’d sit on him or something horrendous, but he stood so close, little feather-light touches on her shin or, when she was sitting, her thigh, here and there, as if trying to keep her grounded, and every time she moved away he’d inch closer again.

On cue, he inched closed again, that tiny tickling touch along her thigh sending goosebumps chasing all over.

‘Maybe mobile scaffolding.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Tommy?’

‘Yeah?’

‘What am I supposed to do?’

There was a long pause.

‘If you lie down,’ he started. Stopped.

‘You can’t—’

Lizzie caught his gaze. A beat.

He licked his lips. Cracked his neck, which had been craning to look up at her.

‘Oh.'

‘It’s a nice night, Mrs Shelby,’ Tommy said, almost absently, abstracted, and without any particular emphasis.

‘For sleeping out?’

‘Who said anything about sleeping?’

Checking to ensure she wouldn’t destroy a small civilisation in her shadow, Lizzie carefully lay down.

*

[czarnybezmiar]

[tangotravel]

Red Sea Holidays

The Red Sea is a popular destination for holidaymakers looking for sun, sea, and sand. It is a stunning location, with crystal clear waters, pristine beaches, and a rich cultural heritage. With so much to see and do, it's no wonder that Red Sea holidays are becoming increasingly popular.

One of the most appealing aspects of a Red Sea holiday is the weather. With year-round sunshine, you can escape the dreary weather of home and bask in the warmth of the sun. This makes it an ideal destination for those looking to escape the winter blues or enjoy a summer break.

There is a wide range of activities to enjoy on a Red Sea holiday. For those who love the water, there is snorkeling, scuba diving, and swimming to be enjoyed in the warm, clear waters. You can also take a boat trip to explore the stunning coastline or even go on a dolphin-watching excursion.

If you're interested in history, the Red Sea has plenty to offer. The ancient city of Petra, for example, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is just a short drive from the coast. The city is carved into the rock and is a fascinating glimpse into the past.

For those who want to relax and unwind, there are plenty of luxurious resorts to choose from. These offer all the amenities you could need, from swimming pools and spas to restaurants and bars. You can enjoy a massage or a cocktail while soaking up the sun, or take a stroll along one of the many beautiful beaches.

Some Tours about Red Sea Holidays

- Hurghada Holidays

- Hurghada and Luxor Holidays

- Hurghada and Cairo Holidays

- Sharm El Sheikh Holidays

Overall, a Red Sea holiday is a fantastic choice for anyone looking for a relaxing and enjoyable break. With stunning scenery, great weather, and plenty of activities to enjoy, it's easy to see why it's becoming such a popular destination. So why not book your own Red Sea holiday today and experience it for yourself?

For more info. kindly visit www.tango-travel.com

or send your request to info@tango-travel.com

Tel or WhatsApp:201111109106

[spectorgram]

eyes wide open

pairing: theodore nott x f! reader summary: you discover that there is so much more to theodore nott than you thought.  content: gryffindor! reader, semi-nsfw (characters are 18+) word count: 5.46k

You have never spoken to Theodore Nott before. You’ve him around a lot, usually with Mattheo Riddle or Lorenzo Berkshire, and he is a regular on the quidditch team — a chaser — so you’d see him zoom by during matches. He’s also in a majority of your classes for this year, which lets you observe him from afar. But past that, you’ve never really had much to do with him beyond seeing him with Malfoy and witnessing how he stands quietly — with either a small smirk or a look of complete apathy on his face — while Malfoy and your friends argue back and forth. 

Having class with Theodore Nott has let you learn three things about him: he’s quiet, whip-sharp, and unbelievably handsome. You didn’t need classes with him to know the last one is a well-known fact; he’s constantly noted as one of the most attractive of your classmates. “Shame he’s a Slytherin,” Lavender Brown once said to you, which had made you roll your eyes and retort, “And what’s wrong with that?” It had gotten you into a big fight and you don’t think she’s spoken to you since, not that you’ve really wanted her to. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Ron asks you as he, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny stand at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. “Mum would love to have you. She’s always banging on about what a lovely girl you are and how polite you were.”

“And I’m sure Fred would love to see you,” Ginny adds. 

You snort, “I’m really sure. But please give my regards to your mother and Fred.”

“Will do,” Ginny says with a two-finger salute. 

Your friends say their farewells as they leave through the portrait hall. You flop against the plush velvet of the couch, staring at the roaring fire. Your parents were on a months-long that brought them to see famous wizarding landmarks so you’re stuck at Hogwarts for the holiday. You’re a little disappointed that you won’t be with your family but another part of you is excited to be in the castle when it’s less populated. You’ll finally get to make your way through the massive pile of books you have at your bedside since you’re usually caught up in listening to and gossiping with your roommates. 

You head up to your room, empty except for you and your owl hooting in his cage. You wiggle your fingers inside, Ramses rubbing his feathery head against them. You grab the first book from the top of your pile, turning the leather-bound edition over in your hand. Hermione gifted it to you for your last birthday: William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. You shimmy into your gold and red striped sweater and tuck the book underneath your arm, walking down to the dining hall for dinner. 

Students are scattered around the Great Hall, some chattering with their friends while others eat silently. The ceiling has shifted to depict a clear night sky, floating candles casting an orange glow. You spot Mattheo Riddle alone at the Slytherin tables but the way he keeps looking to the door makes you assume he’s waiting for a friend. You settle down on a bench all to yourself, piling your plate with the mouthwatering selections available to you. 

You rest your chin on your fist, cracking open the play. You get only a few pages in when you hear a familiar low voice. “All alone, little lion?” His eyes examine you and you suddenly feel too exposed despite your layers. 

You come face-to-face with Theodore Nott and his sea blue eyes. He regards you coolly and you ask, “Can I help you, Nott?”

He points at your copy of Romeo and Juliet. “Where’d you get that?”

You furrow your brow in confusion. Why in Godric’s name is Theodore Nott of all people interested in a Muggle book. You respond, “Hermione gave it to me. Why?”

“It’s hard to find Muggle books here,” he says. His eyes linger on the play. “Think I could borrow it when you’re finished?”

Your brain stalls, questions floating around your head. “Sure,” you finally answer. He nods and neither of you say anything more. The quiet that falls between you two makes you tense and you say, “Is that all, Nott?”

He considers and then says, “I think so.” He heads to the Slytherin tables without another word, sitting beside Mattheo, who’s been watching on keenly. You catch his stare and he smirks, raising a hand in a casual wave. Theodore smacks his shoulder and pulls Mattheo’s hand down. 

You sigh, shake your head in disbelief, and go back to reading the play.

It’s been a few days since your encounter with Theodore, but the interaction sticks with you. Every time you open up the play, you’re reminded of it and your curiosity returns tenfold. 

It’s odd being at school when it’s this empty. You’ve managed to occupy yourself by playing Wizard’s Chess with some fifth years, helping Professor Flitwick organize his classroom and the Frog Choir’s practice room, and working on knitting gifts to give you friends when they return. 

You’re sitting in the Gryffindor common room, working on Harry’s scarf, when you spill a cup of tea one of the house elves had made for you. Cursing, you move your knitting out of the way and survey the damage to your sweatshirt. With a groan, you gather your things and bring them to your dorm, blotting out the growing stain with water and letting it dry over the edge of the bathtub. 

You slip into a forest green sweater and throw a brown corduroy jacket over it. You grab your copy of Romeo and Juliet and head down to the Black Lake. The cold breezes nip at your cheek and carries the scent of pine trees, which you inhale gratefully. You plop yourself underneath a tree on the shore of the lake, reclining against the trunk and cracking open the book.  

You’re not even a page in when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Your hold on your book tightens but you peer up, watching Theodore approach. He’s in a dark wool overcoat and similarly dark trousers, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His strides are leisurely and long, reaching you in only a handful of steps. 

He stands tall in front of you, shadow cast long in the afternoon sun. His gaze roams over you and he says, “Isn’t wearing green considered treacherous for you?”

You’re confused for a second before you follow his line of sight and glance down at your own sweater. Right. You reply, “No more than it would be for you to wear red.”

The corner of his lip twitches up in a small, half-smile and he says, “High treason then.”

You echo your words from earlier in the week: “Can I help you, Nott?”

He ignores your question, instead choosing to tip his chin at your book. “What part are you at?”

“Mercutio’s died in his duel with Tybalt.”

He nods and recites, “‘A plague o’ both your houses. They have made worms’ meat of me: I have it, and soundly too: your houses.’”

You don’t bother to hide your surprise. “You’ve read it?”

“Haven’t most people?”

“Sure, most people know the story but they don’t usually read it. 

“I’ve read it a couple of times,” he admits. He adds, “My mother’s favorite book.”

“I see. Is that why you want to borrow it from me?”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls between the pair of you. Distantly, there’s a cry of crows. Theodore is still standing above you, gazing down, and you squirm a little. He then says, “I always liked Benvolio.”

You’re reminded that Theodore’s half-Italian in the way he says ‘Benvolio,’ accent smooth and lilting. It suddenly feels a little too warm under your coat but you ignore it. You instead blurt out, “Of course you would. You’re kind of like him.” 

Theodore raises one eyebrow and you feel your face heat even more, embarrassed, and you hope he doesn’t take it as a bad thing. He doesn’t seem offended though and asks, “Oh, how so?”

“I mean,” you say, “you are— well, you seem like the most reasonable of your friends. A mediator of some sort.” 

“That sounds about right,” he says. “You remind me of Juliet.”

“Really? Why’s that?” You’re not sure if you should take it as a good thing or not.

“Well, she has a solid set of beliefs and stands up for them. She knows herself; she tells her parents that she doesn’t want to marry Paris, not just because she’s in love with Romeo but also because she knows she’ll be unhappy. What is it she says? ‘Now, by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too, he shall not make me there a joyful bride! I wonder at this haste, that I must wed ere he that should be husband comes to woo.’”

Theodore’s mouth lifts in a tiny, lopsided smile again and he says, “Plus, she’s the one most of the guys fawn over, right?”

You’re left to gape at him in shock and awe, processing what he just said as he turns and walks back to the castle along the shore, just outside the gentle lapping of the water. You watch his retreating figure, watch as he grows smaller and smaller and eventually disappears. 

You don’t get much reading done, the book remaining open in your lap and your eyes fixed on the spot where Theodore once stood.

You sit there until the top curve of the sun is just peeking out over the horizon and you stand, still a tad dazed, and make your long walk back to Hogwarts. 

It’s just past one in the morning and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning fitfully. Theodore Nott and his long shadow and his blue eyes keep appearing behind your eyelids, no matter how much you try to shove the thoughts out. You want to bang your head on one of the wooden poles holding up the canopy of your four-poster bed, but you opt for sliding on your slippers and going down to the kitchens to see if the house elves have any leftover brownies from dinner. Maybe they could warm up a mug of hot cocoa for you too.

You shuffle through the hallway, the chill of the castle waking you up. You rub your hands along your arms, wishing you had worn something over your pajamas. Since it’s break, restrictions about when and where students could go are essentially non-existent. You pass Filch, who scowls at you, clearly aggrieved that he can’t punish you for being out of bed, and Nearly-Headless Nick, who greets you cheerfully and questions you as to why you’re up at such a time. “Can’t sleep,” you explain. “I’m checking if the elves have any midnight snacks for me.”

He chuckles, “An excellent reason but don’t stay up too late, or you’ll wind up like me!” He laughs hard at his joke and you can’t help but giggle, bidding him a goodnight as you descend into the basement. 

You nearly run right into Theodore as you approach the kitchens. You jump at least a foot, clasping your hands over your chest. “Merlin’s beard, you scared me!”

“Could say the same for you,” he says. “Nice pajamas.”

You forgot you were in a tank top and shorts. You cross your arms and say, “You seem awfully fixated on my clothes, Nott.” You try to look as threatening as you can but the slight tremble to your body takes away any effect.

Theodore rolls his eyes and slides the robe he donned over his striped pajamas off, holding it out to you. When you don’t take it, he just throws it over your shoulders, the weight comfortable and warm. You say, “You keep popping up out of nowhere. Are you stalking me or something?”

He snorts, “You would never know if I was. But no, Mattheo’s snoring kept me up. I figured I should take advantage of my insomnia and grab some brownies from dessert.”

“Great minds think alike then,” you say. 

You and Theodore walk down the corridor towards the kitchen when he asks, “Have you finished the book?”

“No, didn’t get a lot of reading done after you left.”

“Did I distract you that much?” He looks smug, smirking, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah,” he says. “When do you think you’ll finish?”

“Bloody hell, you’re impatient,” you groan, rubbing your temples. You’re not sure what possesses you, if it’s your sleep-deprived brain or something else but you suggest, “How about this? You grab brownies and cocoa for us and I’ll get the damn book and we’ll meet in the Clock Tower and read it together.”

Theodore considers it for a moment before he says, “Alright. I’ll meet you there in fifteen.”

“Perfect.” You scurry back to the Gryffindor dorms. Nearly-Headless Nick queries as to where your snacks are but you don’t answer, moving swiftly. You enter your dorm room, only pausing for a moment to catch your breath. Your heart is pounding but you can’t tell if it’s from the journey or from the thought of sitting alone in the Clock Tower with Theodore Nott. You don’t let yourself dwell on it and you pick up Romeo and Juliet and climb the stairs to the Clock Tower. 

Theodore has beaten you there, already sitting up against the glass of the clock. The frost on the glass obstructs some of the moonbeams streaming in but it’s just enough light to read. In the moonlight, Theodore’s hair looks lighter and more burnt golden than brown. He takes a sip of his cocoa and holds out a ceramic mug to you as you settle next to him. You accept it gratefully, plucking a brownie from the plate between you two. 

You flip through the play to find where you left off, the page dog-earred. Theodore makes a sound at the back of his throat. “What?”

“Don’t you have a bookmark or something?”

“No. Leave my marking choices out of it.”

He snickers and leans over you to get a better look at the text. Your shoulders brush and you’re all too aware that he smells of chocolate and sandalwood. His smell is clean and distinct; his robe smells like that too. 

As you two begin to read, Theodore tells you to turn back or move forward. You eventually figure out a rhythm, knowing exactly when to do so. You’re about ten minutes into reading when you feel Theodore’s gaze on you. You remain still, wondering if he’ll stop but when he doesn’t you mumble, “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Staring.” “Does it bother you?”

“It feels like you can see into my soul.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Does it bother you?”

You pause. “I don’t… I don’t know.” A beat. “Why are you?”

“Why am I what?”

“Staring at me.”

His voice drops, somehow deeper than you have ever heard it. “Because I like to.”

Your head whips to him but no words leave your mouth. He regards you carefully and asks again, “Does that bother you?”

You hesitate. Then, “No, it doesn’t.”

He hums and you think he’ll do… something but he just ducks his head back down to read and you let out of the breath you didn’t know you were holding, disappointment pooling in your stomach. You don’t know what you wanted him to do. You don’t know why you’re disappointed. 

You two read until your eyes grow heavy. You struggle to keep your lids open, head jolting up when you realize you’re drifting off. Theodore taps your shoulder and says, “We can stop here. Pick up another time.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, standing and stretching. You stifle a yawn and remember you have his robe on. You begin to take it off but he says, “Keep it. You can give it back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Same time, same place?”

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take you long to finish the play with Theodore only two days later. You noticed that Theodore read slower than before, telling you multiple times per session to go back a couple of pages. 

Your eyes follow the last line: For never was a story of more woe / Than this of Juliet and her Romeo, and you close the book with a dull thump. You sit in silence with Theodore, listening to the clock hand turn to the next minute. You stay like that for a while. You sip on the spiced hot chocolate the house elves prepared for you. You share sugar cookies with Theodore that are shaped like snowflakes. 

“So,” you start, breaking the silence, “this is your mother’s favorite book?”

He nods. “I think she read it a lot when her parents arranged for her to marry my father.”

“Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, adding lamely, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Silence. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you stay here over break?”

He stiffens, expression unreadable. He glances over at you and finally sighs. “My father’s trial is happening right around now. My family doesn’t want any of the kids around this so…” He motions to the Clock Tower, adding, “My siblings are either at their own schools or with my grandmother.”

Your heart aches at the frown on his face and you bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to proceed. You’re thankful when Theodore moves on. “What about you?”

“Oh, my parents are on a sight-seeing cruise so they’re not home. I got a postcard today, though, they’re in Japan now.”

“I’ve never been. How’s it look?”

“Pretty. They said their tour guide told them the best time to come is when the cherry blossoms bloom. I would like to go.”

“We’ll go together then.” 

He says it with a finality that makes you shy. “When?” is all you can ask. 

“Someday.”

You haven’t seen Theodore in a couple of days, an odd thing to try and get used to when you’ve just adjusted to him popping up wherever you are. You assume that he’s done with you now that you finished Romeo and Juliet. 

It all makes your heart sink.

You’re alone in the common room, wrapping up your gifts for your friends. You stack Harry’s scarf on top of Hermione’s mittens, Ron’s socks, and Ginny’s hat, and you lean against the couch with a huff. 

You think about the spare red yarn sitting in your room. You think there’s just enough to make another scarf. 

Theodore’s face flashes in your mind’s eye and you run a hand down your face in frustration. Whatever weird thing you had with Theodore is over. He’s probably out with Mattheo at the Three Broomsticks or something. You’ve seen them there before along with Enzo, Blaise, Draco, and Pansy as well as just with each other, usually flirting with girls there.

You didn’t used to think much of it — just scoffed along with Ron and Hermione — but now the thought makes your stomach churn. 

You think about the extra yarn in your room again and you almost can’t believe that, despite his disappearing act, you’ve decided you’ll knit a scarf for Theodore Nott.

Almost.

You’re greeted with a delicious Sunday roast for dinner on Christmas Eve: tender roasted beef, warm Yorkshire puddings, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a side of jus from the beef. You sit by yourself once again, the loneliness threatening to swallow you whole as you plate your dinner. 

Theodore seats himself right across from you and places a parcel wrapped in brown paper in front of you. You look at it in confusion and he says, “Open it.”

“What is it?”

“Christmas present.”

You raise a brow. “You got me a present?”

“Yes, now open it.”

“Shouldn’t I wait until tom—” The sharp look he gives you makes you set your fork aside and tug on the string of the bow. There are two books inside. The first is a copy of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, similarly leather-bound like Romeo and Juliet, and the second one is an ornately-decorated collector’s edition of Romeo and Juliet. 

Your jaw falls open and you whisper, “Theodore…”

He says, “Figured that we can read Macbeth together. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”

Your fingers trace the golden embossment of Romeo and Juliet, swooping down to follow the curve of the ‘J.’ “Where did you even get this?”

“Sent a lot of letters and had Mattheo help me pull strings at Flourish and Blotts.”

Your face is on fire but you grin at Theodore and say, “Thank you so much.”

“Happy Christmas,” he says and you catch the pink at the tips of his ears.

“I actually have something for you too,” you say and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I’ll get it to you after dinner.”

“I’ll come with,” he says and you nod. You wonder if he’ll get up but he stays put, taking a plate and serving himself dinner. 

You two talk quietly in between bites and something dawns on you halfway through. “Where’s Mattheo?” You look over your shoulder and can’t find the other Slytherin boy.

Theodore smirks. “Might’ve slipped him a couple of galleons to leave us alone.” Your cheeks heat pleasantly. 

You two finish dinner after that and Theodore walks you to the Fat Lady’s portrait. She eyes him suspiciously, glaring at you. “You know students from other Houses aren’t permitted in the Gryffindor dorm.”

You disregard her and give her the password. Begrudgingly and with one last glower at you and Theodore, the portrait swings open and you step inside. Theodore peers around the common room and says, “Never been in here before.”

“Some Gryffindor girl hasn’t taken you back with her?” you ask but you instantly regret your teasing words. The thought of Theodore with someone else (Lavender Brown comes to mind and you scowl internally) makes you queasy.

“Can’t say that it’s happened,” he says, shooting you a cocky smirk. “You’d be the first.”

“I’m honored. Wait right here.”

Theodore flops on the couch and sighs in satisfaction. “So much more comfortable than Slytherin’s.”

“Yeah?” you ask as you retreat up the stairs. He shouts after you that Slytherin’s couches, while not wholly terrible, are stiff whereas your common room’s are plush and cushy.

Theodore’s scarf, knit in a red cashmere, lays innocuously on your bed. You’re abruptly self-conscious of it; Theodore got you two beautiful and likely expensive books and you knit him a measly scarf in colors that aren’t his House’s. 

Merlin, you think, what if he hates it?  Only one way to find out, you suppose. With a deep breath, you pick it up and hide it behind your back. You peek into the common room, where Theodore lounges on the couch, his figure long and relaxed. His shirt has ridden up a little and you spy a sliver of the toned muscle of his stomach. 

“Close your eyes,” you say. You watch his eyes shut, unfairly long lashes brushing his cheekbone. You creep into the room, halting in front of him. The flames dancing in the fireplace are the only excuse you can come up with for why you’re so warm. “Hold out your hands.”

He sits up straight and does as he’s told. You say, “It’s not wrapped.”

“That’s alright.”

You inhale, exhale, and gingerly place the scarf in his hands. He opens his eyes and inspects the scarf, rubbing the knit yarn in between his fingers. You hold your breath.

His face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him. He looks—

He looks beautiful. He’s always handsome, yes, but he’s beautiful here.

“This is really nice. You make it yourself?”

You hum in affirmation and he loops it around his neck, standing and spinning around playfully. “How do I look?”

“I think red’s definitely your color,” you tell him, your own cheeks hurting from how widely you’re beaming. 

Theodore takes a step closer, his shoes nearly knocking into yours. The glee in his expression morphs slowly into something different. It’s not anything bad, but it’s somehow more intense and softer than before. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome. Thank you again for the books.”

“You’re welcome.”

The fireplace crackles, embers spitting.

You’re not sure who moves first. Your mouths crash against each other like waves against a bluff, all lips and teeth and tongue. Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, clutching his shoulders, cupping his face. His hands are just as frantic, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing you tight against him. 

You two come up for air but you don’t surface for long. Despite the way he’s worked up, he’s careful in unwinding the scarf from his neck and draping it over a nearby arm chair. Then, he’s on you again, pulling you flush against him. 

He guides you to his lap as he sits back on the couch, lips never leaving yours. You straddle his thighs, tugging lighty at his curls. He moans into your mouth. Your hips move against his. His fingers, long and cold, creep under your shirt and send a shiver down your spine. 

His mouth only leaves yours to latch onto your neck, sucking and licking and nipping. You whine and push yourself against him harder, your hands clumsily trying to undo the buttons of his shirt. He helps you, flinging it off his shoulders, and pulling your own off your torso. 

“Fuck,” he groans, chest heaving as he takes in the view of you. He’s staring at you like you’re some sort of goddess. “Fuck, you’re beautiful, amorina.”

You melt under his gaze. His ocean blue eyes are a little glazed and his mouth is kiss-swollen and ajar. Godric, he’s one to talk. You lean in closer, tracing his jaw and letting your hand trail down his neck, his chest, down to his stomach. You graze the top of his trousers and lightly scrap your nails over the skin just above. He hisses, hips bucking, and before you can say anything to him, he’s yanking you down for a kiss. 

It’s slower, no less passionate but less frenzied, and you only break apart to whisper, “Bedroom, Nott.” 

He doesn’t say another word, springing from the couch, grabbing the scarf you made him, and dragging you up to your dorm. As soon as he’s inside, he sets the scarf on your bedside table and pushes you down onto the mattress, climbing on after you. 

You squeal as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Theo,” he murmurs against the skin of your collarbone. “Call me Theo.”

“Okay,” you say, testing it out. “Theo.” His hips slot against yours once more and you cant your up. He slips a hand down your pants and when he presses his palm against you, you whine, “Theo!”

Another rumbling moan, “Amorina, you don’t know what you do to me.” Another long, hard kiss. Your hands move to unbutton his trousers. 

You don’t care how sweaty and sticky you are as you lay panting against Theo’s chest, feeling the way it rises and falls in rapid succession. You listen to his racing heartbeat and he places a sweet kiss to the top of your head. 

As you two catch your breath, Theo says, “I think Juliet should have gone with Benvolio.”

You look at him like he’s crazy. “That’s really what you’re thinking about?”

He winks at you. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about it since we finished the book.”

You slap his chest playfully and ask the obvious question: “Why do you think so?” 

“Well, you said I’m like Benvolio and I told you you remind me of Juliet.”

“Huh?” You think for a couple of seconds and then it clicks. “Oh!” You take in Theo’s half-lidded eyes staring at you. “Oh…” 

He dips down to kiss you again.

Over the break, you’ve expanded on what you know about Theodore Nott. One, he’s quiet because he’s thoughtful, always observing, always analyzing, and storing away information for whatever purpose he’d like to use it for. 

Two, he’s whip-sharp — you see it in the way he can quote Shakespeare plays like second-nature; in how he easily banters with you, always coming back with a swift reply and a cheeky smile. 

Lastly, he’s unbelievably handsome. You knew this before but it’s different now. You admire the way he holds himself with an unflagging confidence, how he has these rare full-bellied laughs that make you crave the sound. But you think he’s most handsome when you sit together, cloistered away in the Clock Tower, reading Romeo and Juliet and now Macbeth together. You’re so close, you can smell the peppermint on his breath from the candy canes the house elves snuck you. You can see all the shades of blue in his eyes. You can count the beauty marks on his face. 

This close, you can lean over and kiss him and delight in the way your heart thrums when he reciprocates, cradling your face and coaxing you into him. 

You spend the majority of the rest of the break wrapped up in Theo’s arms. By the last day, you’re sure you have snuck each other into your dorms more times than either of you can count. You hang out a few times with Mattheo, who turns out to be not as bad as your friends make him out to be. He’s sharp and quick-witted like Theo with a tendency towards the dramatics that makes you laugh. 

You’re sitting at the same spot underneath the tree at the Black Lake, Theo relaxing between your legs. He’s swaddled in the same black overcoat you saw him in before, only this time, the red scarf you knit is starkly bright against the coat. You card your fingers through his soft curls, ducking to peck his forehead. He tilts his head upwards and smiles boyishly at you and it makes you giggle, planting a kiss on his mouth. He brings your hand down to his lips, kissing each fingertip.

You relish the quiet with him, knowing that tomorrow will be a flurry of activity with students and faculty returning from winter holiday. It makes you sigh, the thought of leaving the little world you and Theo have created. Your relationship is only a couple of days old and you can’t deny that you’re anxious about your friends coming back. 

As if sensing your nervousness, Theo sits up and spins around to face you. You attempt to plaster on a reassuring smile but it’s wobbly and uneasy. He cradles your face with one hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “What’s wrong, cara mia?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble. He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow with an expression that tells you he knows you’re lying. “What are we going to do when everyone comes back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Theo, our friends all despise each other.”

He replies, “So? Just because they don’t like each other doesn’t mean we can’t.” He kisses the back of your hand. “And I happen to like you very much.”

You smile weakly at him. “I know, and I like you very much as well. It’s just…” You can picture the dawning horror on Ron’s face and the grimaces on Hermione and Harry’s. 

Theo’s mouth turns downward and he asks, “Why do you care what they think?”

“Don’t you care what your friends think?”

“No,” he says firmly, adding, “Plus, Mattheo likes you so who’s to say everyone else won’t?”

“Theo…”

He repeats, “Why do you care?”

“I just don’t want anything to ruin this, ruin us.”

“They can only ruin it if we let them and we won’t.”

“You don’t know that for sure! We’re still in the early stages of our relationship.”

“Do you not have faith that we’ll stay together?” he asks.

“I do! It’s—” You sigh in frustration, brow furrowed. “I just want to preserve what we have without outside influence. Please, can we just wait a little to tell everyone?”

You wish you didn’t see the way Theo’s expression falters, hurt passing across briefly before he wipes it away.  He’s studying your face, eyes dark and unreadable but he nods. “Fine. But you have to promise me that it’s just for a little while.”

“I promise.”

“Alright. I’ll tell Mattheo not to open his big mouth.”

“Thank you, Theo,” you say. This time, you reach for his hand and peck his knuckles. His shoulders lose their tension and he bends towards you, mouth ghosting against your neck. You squeal and giggle and you feel him smile against your skin.

author's note: at long last, the theo nott fic i teased months ago... this fic was supposed to be a lot longer but i when i went back to college and hit a major writer's block, it just languished. i'm proud of what i've written, which is why i want to post it, but please excuse the kind of abrupt end. there is a potential continuation in the future <3

[amonratours]

A private tour guide is part of many of our All-Inclusive Egypt Tour Packages. We have both old-fashioned and new-fashioned tours of Egypt, so your tastes will be taken into account. Use one of our fully-inclusive, fully-customizable Egypt tours to see Egypt in style. You can do or see anything you want in Egypt. Have a wonderful time in Egypt! People will probably go to Egypt during the holidays of 2023 to learn about the country's rich history and culture. Egypt's vacation packages make it easy for tourists to see what's left of the ancient Egyptian civilization.

[callmemickey]

Cumming Home for Christmas

synopsis: Simon surprised you by being home 3 weeks early, which means you get to take him to your family’s Christmas get together! Unfortunately, Simon hasn’t had his fill of you… How thin do you think the walls are in the bathroom?

content: Afab, porn w a plot, smut (dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, quickie, slightly public? maybe other stuff idk) fluff fluff fluff kind of angst if you squint real hard he just loves you sm my sweet Angel babey reader muah love u 2

word count: 3.7k

notes: Don’t ask me why I chose Christmas this is purely self-indulgent. Also, he’s a brunette going off of the comics, so I’m running with that thx!

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Warm Christmas lights, sparkling ciders and the expensive alcohol, the soft hum of cozy Christmas jazz on the speakers, family buzzing and soaking in each other’s presence - there was nothing else you could ask for. In this massive sea of black and red formal attire, your family, both close and extended, came together for an amazing holiday party at your grandparents’ estate.

Simon, who surprised you by coming home over three weeks early, has accompanied you as your plus one to the family’s holiday party. It made the event even better. Your family adored Simon to bits and pieces, constantly embarrassing you in front of him, begging to know when he wanted to start a family with you, your aunts drinking too much and asking him to take off his coat and flex. He dealt with the melting pot of clashing personalities better than you had ever imagined.

Simon expertly handled the socializing carefully and precisely. He preferred to be an observer in these bigger settings rather than to speak. He gave simple answers that were concise one liners, saving his social battery. So, to make up for it, he would escape to assist anybody needing aid. When dinner was ready, he assisted in the kitchen, making sure that everybody had their meals first, and was later caught cleaning the kitchen (much to your displeasure). He also helped light your grandfather’s cigar outside. The Parkinson’s has been making it difficult for him to light them on his own, and Simon even listened to an old war story.

It was unbelievable how much you loved this man.

Now, nieces and nephews weaved between adults and furniture, the fireplace burned hot and strong, people laughed and yelled happily over the gentle music, and the scent of baking pies and pastries wafted and filled the air. Your lovely military fiancé, overworked and tired on his break, did so well to deal with this. Of course, Simon, being an incredibly selfless person willing to compromise in any situation or scenario just to make you happy, said that it was alright when you invited him. “Nothing would make me happier,” he had said in a low, roughened voice - which was right before he buried his face between your legs.

But I digress.

Simon stood next to you as your uncle told you both in absolute monotony about his recent trip to Italy, “So beautiful. Your aunt Amelia and I want to get a vacation home there.” He finished, and you nodded awkwardly. “Sounds like you and aunt Millie had a great time, uncle Mike.” Your tone was dry while Simon nodded and hummed in response. He just wasn’t… very present.

Simon had his attention and focus set on pretty high at the beginning of the night, but he was able to relax a little bit since then, to let himself just be in the moment - or so the psychiatrist says he should. He was actively paying attention to the conversation, yes that is true, but the hand holding your waist began to… wander, a little bit. Slowly at first, but much faster now. With a hand that started on your shoulder in the beginning of the night, bit by bit lowered down your back, smoothing above the top of your ass and to your hip. Fingers pressing deep into the black velvet of your dress, Simon tried to keep you caged next to him. That didn’t matter though, because you would have done little to resist him.

You two shared a quick glance. His dark brown eyes were slightly glossed, his gaze a salaciousness that he always brings home. Ooh, it made you want to rub your thighs together just to feel something. You nodded again to your uncle Mike when he brought up something else that was equally boring. Simon, having a better idea and use for his time, suddenly seemed to have remembered something, “Apologies, Mike, but Y/N and I have to make an important phone call.” You looked up at him.

That brief look in his eye was so, so hungry. The greed brewed like a dark storm. You felt a hot chill race down your spine, your core began to burn. You acted as if you remembered the same ‘something’ as well. “Oh my god, I can’t believe we almost forgot!” You gasped in a low voice. His fingers squeezed your hip, making your chest slowly fall into shallow breaths as you could imagine him purring in your ear.

Good girl.

You two waved him off as you turned to leave the kitchen. Simon took the wine glass from your hand and placed it on the countertops as you two walked through the doorway. His hand pressed on your lower back, guiding you into the dark hallway. The armoire in the middle lit with warm candles that smelled of cinnamon and spiced apples, casting shadows that bounced and flickered across the walls. It helped light your way to the restroom, but it also kept you two enveloped in shadows to help hide whatever sins you were going to commit. Simon, without a word, opened the bathroom, and with nobody inside, he sweeped you in, locking the door behind you two.

The bathroom had warm string lights strung across the crown molding, and a window with fake candles sat high on the wall. The room was a little loud with the echoes, so you smacked the switch on the wall to turn the fan on, hoping to mask whatever sounds were going to flood the room.

Not even a second, in such a calculated move, Simon plucked his mask off and had your lips locked with his as he hoisted you onto the sink counter. All you could do in that flurry of movement was gasp, his hands gingerly holding your jaw as his mouth worked against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, sighing as you felt a hardened tent in his trousers press eagerly against your clothed cunt.

You ran your hands through his dark brown hair, a moan running from you into him as his hands gave your ass a harsh squeeze. He ground his hips into you, pulling a whimper from you as he pressed roughly against your thrumming clit. Simon broke from your mouth, kissing your neck as his fingers pushed up into your dress, grabbing your panties.

“Quiet - or they’ll hear us,” he whispered against your flesh. You panted with a nod as he slipped your panties off, tossing them onto the floor along with his jacket. Simon quickly unbuttoned his white sleeves, rolling them up to reveal his heavily veined forearms, his one arm tattooed with black. He expertly undid his belt, pulling his pants and underwear down slightly, his hardened cock springing free.

He kept kissing your neck, lightly sucking to tease but not enough to hickey or bruise. His fingers dipped into your embarrassingly wet sex, rubbing at your clit and folds before pushing two fingers into you. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, so wet already.” His voice was a growl against your neck, slowly pumping them, his fingers rubbing up against that spongy spot inside.

It caused you to mewl. Simon’s one hand jumped to cup your mouth shut, making you gasp. The movement threw you off balance, your upper back falling back to press against the mirror while grabbing onto his wrist for support. He continued to finger you and hold your mouth closed, your whimpers mumbled in his hand.

Just as quick as you just started grinding your hips, he pulled his fingers away. A disappointed moan left broken up between your mouth and his palm. Simon grabbed his cock and started to pump himself, lubricating it with your juices before rubbing against your clit. He moved his hand from your mouth down to your hip.

You whimpered, “Oh my god, Simon.” Your hips wriggled and bucked against the dizzying sensation. He chuckled, slowly pressing his cock into your hot, wet cunt. The familiar stretch made you hum in need. “You’re gonna tease me? On Christmas?” You whined, your legs once again wrapped around his hips, urging him to sink into you.

“Ahh, have you been a good girl, though?” He asked in a low rumble, his other hand grabbing the other hip, his prepared stance making your hole clench around his member. He had a half-lidded stare, swirling with a level of lust you couldn’t really see the end of - bottomless and ravenous. Simon towered over you.

“I’m always a good girl for you, Simon,” You cooed.

He slowly pushed in, making you inhale sharply as you stretched so wide to allow him to fit. You held your breath as he pushed his cock through. “I’m just teasing, love - I know you’ll always be my good girl,” he said with warmth in his voice.

His tip kissed your cervix as he nestled fully, deeply, completely. Your head rolled back on the mirror as a satisfied sigh escaped you, but Simon’s grip on your hips tightened intensely. You gasped as he began a fast pace, his hips slapping loudly against your thighs and echoing in the bathroom. It was almost too much. It gave you little time to prepare for his entering, but you settled nicely around him after a few more thrusts.

Simon wasn’t normally this fast. He loved to hit with hard strokes, but nothing typically of this pace. Fortunately, you weren’t one to complain. It was so goddamn good. You hate it when your fiancé is away, not knowing where he was for most of the time, but when he’s gone for so long and comes back? Fuck. It’s criminal how good the sex is. His impatience made it impeccable.

But you were desperate. You wanted to cry and moan and yell, to beg and pray for him to bring you to a higher plane of pleasure. Oh, God, you would do anything for it, anything for him. You grasped at his forearms, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving stinging crescent moon shaped imprints in their path. He groaned lightly at your sharp grip, a soft chuckle coming from him. “Oh, you like this?” He asked, and you nodded, biting your lower lip to keep anything but your gasps, pants, and squeaks from escaping.

“Touch yourself,” his voice wasn’t harsh, but it was a demand.

With one hand still on Simon’s arm, the other moved to your clit, and you began to rub in quick circles. Simon watched your face twist and change: your mouth hanging open as you panted, but occasionally closed to bite your lip so to stop yourself from moaning; eyes half-lidded, barely open, glazed, and painfully horny; back bowing and arching, your toes curling, body just at a loss at what it can handle. This was Simon’s favorite view in the world. It’s what he came home for. It’s what he fought for.

A moan tumbled from your mouth as you held on for dear life. “S-Simon!” You whined his name, the heat inside of you burning red hot, uncontrolled, and rampant.

“S’alright love,” his voice was soft, “you gonna cum?”

You nodded quickly, the fingers on your clit stuttering as you found your release fast approaching, his almost brutal pace not slowing in the slightest. “I’m gonna c- ah- cum, Simon!” You struggled not to say too loud. “Don't stop!”

“Come on, Y/N,” he ushered, “cum for me.” Simon knew how to drive you over the edge. His hand reached out, firmly but gently cupping over your mouth to keep your head in place - and to push back your lascivious sounds.

A moan found itself trapped, lodged in your throat as you fought with your whole might not to yell and cry out. Your orgasm ripped through and crashed over you like a tsunami. He had unraveled you.

Your back arched, and you couldn’t roll your head back. Your lashes flickered as you struggled to keep your eyes from crossing or rolling back to look at Simon while you came. The fingers you had on your clit stopped moving as you were paralyzed, but the grip you had on his forearm stayed strong, “Ahhh, fuckin’ look at you. That’s a good girl, cummin’ nice and pretty on my cock. You like that, yeah?” He groaned, hips putting in more power to drill into your tightened pussy, tears pricking at your eyes as the orgasm left your legs shaking around him.

Simon retracted his hand, grabbing back at your hip. You let out a quick, small cry as your free hand held back onto his forearm. “Y’alright, love?” He grunted, and you nodded furiously before he could stop, but he started slowing down. You didn’t want him too. “Need- I need you,” you gasped, “don’t stop, Simon.” You whimpered.

Oh, to be buried deep inside your pussy was all he could have ever hoped for upon coming home. Y/N, ever so kind and giving. Simon tightened his hands around your hips again and began the brutal pace as you struggled to keep silent.

That’s when you felt your body heating up again. Your sex thrummed with the building pleasure and excitement once more, causing you to moan while you held onto his wrists. A light sheen of sweat sat on your skin, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your flesh.

Simon moaned softly with a smirk, your fucked out expression and legs lazily clinging onto his hips was such an amazing sight. The snapping of him against you had beat your pussy red, leaving it angrily aroused. “You gonna cum again? Yeah? Ahhh, thas my needy girl.” Desperate, tiny grunts popped out of you with each thrust, your pussy swallowing Simon deeply.

“Si-Simon! Gonna- c-cum!” You gasped out with each pump. 

Your orgasm hit like a rapid flash of heat and pleasure. A squeal escaped you, and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes rolled back, legs around Simon’s waist tightened, your whole body trembled from his unrelenting pace. Your face was flushed red, eyes completely glazed and lost as your hair stuck to your face.

“Ah, f-fuck, so fuckin’ tight. So good - my girl is so good, God, cummin’ on my cock, just like that.” He growled, his hips slowly beginning to fall off rhythm while his orgasm began to creep up on him.

You moaned and begged, “Ah, Simon, nngh, I-I can’t- please cum!”

“Don’t you worry, g-gonna cum inside this pretty pussy,” Simon groaned, “gonna fill you up, yeah?”

You nodded furiously as your body screamed in overstimulation. “Please, I- ah! Too much, ah, you’re too much, Simon!” You cried out, your ever tightening cunt being stretched open, begging for his release.

“Y/N- Y/N, fuck!” He hissed as his hips slammed against you, tightly holding his cock against your cervix as if he was threatened to be ripped away. He groaned, emptying himself into you completely, his cock jerking and flexing harshly, making the veins on his shaft more pronounced. You whimpered, your cunt tensing around him as you felt hot waves shooting inside of you. He stayed for a moment while panting, his thighs shaking slightly, relishing in the feeling as oxytocin and dopamine flooded his brain. Simon pulled out, a throaty groan leaving you at the sudden emptiness, your legs letting go of him.

“Well… let’s hope nobody heard that.” Simon said in a low voice, pulling up his underwear and pants, buckling his belt and grabbing your panties for you. You slid off of the sink and inhaled sharply as your knees buckled. He immediately latched onto your arms, making sure you wouldn’t fall. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N, y’alright?” He asked, slowly loosening his grip to make sure you were okay on your own.

“My legs, Simon. Jesus Christian Christ - I can’t stand.” You huffed, leaning against the sink, glowering at him as you took your panties from his hand, embarrassed.

He unrolled his sleeves, buttoning them. “You’re really gonna talk like that? On Jesus’ birthday?” He looked at you as he grabbed his jacket, shaking his head. “What would your nan say, hmm?” He feigned sincerity, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he swung the jacket on.

“Well, the jokes on you because Christmas isn’t even Jesus’ birthday.” You snapped back at him, slowly sliding your underwear on as your knees shook like a newborn giraffe. He tutted in disapproval as he moved up to you.

Simon’s body was close, his body radiating warmth. He wasn’t one for a lot of physical affection, which was alright, so when he took the time to be attentive to you… you always melted against him immediately. His finger lightly hooked under your chin and tilted your head up to look at him. Your body subconsciously gravitated towards him, like a moth seeing the moon for the very first time.

He leaned down, lips brushing so close to yours, your eyes still connected . “Fuck what day it really is - I just know I’m home.” Simon pushed in for a deep kiss, brimming with emotions, the kinds he couldn’t really say. As he pulled away, he couldn’t help but admire you.

The golden candlelight fluttered across his face. His tired but warm eyes studied you, as if seeing you for the first time, memorizing and mapping every freckle, wrinkle, and spot, because he’s scared that the moment he looks away, he’ll forget. He took in your flushed, messy appearance as if God himself sent down a heavenly body to give him a reason not just to fight, but to live; an angel on its mission as a guide, and he would willingly martyr himself on the ground at your feet if it meant he could just hear you say his name. Once.

Simon wanted to say these things, but he wouldn’t. He might never. But that’s alright, too. Not everyone is meant to love so boldly.

You cocked an eyebrow as he stared at you so intensely. “You okay there, Lieutenant?” You asked, a small smile on your lips.

He realized that, yes, it was alright that he didn’t say those things. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t have to - you just knew. Everyday he thought about how he didn’t deserve you. You, ever so loyal and strong. You’ve given him a purpose, motive, after all of these years - alone.

He often wondered what he had done to deserve having someone like you in his life. Someone who loved and cultivated, with hands of soft mercy, so tender and kind. A voice of validation, honesty, reason, all stemming from your unconditional love. If he had met you years ago, before the therapy and psychiatry helped, he would’ve let your fingers prick and bleed as you grasped at his thorns while he plucked you of your petals, leaving you broken and bare.

He didn’t deserve you.

Simon returned the smile, his voice soft, “Never better.” His hands moved to hold your waist as you two shared a few more kisses. “You know I like it when you call me that,” he hummed in between the lip locking.

You moaned gently and teasingly bit his bottom lip, your hands pressing against and gliding up his shirt. You kissed his jawline and sighed, “Is that so, Lieutenant Riley?”

He squeezed your waist in a warning. “Careful, love, we don’t have time for round two. Save it for tonight.” Your pussy purred just as Simon pulled away, picking up the mask from the sink and putting it back on in an attempt to obscure his identity.

You hummed, legs still a little shaken. “Well, I might need a minute to get my feet under me. You… okay with managing my family alone?” You asked hesitantly, eyes slightly squinting as if to flinch. He studied you for a moment, eyes glancing you up and down. It made you a little self-conscious, causing you to shift.

“Of course, Y/N,” his tone was reassuring, and subtly professional, “you sure you want me to leave you? Just say the word, love.”

Your body relaxed a little, and you nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”

Simon faltered, if for a moment, before he gave you a soft squeeze on the arm, and left. You sighed, turning to lean onto the counter and fix your hair in the mirror. Your legs really were shaking, much to your surprise. Yes, yes, Simon makes you shake plenty, but he doesn’t always fuck that hard, if rarely. You couldn’t be more embarrassed. Sending your fiancé, who is not the biggest people-person, back to the wolves, but it’d be more embarrassing if you walked out there in your current state.

You fixed your dress and made sure you were able to stand properly again after a few minutes. Making sure your hair, makeup, and dress were all still together, you left the bathroom with caution. You quietly snuck down the hallway, back against the wall. You got to the doorway and peeked around the corner to peer into the party.

You don’t know how long you were in the bathroom for as the crowd surprisingly died down. Family members left for home, hotels, or whatever bedrooms your grandparents had available, so the end-of-the-night afterparty was intimate and calm. You inched into the room, eyes falling on Simon, who was outside with your grandfather, lighter in his hand.

You smiled gingerly as your mother called you over. “Sweetie, everybody loves Simon. I know he isn’t much of a talker, or a hugger, but he made a great impression.” Her voice was filled with warmth and happiness, and she spoke in a hushed tone. “He also listens to your grandfather’s stories, bless his heart.” She cooed. Your mother continued to speak, but her voice drowned out as you watched your future husband.

Simon stood at ease, with his hands held together and relaxed behind him as your grandfather engaged him in a story, puffing his cigar shakily as his hands trembled while he was animated. It was so calm and serene, watching him nod, the ghost of his jawline moving beneath the mask as he spoke. Your heart fluttered as Simon’s eyes flicked over and locked onto you, giving a little wink before turning his attention back to the present conversation.

Okay, you’re definitely sitting on his face tonight.

[mikareo]

“ ࣭⸰ ★ THE MOON SAYS HELLO. . . ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . part one of three ꒱ . . . word count; 3.6k

⊹ ⠀⠀despite his insistence on never falling in love, suguru fails to stop himself from becoming smitten with his best friend’s beloved. you’ve become a flicker of hope in his darkness— though you’re someone who can never and will never be his to have and to hold.

series contains; if gojo didn’t kill geto n geto was given a chance to redeem himself, redemption arc!geto, human caretaker!reader, kind of e2l but also not really, love triangle, gojo x reader, fluff, major angst, heartbreak, wedding at the end, swearing probably, geto refers to humans as monkeys per usual author's note; rewritten fic, will be 3 parts in total (i'm half done pls be patient w me im a slow writer...)

YEAR ONE, DAY ONE

His face is sore. So sore. It’s red, swollen, and sore after he’s spent the last three hours screaming in frustration with his current predicament. This is absurd, Satoru should’ve just killed him when he had the chance. Geto’s lost count of how many times his palms have slapped his own face; over and over again with wishes that he can wake up from this hellish nightmare the higher ups call ‘rehabilitation’— though he can somewhat still recall the first slap that he’d given himself around the half-hour mark. He’s got a pretty good memory…that doesn’t stop him from hoping his veins aren’t too noticeable as they angrily protrude from his forehead in crimson currents.

He’d rather be dead than imprisoned like this…like an animal…like one of those damn useless monkeys.

The intensity of his wails continue to bounce off of the barren walls— barren aside from the dark mark he’d punched in earlier— and echo like a party of lost ghouls in the bottom of an empty well. Geto feels like a mad man.

He’s only just begun his isolation and he’s already growing mad with boredom. 

A huff escapes his lips as he plops himself down onto the twin-sized bed that’s nestled in the corner of his so-called ‘suite’. With linen sheets and a dark maroon comforter, it’s almost a cozy living situation; in another life, Geto could imagine himself cuddling beneath the covers with his favorite book and a soft record playing in the background for some ambience. That world is far far away now. Even if he asked for a record player, he doubts the higher ups would grant him one. He’s their most valuable prisoner, and they’re sure to keep him as miserable as possible until he’s one-hundred-percent pure hearted once more. However, despite their reluctance to grant him the things he wants, these aren’t the worst living arrangements he’s ever encountered and he knows that Gojo did his best to give him the best commodities he could to…well…a highly dangerous criminal. 

This is the only path to forgiveness, he reminds himself, constantly trying to be optimistic about the utter absurdity of it all. 

Optimism hasn’t been his specialty in a long time; anyone with a working pair of eyes would be able to deduce that, and he despises it. He’s quite rusty with the characteristic and has looked on the darker side for a while now— but wishes that he could be as reckless as he once was as a teenager. He can vividly remember how loud his laughter was with Gojo and Shoko, laughing as they chased each other throughout the school yard and using each other's cursed energy to their advantage in games of tag— but that would be near impossible now. His two best friends can barely look him in the eyes after the treason he’s committed. Gojo views him as a ticking time bomb and Shoko’s healed too many people to count that he’s harmed.

If he stepped one foot out of this room, he believes he’d be smothered on sight.

The Jujutsu Society fears Geto Suguru..

…and Geto Suguru fears himself. 

In all fairness, he deserves everything that’s come to him. What he did was awful; mass murdering humans…trying to murder even more humans…harming innocent students…starting a war during the holiday season…the whole gist. There are obviously bad actions from the past that continue to haunt Geto to this day and will continue haunting him so long as he breathes— but that’s all it is now…the past. He wants redemption. He needs redemption. If Gojo managed to reach clarity within Geto’s awful decisions, then maybe he can too. 

Geto wants to get better, to be better…not only for Gojo…but for himself. 

This is exactly why he and his best friend has devised a plan, one that will hopefully help lead Geto on a better path— a five-year path that will only be completed if he truly wants it to, and a half a decade seems like quite a bit of time to most; but for Geto, he doesn’t know if it will be enough. 

For Satoru…do it for Satoru…

He wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to comfort his heart that beats with fear every second of every day. It’s been so long since he’s been hugged by another, and he doubts he’ll ever feel that love and comfort from someone in his life. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s been alone with his thoughts with no one else to turn to; and if he’s being honest, there’s nothing in the entire world that scares him more than his own mind. 

“Geto Suguru?”

He doesn’t recognize that voice.

The soft sound comes from seemingly nowhere, startling Geto with a slight jump. Whomever it is sounds frail and weak, obviously intimidated by whom they’re going to be in the presence of in mere minutes; and Geto already finds nothing but annoyance at his new companion. Of course they’re going to have prior judgment. He bets you already hate him for the rumors and stories. He doesn’t really have a choice whether or not you come in, though. Gojo insisted on a caretaker— someone to talk to so he doesn’t go insane by himself— and Geto will do anything to make his best friend happy. So, he stands up and dusts his pants off, making sure to look more presentable, and stalks towards the entryway. His hand meets the knob, yanking it open, and ready to meet the stranger on the other side. 

Standing before him is you, a woman around his age. You can’t possibly be older than twenty-six, but perhaps you’re a few years younger. In your hands are various sweets and snacks that Gojo knows Geto loves, balancing on a silver tray that shines more light in the room than he’d care for. The reflections dazzle straight into his eyes, blinding him briefly with a scowl on his face. Of course Gojo would know to send you in with his favorites. He’s so predictable. His best friend is less surprising than he thinks, causing Geto to roll his eyes to the top of his head; though he appreciates the kind gesture. It’s far past dinner, though. Gojo must’ve struggled to convince the others to allow him a proper meal. 

“Don’t just stand there, monkey.” Geto commands whilst gesturing to the small dining table in the center of his confined space. “Come inside.”

The instant you stepped into his presence, it was horribly noticeable that you have no cursed energy. Zero. Not a lick of it…and he struggles to hide the disgust with his body language. He can’t help but be annoyed that a monkey such as yourself is going to be in his company for the next five years. 

With his distaste for you clear as day, he pulls out a chair for himself and disregards the kind option of pulling out yours prior; expectantly looking towards you with the expectation that you’re going to serve him his meal like a servant. 

“Well, monkey…” he trails off disinterested, “I’m waiting.”

You hustle towards him, quickly and efficiently placing the special grade sorcerer’s meal on the placemat before him and taking the empty seat opposite. There’s a small breath you’re holding in, Geto can see it in your throat— it’s suffocating you with fear for your life as your fingers lightly tap the dark wood in a nervous fit. 

You’re completely pathetic. As if a monkey would ever have the courage to speak to him. This is ridiculous.

His hands slam against the table with a loud bang. “What are you doing?” he questions, heavily interrogating you as you cower in your seat like a meak mouse. “Does Satoru expect you to monitor my meals?”

He really is nothing but a prisoner, isn’t he?

“What damage could I possibly do with this slob that’s been served to me by the scum of the earth? Start a food fight in the halls? Overthrow the Jujutsu world with a biscuit?” (If that is the case, in your defense, the biscuits are quite hard. There must be a new kitchen hand in training who based them.) This is a horrible day.

As Geto impatiently awaits your answer, a deep breath escapes your lips— perhaps a way to soothe your heartbeat into something less than a record-breaking speed— and you attempt to focus your stress and fear into a fleeting moment of zen. Your large eyes shut for a total of three seconds; one, two, three…before opening again. This time, as his own eyes make contact with yours, they’re shining with slightly more confidence than before as you swallow hard and settle your gaze on Geto— the look in your eyes evolving from that of anxiety to empathy. 

“Actually,” your lips rise into a thin smile, “Gojo Satoru didn’t send me here, the higher ups did.”

Your eyes search Geto’s for any signs of discomfort or inner rage that could be boiling beneath the surface of his poker face. It appears that he’s grown even stronger at hiding his true emotions towards humans; however, you can see through the veil. Yes, it’s thick and difficult to brush past, but there’s a slight opening in the center that you peek inside— and what you can see in his heart is a man who simply wants to finally do what’s right. 

“The higher ups are aware that Gojo Satoru has a soft spot for you— hell, everyone who knows your name is aware that when it comes to you, he has no reason. He has no right of mind. I’m only here to monitor and report your progress in an honest manner. That’s it. That’s all. I promise I won’t intrude on your life more than necessary.” 

Shit.

“I’m sorry, Geto Suguru…but you’re stuck with me.”

It’s as if his left and right sides are arguing between themselves. His good conscience says that he should give you a chance, perhaps you could be different than the monstrous humans that attempted to kill his beloved Mimiko and Nanako; while his bad conscience tells him to let out one of his cursed spirits to devour you where you stand. Listening to his right side would definitely get him his best case scenario…a chance to see his girls again…but the left side would be so much more enjoyable. Oh well. At least the higher ups sent someone somewhat his age and not an ancient and decaying corpse like themselves. That’s a disgusting thought. He’d rather be hugged by a hundred humans than be forced to befriend a higher up. A shiver runs through Geto’s spine as a newfound appreciation for you is birthed within him.

“Do you have a name?” Geto taunts as he begins to pick at his meal, slightly disgusted with the stale quality of some of the snacks but nevertheless thankful that he at least has something to subside his aching hunger. “Or should I just call you ‘monkey’ as I do with the rest of your kind?”

That sound?

You’re laughing?

Your giggles are surprisingly pleasant to Geto’s ears as they harmonize into a song that he can imagine himself listening to each morning. Why did you find that funny? He was quite literally insulting your entire existence. Geto is dumbfounded by the strange humor you seem to have, considering that he was being entirely serious with his question. Humans are so strange. He’s never really been able to understand how your peoples’ minds work, but perhaps he could begin to learn the basics. It’s not like he has anything better to do, and some entertainment would be nice. 

He’ll keep you around…it wouldn’t hurt and you can be his companion kind of like a pet.

Pets are cute…

…your smile is cute too.

You smile once more, answering his question with a blush on your face. “Please,” your cheeks redden, “Call me by my name, Suguru.”

YEAR ONE, DAY NINETY-FOUR

“You’re late.” Geto crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling a large breath of air in a loud and annoyed huff as he attempts to seem seriously angered by his new friend’s awful timing. 

It’s nearly twenty minutes past the time that you were supposed to be here; emphasis on supposed. He’s been waiting with his eyes staring at the clock, watching it tick and tick as the time passed by with no you knocking on his door. That’s twenty whole minutes of time in which he was forced to entertain himself rather than listen to your rambles and rants about whatever the latest scandal is in the outside world. You love that pop culture gossip stuff that social media and magazines rave about, and in a weird way, you somewhat remind him of his daughters— personality-wise…not attraction wise…that would be weird. 

Over the past few months, Geto’s grown severely accustomed to the daily routine that you’ve developed, becoming so fond of you that he strangely pictures your smile and recalls your laughter when you aren’t even here. Friendship is a funny thing. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a friend like yourself; yes, Satoru will always be his closest confidant…but his relationship with you is different in a way that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s never considered anyone else the highlight of his every day like he does you. Your company is the kind of presence that he overwhelmingly enjoys; with such a positive and warm nature exuding comfort to Geto’s loneliness, and your judgment-free outlook on life rivaling his pessimism in a perfect mixture of negativity and optimism. He wishes he’d met you sooner, perhaps when he was a child— and if he had, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out the way he did. 

It’s too bad you would’ve only been an awful human to him back then…he would’ve called you his infamous nickname without batting an eye…a monkey…

…a mere monkey whom he never ever thought he’d develop unwanted feelings for.

For his entire life, Geto always told himself not to fall in love. That love isn’t real. It isn’t obtainable, not when there are people like Satoru in the world— people that you can’t help but love— and then people like him; people who you can’t help but hate. With that being said, he’s never necessarily been looking forward to any potential love matches in his future.

…no matter who he was involved with…

…until he met you.

“Sorry about that, Suguru!” you hustle through the doorway, your appearance a tangled mess with dusty dirt particles littered with gravel. 

There’s a large scratch on your right cheek, not deep or in danger of infection in any way, but noticeable enough that he’s able to see it from a distance. Knowing you, it’s most likely accidentally self-inflicted in some sort of way; you being notorious for tripping or snagging your skin on the sharp end of a table. How do you always manage to be so uncoordinated? Geto can’t help but let out a short laugh, his eyes scrolling up and down your body and taking in your entire appearance, dirt and all. You even manage to make dirt look good. What the fuck? He hates this.

Your voice carries on as you approach him. “I was running on time, but then I saw this adorable shop downtown and I just had to make a stop.” The overexaggerated tone you hold is amusing as your hands wave through the air in a physical storytelling of your experience. The skin of your cheeks is flushed red from your sprint through the city, looking beautiful in resemblance to that of a blooming rose. 

Geto can feel his own face heating up at the sight of you, choosing to shrug nonchalantly in an attempt to seem as if he doesn’t care at all about your dilemma…

…as if he doesn’t care about every second of your everyday…

…as if your overall excitement isn’t the only thing that truly keeps him going nowadays. 

“You tell me these things as if what you do outside of this room matters to me.” He hopes his words mask his rising blush. (Spoiler alert: They don’t.)

Flawlessly, you brush off Geto’s phony disinterest without the slightest acknowledgement. It’s as if the phrase had never even left his lips, with no evidence and proof of insult. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence when the topic of what you do when you’re not with him comes up in conversation, as the prisoner typically tries to ignore his interest in your daily shenanigans— and you can’t deny that it hurts. Most of the time, it feels as if Geto never actually listens to anything you say, and you were able to quickly realize that in the early weeks of your arrangement when the pain began to torment your heart; ripping and shredding it to bits with every eye roll and mocking scoff. You don’t seem to matter in Geto’s point of view. He doesn’t care…at least that’s what you believe. 

In contrast to Geto, you’re an emotional spirit— you crave love.Love is all you’ve ever wanted, needed, and desired. In your time with him, you’ve developed inklings of feelings as well. However, you’ve chosen to let your feelings grow and blossom out of the dirtied patch of grass they were planted in— ignoring the warnings every single person in your life has given you in advance. Despite that, Geto continues to stomp on your budding flowers. He takes a heavy watering can, filled to the brim with hose water, and drowns your garden in the tears that you shed in the privacy of your bedroom. Those tears that are a never ending waterfall due to the fact that you know it isn’t your job to fall in love with your client. Your duty to Jujutsu Society is to help Geto learn to love humans and sorcerers as one in the same and to gain the trust of his community once more— not to love you.

“Okay, before you judge me, at least give me a chance to explain myself.” Stumbling towards Geto, you accidentally trip over your own feet in embarrassment, and proceed to hold out a single flower not yet in bloom. “It’s freshly cut. I saw a bouquet in the window and it caught my eye, because it reminded me of you; but I knew you’d hate a flashy bunch of them so I just bought the one.”

It reminded you of him?

Taking the gift into his own hands, Geto studies it intensely. The rose is a dark shade of red, crimson, or scarlet depending on your vocabulary. The petals are a brighter color while the plushness near the stem turns dark, more sinister as it approaches the thorns lining the sides. Just by looking at the rose, he can understand why it made you think of him. It’s gorgeous, but practically untouchable figuratively and literally. There’s only one angle that he can hold the stem at that doesn’t prick his fingers. Ouch. And he just did the very thing he was being so careful of avoiding.

All his life, he’s never been the kind of person who longed for gifts or compliments, but when coming from the right person…perhaps he is. 

Whilst he struggles to come up with a reply— a simple ‘thank you’ or ‘i appreciate this’— you mentally applaud yourself as you’ve finally found a way to make him speechless…

…but your praise for yourself is short-lived.

He can’t be weak. Not even for you.“I guess it’s not terrible.” Geto throws the flower to the ground and lightly kicks it away with his right foot. As one of the beautiful petals drifts away from the lonely flower, he turns away, not being able to endure the heartbroken look on your face and the offended rose on the floor. Why does he have to be like this? “I’m sure that garbage is all a monkey like you can afford anyways.” Why is he so cruel?

His eyes clench shut as he hears the door begin to close. You’re so gentle even when upset. He admires that about you— you’re the calm to his ever-raging storm, the sailor to his tsunami, and the lifeboat to his wreckage— you’re the most pure-hearted person he knows, and you don’t deserve this awful anger he holds within him. 

Is he…crying?

As tears begin to drip down his cheeks, Geto collapses against the wall with his knees buckling beneath him and his weight crumbling down to a pile of patheticness. He’s just a shell of a man undeserving of someone like you. Soft sobs escape his lips and silent cries fill the hollow room, absent of your joy, crying out until he notices the faint outline of the young rose beside him. With the flick of his hand, he snatches the flower off the ground and lifts the thorny plant with careful hands— finally and truly understanding your meaning behind the gift. This is how you see him? He’s dreadful and hurtful to others on the outside, prickling kind people away with his thorns…but when encouraged and supported, he has the potential to become something beautiful.

Someone that could one day be compared to the beauty that is of a blooming rose. 

With the budding rose in his grasp, Geto sits alone. He realizes that he’s only able to become that person with the help of you. You’re the only person that has even come close to seeing him for who he truly is; aside from Satoru you’re the only person who would think of giving such a gift to the number one enemy of the Jujutsu world. You’re the only person who he’s ever come to feel true and honest romantic love towards. 

Geto has to become better. Not only for himself and Satoru…but now, for you.

⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated! ⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀i promise i'll post the next 2 parts soon pls be patient :3

[masonmontz]

hellooo everyone :) hope you like it. continuation of holidays in Greece, but can be read separately :)

REMEMBER: english is not my first language

fluff and smut  word count: 3k

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“Let’s have dinner? Just both of us” Mason said to you three days later. The vacations have been great and you are totally in love with his family, all of them are treating you very well and his mom became your favorite. “I love them all, but I need silence and just your company for a few hours.”

“Your mum invited us to have dinner with them, Mase” you said, brushing your hair after your bath. You spent the morning at the beach and after lunch you spent the rest of the afternoon at the pool. Your arms were hurting from holding the children for so long and throwing them into the air while they were in the water. 

Greece is stunning. You had never been to such a beautiful place, you had never seen such an incredible sky and sea and every day you thanked Mason for taking you. You spent the days watching the sunset holding each other and it was very romantic until Mason made some sexual jokes. 

Mason was lying in bed after a long shower, dressed only in swim shorts. You could see his skin is a little red from days in the sun, even though he has applied sunscreen several times. You, on the other hand, were very tanned and Mason was loving seeing the bikini line on your body. 

“Please, babe, let’s go out with me tonight?” He asked again and you looked at him. He had a lazy smile on his lips and he was lying in the middle of several pillows, everything seemed comfortable and you just wanted to lie next to him for hours without moving. “Tomorrow then? That face of yours tells me there's something more interesting to do.”

“Mase, behave yourself, your family is at home.” You told him and he sighed, thinking about how to change your mind. Yes, you had some fun the first night but after feeling embarrassed at the first breakfast with his family, you decided to take a break from Mason.

And he's crawling for you now.

“I promise I’ll be quiet.” He got up and walked towards you, hugging you from behind and making you stop brushing your hair. He left a few kisses on your bare shoulder because of your strapless blouse and held you against him. You felt his body warm against yours. 

“No. Stop it. We’re not doing anything tonight.” 

“Tomorrow?”

“No, neither.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” He whined and you smiled, watching him rest his chin on your shoulder and stare at the two of you in the mirror. “You’re torturing me. You’ve been walking around in a bikini and short clothes all day and barely gives me a kiss.”

“Don't keep whining.”

“You’re evil, woman.” You laughed at him. “What about let them go out for dinner and we can enjoy this big bathtub again? And the best thing is that we can leave the curtains open.”

“Don't even try, we're going to have dinner with them.” Mason finally accepted and let you go, going back to bed while you finished putting on your makeup. There's a knock on the door and Mason tells to come in, then you see two little girls running across the room to the bed, throwing themselves at Mason. 

“Oh my God, Y/N, look, we have two princesses in the room.” You heard them laughing with him and turned to look at the two of them with a crown on their heads. “I think we lost Poppy and Summer, maybe that's Elsa and Anna.”

“No, uncle Masey, it's me and Poppy.” Summer told him and took off the crown, wanting to show her uncle that she was still her.

“You're right, you're still my girls.” He held them both and twirled them around the room, making them laugh. 

“I think you look beautiful, look at these crowns.” You said and smiled, seeing how happy they were with the compliment.

“Are you ready for dinner?” Mason asked and sat on the bed.

“Yes, nanna asked us to call you and auntie Y/N.” Poppy said and held Summer’s hand, both looking at you and Mason. 

“Girls, we'll go downstairs soon, okay? Tell nanna to wait a few minutes.” As soon as they left, Mason closed the bedroom door again and looked at you. “You're going to leave me with nothing, right?”

“It will just be the two of us in Italy, handsome.” 

“Okay, I'm going to change.” 

You decided to wear a short blue dress, matching Mason who wore a blue shirt of the same tone. 

“Wow, look at you.” You saw him blush when you praised him. “You're so gorgeous, I’m so lucky.”

“Stop making me embarrassed. I'm the lucky one, actually.”

He walked up to you and hugged you, then you brought your arms to his neck, leaving a kiss on his lips. You caressed the back of his neck and he got goosebumps, so you decided it was time to go downstairs.

Dinner was great, in a restaurant overlooking the city lights. You had a great time and were happy to have fit in with Mason's family the same way he fit in with your family. Mason had won your father over to Manchester United, giving tickets and shirts signed by other players. Mason was his favorite person.

You and Mason ordered the same pasta for dinner, and before you noticed, you had already had three glasses of wine while talking to them. Mason smiled at you as you were speaking slowly from the drink, and held your hand on the way home so you wouldn't trip.

“Three glasses of wine, right? Maybe you want a bath now?” Mason smiled mischievously at you. “I will help you.”

“Mason, we're not having sex.” You spoke louder than you should have, but sighed in relief when you saw that the others were further ahead. Mason agreed and you continued walking as you watched the beautiful street to the house.

“Auntie Y/N, can we sleep over with you and Uncle Mason tonight?” Poppy asked as soon as you arrived home, and Summer agreed with her, wanting to sleep with her auntie and uncle too. Mason had a desperate look on his face when he heard the ask, but how could you say no to those two pretty faces?

“Why not? Uncle Mason will love it.” Everyone laughed when they looked at Mason and saw his face. He loved his nieces more than anything, but a night's sleep was essential to him. “Harley, do you want to sleep with us too?”

“No, I'm going to sleep alone. Poppy kicks a lot at night.” 

“Oh, nice.” Mason said ironically, but smiling.

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“I feel like I slept with MMA fighters.” Mason complained during the morning, after being kicked several times by his nieces during the night. You got kicked so many times that you decided sleeping on the couch was better, so in the middle of the night you went down to the living room and slept alone. And Mason also complained that it was weird to sleep without holding you. “Look, a bruise on my arm.”

“Stop complaining, Mason.” Debbie scolded him. 

“Now you know why I always have dark circles under my eyes.” Jaz said and Stacey agreed with her. 

“Maybe we can go to a party tonight? The kids can stay with grandma and grandpa.” Lewis came up with the idea and you can't help but think it would be cool.

“Y/N and I are going to dinner tonight. Alone.” It didn't take long for you to disagree with Mason.

“But after dinner we'll go to the party with you, it's a great idea, actually.” Mason looked like he wanted to kill you, but you know he just wanted to be alone with you and try to make out with you. 

✦‎۟    ࣭   ⊹

“Why did you agree to this party? I mean, we could make out in the middle of this place and no one would see us.”

“Stop being a pervert.” Mason ran his hand down your legs as you walked to the place Lewis mentioned.

“I can't help it, you look so hot in that dress.” You put on the dress that was Mason's favorite, a tight and short black dress that left your curves showing. You put your hair in a ponytail and put on light makeup, the sunny days left you blushing and Mason was in love with the sight of you. You also put on heels, also Mason's favorite.

Mason, on the other hand, was wearing an open black shirt, shorts and sneakers. He put on the necklace with your initial and was wearing sunglasses. You've never seen him as hot as he was tonight. You couldn't stop staring at him and he had noticed, so he took advantage of the situation and occasionally smiled at you, ran his hand over your body or whispered in your ear, making you shiver. 

He knows exactly how to tease you. 

The place was crowded and it took you a while to find his family. You saw Lewis and Jaz dancing while the others sat talking. They waved when they saw you and Mason arriving and were soon offered some drinks for the two of you. 

Mason was responsible and didn't drink too much when you were drinking, just in case he needed to take care of you, but that night you told him to allow himself, because you were with his family and nothing could go wrong, so when you noticed, you and Mason had already drunk a little and were dancing together in the middle of the dance floor.

After a while Mason got tired and you continued dancing with his sisters, sometimes you stared at him and ran your hands over your body, teasing him who was sitting between his brother and brothers-in-law. Mason looked at you with desire and you felt your body heat up, knowing you couldn't last long without feeling him all over your body.

For your relief and safety, around 2 am Stacey announced that she was tired and everyone decided to leave, so you and Mason walked side by side down the street to the house. Mason was hugging your shoulders and you were holding him by the waist, leaning on him as you walked.

Everyone went to their rooms when you arrived and you and Mason decided to stay outside a little longer, enjoying the pleasant evening. Mason laid down on a lounge chair and pulled you against him, making you lay on top of him as he held you.

“Shall we go into the pool?” 

“Now?”

“It's hot and the water is nice, let's enjoy some time alone.” You got off of Mason and he sat up, slowly undoing the buttons on his shirt. He left his glasses aside and stood up, taking off his shirt completely, then taking off his sneakers and shorts. “Come on, come in with me.”

“No, I can't be naked, someone might come down and see us.” 

“Babe, please, no one will see us, okay? Let's stay in the furthest part of the pool.” Mason approached and pulled down your dress, leaving you in just your panties, so you quickly hurried and took off your heels. “Look at you, girl.”

Before Mason noticed, you ran and jumped into the pool, hearing his laughter in the background. While you were laughing, he also ran and jumped into the pool with you, spilling water everywhere. 

Mason pulled you against him, still smiling, admiring you so close to him. You hugged him and you spent a few seconds enjoying the pool water until Mason started running his hands over your body. You wrapped your legs around his hips and let him press you against him. 

“Mase, please, everyone is home.” He pushed his hips against yours, making you gasp when you felt the volume. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Cause I can't take another minute away from my girl, I want to feel her and make her feel so good.” 

“What am I going to do with you, Mason Mount?”

“You can start by giving me a kiss.”

Mason kissed you and took you to the farthest part of the pool, so if anyone came down, they wouldn't see you two. You kissed his neck and pulled his hair, hearing him moan against your mouth. 

Mason put his hand between your legs and pressed your clit, and you couldn't hold back a moan, ‘cause Mason always made you feel good.

“You like that, don't you?” Mason lowered his head a little and took your nipple into his mouth, licking and biting lightly. He continued with his thumb on your clit and you were already moving to ride his fingers. “Are you wet for me, love?” 

“Yes, Mason, please, I want more.” 

“See? This is so good, I don't know why you were avoiding me.” He licks your neck. “I wanna make you feel so good.” 

Your tummy was doing somersaults as he licked and touched you, you could feel him all over your body but it wasn’t enough, so you moved your hand to his cock, hard and ready to fuck you. 

Mason took your hand off his dick and pressed you to the edge of the pool, fitting himself between your legs and making you feel his hard cock on your pussy, making the moves to turn you on. You closed your eyes and let your head fall on Mason's shoulders as he touched you, the wind made you shiver and your nipples hardened.

“Fuck” Mason whispered when he felt your nipples against his chest. Mason held you and pushed you out the pool, so you sat on the edge while he stayed in the water. “Right where I want you.” 

“Please, Mase.” 

Mason took off your underwear and left you naked on the edge of the pool, so in a few seconds he already had his tongue on your clitoris.

“Oh my God” you cried and felt his tongue in the right place, your body melting with his tongue slowly sliding over your clit and you couldn’t hide how good it was. 

Alternating between long licks and quick movements, back and forth, he drags his tongue between your slick folds and you can't stop moaning and murmuring, and he knows exactly where to touch or use his tongue, knowing your body well.

"Yeah, keep doing that, Mase.” Loud and desperate moans came out of your mouth, Mason was getting harder and harder in his underwear and he took one hand to his cock, squeezing it with his hand. 

“You wanna cum in my tongue?” Mason inserted a finger into you, making you whimper with excitement. “Cum for me, yeah?” 

“I’m so close, this is so good.” You held Mason's hair and rolled against his mouth, pressing your pussy against his tongue. “Oh-”. 

Mason sucked you and licked you all over while you came in his mouth, he moaned as you lay on the floor, just feeling the orgasm through your body. If you weren't lying on the floor, you would have fallen.

“Look at you, so beautiful after cum in mouth.” Mason left kisses on your thigh. “Let me fuck you, please?” 

“Yes.” 

“Right.” Mason got out of the pool and helped you get up, walking over to a lounger and laying you down on it. “Lay down for me, love.” You did as he asked and soon Mason climbed onto the lounger too. “Wow, look at this pussy glistening at me.”

Mason pumped himself a couple of times before penetrating you. He groaned when he felt you around him, tight and warm. He held your legs around his hips as he bent down to kiss you, Mason closed his eyes and laid his head in the crook of your neck, lightly biting the skin as he fucked you.

“Oh, my- fuck, Y/N, your pussy feels so good around my cock.” You dug your nails into his back and he groaned, but you put your hand over his mouth so he wouldn't make a noise and wake someone up. 

“Be quiet.” You warned him.

“I can’t.” Mason kissed you again, a lazy kiss as his hips sped up against you. “I love you. I love you so much.” Mason whispered in your ear and you moaned, putting your hand over your mouth after the loud noise.

“I love you too.” 

“Cum for me once again?” You both let out grunts and he continues to thrust into you. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me, Mase.” Mason became desperate and you almost screamed as you once again felt the orgasm throughout your body, you felt Mason tremble on top of you as you felt him spurt inside you. “Oh, fuck.”

“Oh my God.” Mason groaned. You giggled as Mason fell on top of you, stroking his hair. “Seriously, it's the best feeling in the world.”

You spent a few minutes lying in silence, just listening to each other's breathing.

“Put on my shirt, let's go up quickly so no one sees us.” Mason got up and put on his underwear, taking the shirt he was wearing at the party and handing it to you to wear. He picked up your dress and heels from the floor, carrying them for you. He held out his hand and you took it, then the two of you walked up the stairs while laughing softly.

“We look like teenagers.” You said and hugged him when he closed the bedroom door.

“I don't care, I just want to be with you.”

[missnxthingg]

𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬, 𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴 𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫 . (𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑼 𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑰𝑶𝑵) - 𝐹𝑂𝑈𝑅 (𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑤𝑜)

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 - Once again, we have two parts! Hope you like this one as well and don't forget to go ready the first one ahead of this 🧡

original chapter | series masterlist | main masterlist | taglist | pt 1

yourusername

Red Bull Ring

yourusername Gooooood morning, Austria! I'll be pretending this is a sea of papaya, btw. Wish this bad boy good luck today 🧡

tagged: mclaren, landonorris

landonorris ***good boy! 😉

↪yourusername You don't fool anyone, babe ↪username1 preach, y/n

username2 Lando P1 at Red Bull's home. I'm so ready!

username3 Papaya dom coming!

mclaren Everybody is a papaya fan! 🧡

liked by the author

f1news

f1news It's DNF for Norris in Austria! The McLaren driver crashed with the owner of the house, Max Verstappen, in the Red Bull Ring and was taken out of the race. The RBR driver lost his leadership, but finished P5.

username1 Max Verstappen plays it DIRTY!

username2 I feel so so sorry for Lando. He didn't deserve this 😢

username3 i hope y/n takes good care of our boy

yourusername added to their stories

Caption: A very much needed home time for Mr Norris

landonorris

Silverstone

landonorris Back to Silvo with some family time ❤

tagged: adam_norris_pure_electric, yourusername

yourusername P1 in Ollie's heart 🧡

↪landonorris My love ❤

username1 Olivia content!!!!

↪username2 finally 😫 i missed them so much

username3 i just know lando spent the entire week with ollie bf silverstone

username4 we're all ready for your revenge arch 😈

landonorris

landonorris Silverstone I love you, so many incredible fans out there ❤️ Congrats on the win @.lewishamilton, we’ll review, do better and come get you next time 

username1 Just the fact that Olivia dressed as Lando for Silverstone makes me so so happy!

↪username2 she's his biggest fan indeed! ↪username3 Olivia future WDC!

yourusername Always good to see you step on the podium at home 🧡 I'm so proud

↪username3 I love that no matter the result, Y/N is always there to support Lando ↪username4 She's his true biggest fan

yourusername

Mallorca, Spain

yourusername Spain, you are a dream! 🤍 Best summer break ever

tagged: landonorris

username1 THEY WENT ON A HOLIDAY TOGETHER?

username2 i'm considering this a hard launch, btw

↪username3 you always make it weird for them 🙄 clearly they are just best friends having fun together ↪username4 for real! people forget that he's literally her daughter's godfather ↪username5 doesn't mean they can't become a couple eventually btw

username6 good to see that lando is spending time with y/n and olivia ❤ he deserved some family time to recharge

oscarpiastri Enjoy summer break, guys!

↪yourusername Thanks, Osc! Love you ❤ Send love to Lily, btw

maxfewtrell Bring me next time

↪landonorris It's family only ↪yourusername Max is family, idiot

landonorris My girls ❤

↪yourusername Our boy ❤ ↪username7 Stooooop, I love you guys so much ↪username8 The cutest duo ever

landonorris

Mallorca, Spain

landonorris aug 24. sun & things ☀️ family, forever

tagged: yourusername

yourusername Best summer ever ❤ I love you my babies

username1 Stoooop they are the cutest little family, omg!

username2 Lando applying sunscreen to Ollie's face and they posing as a family is everything to me 😭

maxfewtrell That's what i'm talking about, mates ❤

yourusername Ollie says: "Hi, uncle Max. Come have dinner with us" maxfewtrell How can I deny this proposal?

username3 now can we please have a hard launch???

username4 uhmm don't think they are really together, though. lando has taken them on vacations before, it's not like something different happened username5 idk dude, they do seem a little closer after his win in miami and people saw them leaving the party together username6 you keep assuming things and it's very annoying

username7 I'm so ready for the next chapter of this story

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

[dreamingonfilm]

✧˖*°࿐Sea Salt Candles | d.m

Draco Malfoy x f!reader, fluff

Summary: In which a drunk Draco confesses his feelings for you in the midst of your touch and the smell of sea salt.

c/w: mentions of underage drinking, emetophobia

w/c: 1.8k

It was a Friday night at the castle - the hallways almost barren with the occasional echoing footsteps of Filch and prefects filling in the silent chambers. On a usual weekday night, the majority of students would find themselves in their dorms studying for tests, but this Friday night was one of teenage angst and a desire to forget the world around them.

A typical Gryffindor party consists of cheap red wine stolen from house elves, and whatever snacks the teenagers managed to sneak from the kitchen. But today they knew they had to go all out - they had just won the Quidditch Cup after all. With enough bribery, the students managed to convince the Weasley twins to sneak in all forms of alcoholic drinks that would surely make them forget the night ahead. The cheap fold out table full of different sized bottles and snacks - being refilled every half hour as students continued to dance and chatter.

You were never the type to go to parties, you'd much rather spend a Friday night in bed watching a muggle TV show or reading a book. If it weren't for the persistent invitations from your best friend, Hermione, you know you'd be in your dorm right now. But you couldn't get yourself to complain just yet, as you bit the end of a cherry and drank a foul tasting liquor from your red solo cup.

The music was blasting through your ears, bodies swarming the dance floor as you tried to find an empty place to get away from the sea of sweat and off-key singing, the lights changing every few seconds and your eyes lit up in different shades of reds and blues - almost imitating the disco ball above you.

In an attempt to get away from the stuffy surroundings, you found yourself an empty seat near the back of the common room. You sat down right after adjusting your lilac mini skirt, taking a sip from your drink once you've finally found yourself to be settled. The environment around you seemed to slow down, the music blurring out and party lights all merging into one big hue, you needed this.

"I didn't take you as the partying type." A voice spoke from behind, interrupting your train of thought, or lack of, as you turned around to face the stranger.

Draco Malfoy offered you a small smile, sitting himself next to you right before taking the cup from your hand. Your relationship with Draco has always been confusing - in all your years at Hogwarts you constantly found yourself gravitating towards him. There was an unspoken rule that you two would always partner up during class assignments, and give each other gifts for the holidays or your birthdays. He wasn't a friend, more so just an add-on to your left side, someone who has now grown to be a part of you.

He took a sip of your drink before making a face,

"This is straight Vodka! Merlin, (Y/N), you're going to end up in the Black Lake if you're not careful with what you're drinking."

You laughed before responding, "So that's why it tasted so bad. I couldn't get myself to drink more than a few small sips, so don't worry yourself too much, Malfoy. Getting drunk would be bad for us.”

You two enjoyed each other's company for a few minutes more, making small talk and joking around as you usually do. In Draco's eyes, your presence was something that mattered more to him than the leisure that comes from getting drunk or making out with people you'll regret the next morning. He'd savor every second like a prayer, you were his salvation.

This was something you were unaware of - so you left him alone to dance with a boy whose name you did not know. The taste of your shit vodka and blood from biting on his bottom lip too hard, filling his tongue. This was not how he wanted to spend his Friday night.

He watched you from a distance, how your hips swayed against him, how you smiled every time he whispered something in your ear, and how for just that moment it seemed like nothing else mattered. Not him, not you, and not the us you created just a few moments earlier.

He ran his fingers through his hair before getting up and heading towards the white table, your red solo cup never leaving his left hand. Without thinking he grabbed the near empty bottle of Vodka, filling in the remainder of your cup, and chugging it all in one breath. The burning sensation filling his throat, he coughed and coughed, knowing that he would regret this in the morning. But he didn't stop there, each time he would steal a glance at you, his anger would only grow. Watching as the boy's hands would go lower, and lower, and lower.

Soon enough Draco found himself against a wall, attempting to control his balance as he slurred his words out like a loose cannon. His head throbbing and his throat burning, but he couldn't feel more alive.

A soft voice spoke behind him. "Draco, are you okay?"

He turned around only to be greeted by your best friend. A worried look plastered all over her face as she listened to the slurring strings of, of course I'm okay, and, I've never been better. He gritted his teeth and he went on to stare at you, it was your last dance of the night as you were getting tired, but to Draco you couldn't have seemed more energized.

"It's funny, isn't it 'Mione," He mumbled, "how easily she goes on to forget about me."

"Trust me Draco, she could never forget you. I could obliviate her mind right now and your name would still be the only one she'd speak.” She flashed him a sincere smile before going on to reach her friend.

He watched as Hermione made her way to you, your eyes turning to greet him as she whispered something to you. With a small nod you made your way to him. His eyes widening as he realized the state you'd be seeing him in, but with remembrance of where your hands had been just a few minutes earlier, he couldn't find himself to care.

You laid your hand on his back before speaking to him softly, "Draco?"

He hummed in response. Closing his eyes to take in your scent, now mixed with the alcohol of the room.

"Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

Your voice was one that could calm him even in the rage of hell. If he were ever to die, your body alone would be enough to bring him back whole. With the comfort of your voice ringing through his ears, he grabbed your hand. You led him out of the crowded space and into the empty corridor just outside. You looked over to him and brought your finger up to your lips, he gave you a small hum as to understand that you were to remain quiet.

Your hands intertwined as you continued to walk through the silent corridor, your steps echoing through the halls as you made your way to the dungeon to where you could finally rest. Draco ran his thumb across yours as he attempted to take in how perfectly your hands fit in his. The events from earlier left his mind as his focus was placed solely on you, and your eyes, and the way your lilac skirt seemed to get smaller and smaller.

The stillness didn't last long as he began to speak through his hiccups, “You're really pretty, (Y/N).”

Your face flushed red as you began to choke on your spit. "T-thank you, Draco," you looked up at him and smiled, "you're quite pretty too."

He smiled back, but the blush on his cheeks slowly left as his face began to grow pale. His heart rate began to quicken as he turned around to face the bare wall. His stomach wretched as he let all the contents of the party come out onto the floor beneath him, his face flashing with green before going back to its normal color. He wiped his mouth on his sweater before giving you a shy grin, the embarrassment prevalent on his face.

You rubbed him on the back and gave him a sympathetic look, "Do you feel any better?"

He hummed softly before leaning his body on yours. You taking in his warmth and resting your head on his shoulder.

"Don't worry,” you whispered softly into his ear, "I still think you're pretty."

Once finally making your way to the Slytherin common room, and into Draco's dorm, you were quick to undress the boy into a fresh set of clean clothes, and brush his teeth as his eyes fought his sleep. He was now laying on his dorm bed underneath several layers of blankets, and you, after countless pleads, were laying right next to him. A soft melody from a CD you burned for him playing, as you hummed the words softly.

Your fingers traced over his collarbones as he held you close. You could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat and the slow pace of his breathing. He made you soft, and you allowed it. The serenity of this moment was cut short by him speaking.

"You smell like sea salt,” he pulled you closer to him, "how on Earth do you smell like sea salt? We are in the middle of Scotland."

You giggled at his obliviousness before going on to play with his hair, "It's probably from my candle."

He let out a sigh in response and finally opened his eyes, he looked at you softly, like a puzzle he had yet to complete. Blushing as he noticed how you were cuddled into his chest - both of your bodies seemingly melting into one. With a gentle kiss on the forehead, his next words caught you by a surprise.

"I love you.”

Your eyes widened. You lifted yourself up in shock and stared deep into him. Draco was never one to speak so openly about his feelings, especially when it comes to you. In your mind, his love was one that seemed to have formed from the swapping of homework and detentions spent together after talking too much in class. But noticing his state, your worries faded.

"You're drunk, Draco." You reminded him, bringing yourself back down to his chest. He only groaned at your response.

Bringing his blanket back up to cover you both, his heartbeat slowed as he began to fall asleep. But no amount of drowsiness could come between what he felt for you.

"Yeah," he started, “I'm drunk. But right now, you're in my dorm, and your shitty music is playing, and I love you.”

And while you wanted to argue with him, tell him that the way he feels is built off a false image of who you are, a part of you knew that the words he spoke were said in truth. So, before going on to turn off the light, you brought your lips up to his cheek. Both of you drifting into sleep as the words flew from your mouth,

 “I love you too.”

✧˖*°࿐

thank you for reading! check out my masterlist here

[michelle-is-writing]

Concussions, Greg House

Word count: 1.7k~

Warnings: mentions of vomit, concussion, hospital rooms.

Arguing with your boss is one of the worst things you can do with your boss. For my boyfriend of almost a year, it was nothing new. Plus, in Greg's mind, there were worse things one could do with their time. Like argue with me, his girlfriend - that was much worse than arguing with his boss, according to him.

Still, that didn't mean that he could always get away with arguing with his boss. Especially around Christmas time when the hours were needed and he just so happened to be an asshole. Anyone could figure out why I was upset when he told me he was unable to get Christmas Day off. He just had to be rude to Cuddy the day before he asked, and because of it, we both have to suffer.

Despite him promising to call me almost every hour, I still felt lonely when it came to Christmas Day. I woke up without the love of my life beside me, and I'll be alone until he gets home around nine in the evening. When Cuddy told him she couldn't give up the hours, he was especially rude in response, therefore earning more hours to work that day.

Right now it's around eleven in the morning, and even though I've put on a Christmas movie and made myself hot cocoa, I still feel sad. I have no one to spend this great day with, and it sucks. Maybe a nice walk outside will help me feel better. It's cold and snowing, but I can always wear a heavy coat and boots - no biggie. Besides, I may even see a pair of cardinals flying through the white sky like a holiday card straight from the hallmark section, and it would make the weather all the worth it.

Slipping on my fuzzy black boots that Greg got me at the beginning of our relationship, I throw on my fleece coat before heading out front. The lights strung on everyone's apartment are lit up, and the people that have their Christmas trees in front of their windows have them lit up as well. The green and red bulbs are a nice contrast to the white snow that fills every window sill and yard, making it look almost like a floating blanket on all the little segments of grass. It's such a beautiful sight to see, but it makes me miss Greg even more. He's always pessimistic, but even he would be happy with the looks of everything.

Stepping off the steps and onto the pavement, I take a few steps forward, only to look up and see a pair of cardinals flying above me just like I wanted. I marvel at the beautiful red shade of the male next to the equally beautiful olive colored female floating next to it. When they find their mates, a pair of cardinals can never be separated as they are mated for life. The idea of such a thing makes you smile, but the idea of finding your own true mate? It feels nearly impossible.

I seem to find the cardinals very distracting as the next thing I see is the pure white sky above me as I feel myself slip, my arms and legs flailing to grab onto something as I fall backward. However, they don't, and I end up landing on my back with my head colliding against the ice I slipped on. Everything happens so fast that I barely recognize the pain rushing to my cranium or mine and Greg's elderly neighbor rushing toward me as concerned words flow out of her mouth. Despite wanting to respond, I can't, and instead, my eyes close as I feel myself slip into a vast sea on unconsciousness.

It isn't until I finally wake up once again that I register the pounding pain in the back of my head. It nearly makes my eyes roll back, but before I can even do that, I quickly lean over the edge of the surface I'm lying on and feel the contents of my stomach empty. I soon feel a pair of hands gently pull my hair back as I do so, my eyes clearing up enough to watch a nurse’s legs in purple scrubs quickly push a trash can in front of me to finish vomiting into. However, it doesn't take long before I’m done and I almost fall back onto the slightly stiff surface I'm on, a damp cloth wiping at my mouth once I do so. Flashing my eyes throughout the room, I recognize the bright fluorescent lights above me as ones used in a hospital room and the surface I'm on is one of the uncomfortable beds in a hospital room. Great.

Turning my eyes over to the source of the hand holding the wet cloth, I find it to be the man I've been wanting to see all morning, a worried look etched onto his face. I want to fling myself in his arms and hug him, but my almost drunken haze prohibits me from doing so. Instead, I languidly smile and tiredly reach a hand up toward him, to which he takes in his own hand with a small smile.

"How in the hell," he begins, his voice taking over the almost stuffy noise in my ears. Gently running his thumb against the back of my hand, he takes the damp rag away from my face before tossing it onto the lid of the biohazard bin a few feet away. "Did you get yourself a grade two concussion just by walking outside?"

"I didn't mean to," I defend myself, trying to sit up a little, despite the deep pounding in my head. Greg helps me, but not before pushing my head back against the pillows to angle my face upward. "I just wanted to go for a small walk, and see some cardinals maybe! I did, by the way, and man, were they beautiful."

"You seem to be doing better than I thought," Greg points out, hovering over me to look into my eyes with a flash light. "No confusion or seemingly dizziness," he lists off. "You just seem fatigued and dazed, which is to be expected. The good news is you don't have memory loss."

"Who are you again?" I quickly throw at him, earning a downcast face with a frown. I immediately laugh at his reaction while reaching up to take his face in my hands, but his hands catch mine before they're even halfway there. I really am tired.

"I would say you're also having some psychological disturbances, but it's nothing different from usual," Greg jokes back, making me laugh again. At this, he smiles, but continues on. "How bad is your head pain?"

"Compared to the constant headache you give me, it's nothing," I tell him, once again, earning an eye roll in response. I know he's wanting to throw playful insults back at me, but he's trying to keep the moment as serious as he can. Don't get me wrong, I understand how severe my situation is, but I just can't help but take the chance to banter with Greg like he usually does with me.

With a sigh, Greg sits back in the armchair beside my hospital bed before taking something out of his pocket. "You just had to hit your head so you could end up in the hospital with me today," Greg chides, holding the rectangular box in his hand as he stares at it. "I guess irony plays a huge part in life's never ending game of... slipping and falling on ice!"

With his sarcastic comment, Greg pushes the box toward me as I smile at him, my hand reaching out to take the box from him. "Open it," Greg tells me, scooting his chair beside me to be closer to my bed. Doing as he says, I shakily unwrap the green ribbon from the box before slightly struggling to open it, my hands trembling from being asleep for so long.

With the maroon velvet box now open, I gasp upon seeing the diamond tennis bracelet shining back at me with the bright hospital room lights causing each beautiful crystal to sparkle like a thousand pieces of glitter. "Oh my God, Greg," I mutter, my eyes flashing over to him beside me. "This is... beyond gorgeous."

Smiling, Greg lifts one of his hands to brush my hair away from my face before using the other to take the bracelet out of the box and secure it around my wrist. "Merry Christmas," He tells me, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "I thought you would like this."

"I-I love it, Greg," I tell him, looking over at him with a frown. "But I don't have my gift for you! They're at the apartment and-and I wanted to give it to you so bad-"

Greg cuts me off from my rambling, an almost flabbergasted expression washing over his face. "Are you kidding?" He sarcastically asks me, reaching over to take my now diamond covered hand in his. "You ending up in the hospital with me is possibly the best thing you could do today, as morbid as it sounds," Crinkling my face at him with amusement, I shake my head at his demented words as he continues on. "This means I don't have to do what Cuddy says and stay in here with you and watch I Love Lucy."

Just as he says this, Greg takes the remote from the side table and turns the TV on, flipping through the channels before finding the show mentioned seconds earlier. Glancing away from our intertwined hands, I smile at Greg as he turns to look back at me as well. "I love you, Greg," I tell him, receiving a smile back before he leans over once more and presses a kiss to my cheek.

Sitting back in his chair, Greg keeps my hand in his as we both look over to the TV and watch as Lucy banters with Ricky just as Greg and I did moments ago. At this, I smile and ignore the pain in my head as I enjoy the positives of today despite being in a hospital. My loving partner beside me, a beautiful diamond bracelet on my wrist, and I Love Lucy reruns on the TV in front of us. As long as I'm with Greg, it doesn't matter where I spend my Christmas - just as long as he's by my side, I'll be fine.