#and make it look like kissing his band mate is the way to equality

[thenighttrain]

daily i hate m/tty crappy post, i hate him a million times more now.

[khalixascorner]

Love on Display Pt. 1

Summary: Tony loves putting his Omega in only the best of everything. How else can he show him just how much he values his most precious person. This is technically a continuation of Promised in Gold but can be read as a standalone. Thanks as always to the ever fabulous @the-mad-starker for being the best beta and friend in the world.

Read on AO3 Here

Tags: Starker, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Tony Stark, Omega Peter Parker , Intersex Omegas, Omega jewelry, Fluff, Smut, Public Foreplay, Married Dorks in Love, Body Worship, Galas, Pro Made me do it, Mafia AU, Mob Boss Tony Stark, Italian Tony Stark

It was the first gala they had gone to since their mating. The first public event at all, now that Tony thought about it, and he was determined to show his baby off right. From the first day he had seen Peter, he had been captivated. The young omega had shown brighter than the sun, and Tony was determined to show the world just how much his Omega meant to him in the most obvious ways possible. Luckily, Peter was tolerant of this obsession, letting Tony dress him as he pleased.

Tonight’s selection was actually tamer than Tony had initially planned but Peter had gently reminded him that full mating sets outside of the mating ritual or their bedroom would make him look too controlling. Peter had offered to wear it anyway while wearing a sly grin. His boy found upsetting customs amusing and while Tony agreed, he also knew that it would undermine Peter’s authority and position, so he found a compromise.

“Ready to get dressed, love?” Tony asked as Peter joined him in their closet.

“Only if you’re the one dressing me,” Peter said, dropping a kiss on Tony’s lips before dancing out of reach in order to strip off his clothes.

“I better be the only one dressing you or there’ll be bodies disappearing mysteriously,” Tony grumbled. Peter smiled and stepped closer to Tony again, slipping his arms around Tony’s neck and nibbling his way up the man’s throat and chin as he rubbed his nipple piercings against the alpha.

“You know no one else is good enough for me, Alpha,” Peter said.

Tony grabbed his omega’s ass firmly and pulled him flush so he could grind his cock into Peter.

“Maybe I should just mark you up after all,” Tony growled into Peter’s ear. “Fuck you and plug you like the good omega you are.”

“Alphaaaa,” Peter whines. “I just showered and did my make up. We don’t have time.”

Tony considered it for a minute but decided the omega was right. At best, they’d have time for a quick fuck because he’d promised Rhodey he would be on there tonight.

“Fine, but don’t think I won’t claim what’s mine later,” Tony said, kneeling in front of Peter.

The first piece he grabbed was a specially made cock cage, though it was a bit generous calling the three rings a cage. One golden band slipped around Peter’s balls, just tight enough to stay on and be felt without causing pain. Another sat snuggly at the base of his cock and the third golden band sat right beneath the head of the penis. Rubies glitter from the bands and fine gold chains crisscrossed like a metal net down the omega’s penis and balls. They felt like silk against the skin, and would tease his baby all night with too soft touches.

Tony placed a gentle kiss on the chains, then stood and grabbed an equally fine set of chains that attached to Peter’s nipple piercings. They’d tug and pull oh so softly all night as another reminder of Tony’s love for him.

After another set of kisses, Tony grabbed a black silken blouse and slid it carefully over Peter’s head. The top tapered around Peter’s trim torso but had loose sleeves that tightened again around the cuff. It was perfect to show off the pieces Tony had chosen for Peter’s hands.

All the while, Peter just watched him with a soft smile on his face. Tony’s chest tightened and it was like falling in love all over again every time he looked into those warm brown eyes while they smiled so gently at him. There was no judgment or fear of his bloodstained hands as he reached for Peter’s.

He slid to his knees again, nuzzling Peter’s delicate fingers and kissing each finger. Then he grabbed the pieces he had picked especially for tonight.

The first one he placed was their promise ring. It was almost dainty with a simple white gold band that twined around the finger like a vine and daisies made of sapphire petals with a diamond center. Every time Tony slid it on to Peter’s right ring finger, he reminded himself of his promises to love and cherish his omega.

Their mating band came next, and with it, his promises to provide and protect his beloved. This one was also white gold, though it had tiny rubies forming the shape of red spider lilies. Tony nuzzled Peter’s hand and placed a soft kiss on his palm.

Matching bracelets were next, each white gold band anchoring arched chains that covered the tops of his hands. Plain bands slid on each pinky, middle finger, and thumb to further anchor the delicate glove. Scattered about the chains were small shards of rubies, sapphires, and diamonds, each glittering as the light reflected off of them.

No one would be able to touch Peter without touching his claim. It was a very clear statement that the Omega was taken, and the high value of the pieces showed how highly he was valued by the old ways. Tony was very forward thinking in many things, but in this, he was downright traditional.

Tony drew both hands into his own and nuzzled against them reverently. He nipped and kissed each finger before swiping his tongue over just the tips, unable to resist stealing a taste of his omega’s skin. Peter whined softly, and his hips thrust forward, semi hard in his cage of chains.

Tony pulled Peter’s hands down, guiding them until one was cupping his balls and the other holding his cocklette. Then he continued peppering kisses along Peter’s fingers, occasionally catching parts of the Omega’s little cock too.

“Toooony,” Peter moaned softly, trembling beneath the alpha’s touches.

The scent of slick grew stronger, and Tony used Peter’s hand to reach under and scoop some out. He licked the sweet fluids off of Peter’s fingers before repeating the action. Peter continued to whimper and whine as his body grew hotter.

Tony drew just the tip of Peter’s cocklette into his mouth as he suddenly pushed three of his omega’s fingers into his wet hole. He guided Peter’s hand to fuck himself with one hand and stroke himself with the other as the alpha sucked and licked at the tip of the omega’s cocklette. Peter drew in ragged breaths as he tensed then came hard into Tony’s mouth.

The alpha continued to suck on the tip until nothing more came out, then pulled Peter’s hand free, licking it clean before giving his legs and cunt the same treatment.

“Alpha, too much,” Peter finally pleaded, his body becoming oversensitive under his mate’s attention.

“Sorry, Caro, I was just making sure to clean up after myself,” Tony said smugly. Peter just huffed in response but didn’t argue as Tony returned to his task as if nothing had happened.

The alpha slid soft lacy black panties up Peter’s legs slowly, letting them drag against his skin. Each side had ribbons that mimicked a corset’s lacing. Tony pulled them tight before tying them off in bows, like a present just for him to unwrap later.

A matching lace garter belt went next, and Tony was careful to make sure everything was layering without pulling or snagging. Then he picked up Peter’s foot and dropped a kiss on it before sliding a lace topped black thigh up one leg. He couldn’t help but run his hands up and down it once before attaching it to the belt and repeating the process with the other leg. He was already imagining stripping his mate back down to just this, pulling the panties aside and fucking him till they both were too sore to continue.

But that was a thought for later, and Tony refocused, grabbing the flowing black on black pants he had chosen to match the shirt. The pants clung at the waist, then widened slightly through the legs with a pleated look that mimicked a skirt. Simple flats were placed for Peter to slide into, completing the base look.

On top of the unrelieved black, Tony slipped a decorative white gold belt. Over Peter’s right hip sat a metal bouquet of spider lilies covered in tiny rubies with chains looping through diamond studded rings spaced across his hips, ending in a cluster of chains hanging freely off his left hip. More rubies and sapphires glinted at random intervals along the chains, sparkling like fairy dust drifting around him.

Tony slid his arms around Peter, grabbing his ass firmly and nuzzling his face into Peter’s groin.

“My wonderful mate, mia cara principessa,” Tony whispered, struck once more by how lucky he was to have won over such an intelligent omega with the biggest heart and yet so strong. Strong enough to not be tainted by Tony’s touch or fearful of it.

Peter settled his arms around Tony in a gentle hug.

“My amazing mate,” Peter whispered back, and even Tony’s self doubt couldn’t ignore the sheer love and devotion in the omega’s voice.

“I will never deserve you,” Tony said, looking up into Peter’s warm eyes. “I know that, but I’ll always do everything I can to show you how much I love you. Ti amo più di ogni altra cosa al mondo. I won't ever let anyone doubt your place by my side.”

“You never had to earn me, Alpha,” Peter said, sliding a hand up to cup Tony’s face. “All I ever wanted was to be yours.”

Tony stayed cuddled up against Peter for a moment before he let the omega draw him up.

“You’re forgetting a few pieces still, love,” Peter said, placing a soft kiss on Tony’s lips.

“I would never forget these ones,” Tony promised. “I was just savoring the process.”

“Of course, alpha,” Peter teased. “How could I think otherwise?”

Tony pulled him in tightly for another kiss then let go.

“I don’t know. These are my favorites after all.”

Tony slipped the two sets of crest earrings in, along with a cuff to each side. Then he grabbed a velvet lined box and pulled a custom collar from it. This was purely decorative, shaped to match the belt with a metal cluster of ruby encrusted spider lilies that sat off center to the right of Peter’s neck, dangling short chains with rubies and sapphires attached to a thin black leather band. Tony dropped a kiss on his mating mark, and another on the back of Peter’s neck as he closed the collar.

“Perfect,” Tony said, admiring his beautiful mate.

“I would hope so after your hard work,” Peter retorted. “Now go make yourself perfect too so we match.”

“As you wish,” Tony said with a mocking bow and Peter rolled his eyes. “I shall be but a moment.”

[artificialbreezy]

Jake Kiszka NSFW Alphabet

1Warnings: minors DNI, smut smut smut

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word count: 1464

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Biggest dom in the book man. So he obviously knows how to take care of you. He always has water on the bedside table, and a towel ready to wipe your face. After he gets you kinda cleaned up, he'll run you a shower and get you in and then jump in himself and wash your body, and then your hair. And he'll carry you to bed once he gets you cleaned up fully.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On you, it's definitely your legs, man he loves your legs. Firm believer in thick thighs saves lives. They're always so soft and comfortable for when he lays in your lap, but also amazing ear muffs for when he devours you.

On himself, the man plays guitar. His hands. He can move his fingers rather fast and he knows how much that drives you crazy. And plus, his hands just look good. Especially, wrapped around your throat.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Honestly, the man will ONLY cum inside you. He's a possessive man. It's his way of marking you as his. And my god, the view of his cum leaking out of you, just drives him up a wall. LOVES it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

His biggest fantasy right now, is to fuck in an empty concert venue. He knows it's a little risky, but something about the thought just gets him really going. But he also knows that there is never really a time to do that so for now he will keep daydreaming about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's a rockstar so you'd think pretty experienced. But before you, he was a nerdy, emo kid from frankenmuth. So he really didn't get too much action. But he wasn't a virgin by any means when you two got together. He has always gotten you off, so he knows what to do.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Honestly, it depends on his mood. Sometimes it's doggie and other times it's missionary and then sometimes it's riding.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He loves a little bit of giggle if it's not a punishment session, or a rougher session.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Pretty well kept up to be honest. He doesn't keep it bare, but he does have a slight stubble.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

All about you, making sure you get praised. Sweet, and soft kisses along your jawline and neck. Gentle touches to your body, slow and sweet sex. Just making sure you feel loved.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Honestly, he'll do it if he needs to. Like if you're not there, or for some reason you're not in the mood. Other than that, if he does do it, he prefers to have you on facetime or a phone call so he can hear your noises as you guys get off together.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Man has a lot, here we go. But we'll do the top 3.

Breeding kink- he LIVES to see his cum dripping out of you

Daddy/Sir kink- he is 100% dom. And when in those sessions, he will only accept daddy or sir

Breath play- He loves hearing you struggle to breathe when his hands around your throat. And that smile you get when he first chokes you, my god he knows you're a slut for him and he loves it.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Mainly the bedroom, he likes to have some sort of privacy when he ruins you. But he`s also pretty hype to fuck you on the couch.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your body, my god. He has never seen anything more perfect to him.

Watching you jam out against the barricade at his show. He knows you're gonna be drenched when he's done and he honestly can't wait to devour you once he's done. Thankfully he has a guitar to hide his boner.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

CNC. Absolutely not. He can't seem to get into that, it scares him a little bit and he wouldn't do anything to even hurt you like that. Whether you wanted him to or not. Hard no from Jacob Kiszka.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Man loves when you ride his face. Just having you grind against his tongue when he makes a mess of you, my god yes.

But if youre giving, man oh man, he loves the way your mouth feels wrapped around him. He doesn't know what you do or even how you do it, all he knows is he will nut in probably 5 minutes.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends. Sometimes he`s fast as fuck and rough and other times hes slow and sweet.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

YES. Just yes, sometimes he just needs to feel you before a show or even just while you guys are at his parents. He'll sneak into the bathroom while you're showering, just so he can get you off.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Absolutely, he`ll try mostly anything once, as long as you're game to try too.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last a while quite honestly. And you're not complaining. Usually that can equal up to 3 hours of a session.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

My god yes. He really doesn't use them on himself, just you. But only to tease you, never to fully get you off because that's his job. Unless he's not there. Then you have options on which toy youre feeling, on one condition, you call so he can hear you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He will tease you for hours, until you are so desperate he laughs. He calls you his pathetic little toy and my god that just sends you over the edge.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He always had to share a room with Josh growing up, and he's always with his band mates so he's typically pretty quiet. Unless you're alone. Then he's pretty vocal. But even when he has to be quiet, he'll get in your ear and whisper sweet nothings, or he'll degrade you and get you so far on the edge you're crying.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He was sitting on the tour bus one night while the guys were sleeping. It was around 3:30 in the morning and he just couldn't sleep. The only thing on his mind was you. So he did what he could, since he couldn't call and talk you through anything, he texted you. To which you replied. ``Baby, I can't get you off my mind. Can I please see you?`` is what the text read, you left him on read for a couple minutes so he thought you'd fallen asleep. To his surprise, he got a picture of your half naked body on his side of the bed, which just sent him over the edge. He needed to get off and he needed too soon. Before he could respond he got a video, it was kind of dark but he could make out that it was a toy between your legs, just going to town, trying to get yourself off. He quickly grabbed his headphones and started playing the videos. ``Oh god, please Sir.`` You sounded so desperate and needy. The minute he heard you moan his name he was done for. Mess all over his chest and he knew it was his turn to encourage you to get off.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Okay, so he isn't HUGE. But he is kinda packing. Around 7 and half inches with a slight curve.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Man is horny damn near 24/7. So any time you truly are in the mood, he jumps right on it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He usually falls asleep pretty quickly quite honestly. He'll pull you close to him after your guys` shower, and he'll just pass out holding you.

[strangecreationchaos]

i will never get over the fact how confidently people are avoiding the facts in the whole book to point out how azriel questioned "what if the CAULDRON is wrong? "

no one is noticing that he can see the elucien bond and it makes him unbearable! he was so restless that he can't tolerate and forced himself to stay away from the house!

no one is noticing how lucien is choosing to stay with his band of exiles rather than staying with the so called caldron blessed mate whom he never got the chance to choose!

no one is noticing that elain is also giving the equal access to azriel as much as azriel wants her at the same time she is loosing her boldness with her own mate! that woman dare to kiss another male in the same house his mate is sleeping!

do you know what will happen if elain forcefully accepted her mating bond? because there is no way she can accept it just like that! it's being 2years since she got to know that lucien is her mate and they had not a single communication! especially after the war when lucien is helping them! do you know how it will ended up? look no further but what happened with lucien's mother!

and no i am definitely not comparing lucien with beron! lucien is not his son neither he has nature like him! i am comparing a woman's choice that is being taken away from her, and yet she had a child with her lover! and loved someone other than her mate!

what is elain's fault? she didn't ask for a mate! she didn't wish to get connected to a random male who she don't even know! why would she need to accept an unwanted Mating bond just because her mate is polite? why she need to choose him?? when she already in love with another male who sees her, who understands her!

[comfortwriting]

I Wanna Be Your Dog - G.W

George Weasley X Fem Reader one shot/imagine inspired by the song ‘I Wanna Be Your Dog’ by The Stooges.

About: You bring your best friend George along with you to a muggle rock n roll gig, both of you get heavily intoxicated, George gets overprotective after another guy tries to chat you up. The two of you go back to your place afterwards, getting into a steamy situation.

Warnings: 18+!! Alcohol and intoxication, heavy smut, unprotected rough sex, choking and ‘foul’ language.

“That was bloody mental” George slurred, already drunk from all the pre-drinks you both necked down before the gig.

You wanted to let loose for one evening after studying so hard and what better way to reward yourself for your N.E.W.T.S results than going to a local gig with your best friend and sharing some drinks?

You giggled taking a sip of your cider “just you wait, that was just the opening band!” you leaned into George feeling buzzed, you missed the atmosphere of a show: the bright lights in a blacked out room, being one in the crowd, the smell coming from the fog machines, the loud blaring music, making a connection with the musicians and getting your ‘rock on’ with everyone else in the crowd.

“There's more?” George asked excitedly beaming down at you, you forgot that he wasn’t used to muggle music, bands, gigs, you wouldn’t be surprised if his father studied just the idea of such an experience.

You nodded and stared into his gorgeous deep brown eyes, looking down at George’s empty cup you offered to buy him another (you would need it to get you through the rest of the night at this rate, you didn’t want your buzz to die down) you pushed through the overflowing crowd trying not to bash or elbow anyone too hard, squeezing through you kept muttering out “I’m sorry!” “Just passing through!” 

By the time you reached the bar the main act were already powering through their set list, you felt bad for leaving George but you knew he would be enjoying himself either way.

The floor was sticky from the spilled alcohol and your shoes kept sticking down to the floor, you felt like you were in space boots every time you tried to lift up your feet and with the spinning of the room you gripped onto the bar to steady yourself.

“Can I grab two double vodka’s and coke, please” you yelled over the music to the bar man, choosing the first drink that popped into mind, you could feel someone closing in on you, their hot breath and body heat against your back.

“Mind if I pay?” a unfamiliar gruff voice asked.

You slowly stood up straight and took a deep sigh, turning around you were met with the stranger who butted in. He pulled some pound notes out of his pocket and pushed them over towards the bar man.

The man had dark black hair that started to grey at the roots and odd strands here and there, you could tell he must be older than you, greying or not his wrinkles spoke for him.

He towered over you and smiled “both for you?”

You shook your head and answered him quickly, hoping the bar man would hurry up or the man would get distracted “No, me and my boyfriend” you lied, although you and George were best friends you had slept together plenty of times and it often felt as if you were dating - but you had never brought it up, you both liked everything how it was.

The man chuckled and moved closer to you, the bar man placed the drinks next your arm on the side “is that so?” he asked, thinking you were lying to get away from him. He nodded and pursed his lips “playing hard to get, I like it” he pushed a stray hair behind your ear, stroking your cheek with his thumb “has anyone ever told you how sexy you are?” he blurted out, unashamed.

You couldn’t believe your ears, you couldn’t believe the cheek of this man, you cowered at his touch. 

“Has anyone ever told you to piss off?” you heard George shout over the music, standing next you, staring down the man. 

You thanked whichever lords above that George decided to come and search for you. “Who the fuck are you?” the man laughed at your best friend, moving away from you.

George pulled you into him, his hand sneaking around your waist, you didn’t want any trouble but you knew George wouldn’t shy away from confrontation if it was about something serious. 

“I’m her boyfriend, now bugger off before you get my foot up your arse” George threatened him, his grip on your waist tightening.

The man sported a furious look upon his sweaty wrinkled face “you wanna fucking go mate?” he yelled at George pointing a finger at him “all this over some slag?” he insulted you. 

You and George, now both just as furious went red in the face. You spotted your drinks on the side and without thinking, breaking from George’s grip you picked up your drinks and threw them in his face, causing George to let out a shocked but surprising laugh.

The two of you ran as fast as your legs could carry you past the overflowing crowd, hearing complaints and insults follow you. Breaking free into the dark night, the cold air engulfed you, waking you up slightly from your drunken daze. 

Holding out your hand spotting a black cab the two of you hopped in and went back to your parents place.

George apologised continuously on the way home, feeling like he was the one who ruined your evening, but if anything he made it so much better than what it could’ve turned out to be.

“I just can’t believe that arsehole called you such a thing and put a hand on you!” He whispered sternly, entering the kitchen, he walked over to the stairs and stopped before walking up them. “Are you okay?”

“It’s okay Georgie, really.” You whispered back, you pushed past him, grabbing his hand and leading him up the stairs quietly, trying not to wake anyone up “I’m fine”

You both entered your large bedroom, the pine green walls covered in pictures of you and George and posters of the band you saw tonight, little round orange fairy lights dangling from your curtain rail. Your bed in the middle of the room against the wall, waiting for you and George.

So messed up, I want you here In my room, I want you here Now we're gonna be face-to-face And I'll lay right down in my favourite place

“I can’t stand it when men think they can touch you like that, it makes my skin crawl.” George muttered, starting to calm down upon entering your room, he shut the door slowly and quietly behind him.

“Only you can touch me like that” you whispered in his ear, nibbling at his lobe gently.

George let out a shaky moan, your sudden advance caused his breath to get stuck in his throat for a moment. 

“You’d be furious if I ended up going home with him and I was planning to if you didn’t come and get me” you teased him “he told me I was sexy.”

George glared and grabbed you by the throat, you always loved making him jealous, especially in the bedroom.

He walked you over to the bed, George pushed you down on it, his hand gripped around your throat causing you to feel slightly light headed. His possessiveness and jealousy that caused these outbursts in his behaviour turned you on more than anyone ever could. 

He removed his hand from your throat, causing you to breathe out in desperation for air, whilst allowing the incredible rush to flow through your head, the tingling and spinning sensations exciting you even more. 

“Is that what you want? another man fucking you?” George questioned, yanking at the silver zip on your black faux leather mini skirt and pulling them down your legs, his hand moved up in between your inner thighs “no one can make you cum like I can” he growled, slapping your clit through your underwear before yanking those off too “you dirty girl.”

And now I want to be your dog Now I want to be your dog Now I want to be your dog Well, come on

You moaned staring down at the gorgeous lad now in between your legs, teasing you with his tongue, his hot breath warming you up and his silky saliva coating your clitoral hood and running down in between your folds.

George stroked you gently with his long fingers, spreading his saliva equally around your heat, causing you to moan out in pleasure “not too loud you plonker, your parents are two doors down” he told you off before suddenly plunging two fingers inside of you, switching between fingering you and repeating the ‘come here’ motion with his fingers to try and make you squirt whilst taking turns eating your cunt and sucking your clit. 

George was doing this on purpose, pleasuring you beyond belief when you were forced to keep quiet. You pulled his long hair and your back arched, he could feel your walls tightening around his fingers and he knew you were getting close so he withdrew his coated fingers and pulled himself away, his lips red and wet from his hard work. 

You pouted and let out a whine, ”George that isn’t fair” you tried to crawl over to George and help him take off his belt but he refused and slapped you away.

 “you’ll touch me when you’re told to.”

George took off his shirt, his belt and removed his trousers, then taking off his boxers his erection slapped against his lower stomach. Your mouth filling up with saliva, if you were to open your gob your drool would turn to laces. You removed your perfume drenched band shirt and dropped it on the carpet, George’s hungry, lustful gaze turned to you, he crawled on top of you, kissing up your body. 

“Turn over” he growled “get on all fours.”

Doing as you were told you could hear George spitting into his hand as he rubbed his saliva against your entrance, using his hard cock to stroke up against it before entering you. You gasped out in shock, squeezing your eyes shut to adjust to his size, George grabbed you by the hair, parting them into pony tails to use as his handlebars. 

“Only I can make you feel this good” he growled lowly in your ear “tell me!” he demanded.

With George grabbing your hair and pulling you back at such an angle it was hard for you to utter a word, you were only just managing to breathe. Thinking you were ignoring him, George spanked your arse with rage, causing you to squeal out in pain loudly, feeling the sting and heat he smiled at his handprint quickly appearing on your now sore arse cheek. 

“Keep it down!” he hissed at you, pounding you even harder.

Your lips were turning blood red from the biting to hold in your moans. George suddenly stopped and flipped you over, leaning over you and kissing you, tasting yourself on his lips turned him on all the more. George grabbed your smooth legs and placed them over his shoulders, pushing himself even deeper inside you as he pulled you closer to him causing the two of you to moan out.

George grabbed your throat again and held a firm grip over your artery restricting your blood flow, “dirty fucking slut” he grunted, fucking you fast, deep and hard. 

You looked into his lustful eyes, desperate for air, your eyes tearing up and your face going red, knowing you’d get him closer you tried to mutter “please...George..” but it proved to be too difficult against his grip.

Now I'm ready to close my eyes And now I'm ready to close my mind And now I'm ready to feel your hand And lose my heart on the burning sands

Beads of sweat dripped down his soft head, his hair sticking to him, panting rapidly he lulled his head back giving it his all before letting go of your throat, smashing his soft lips against yours he spilled himself inside of you, filling you with his warm liquid.

The two of you lay next to one another on your comfy, now drenched bed, staring up at the ceiling catching back your breaths. George sat up slowly, still recovering from what felt like the race of his life - a marathon for you - he eyed you up and gently pulled you into a cuddle. “Are you okay?” he asked “you aren’t hurt are you?” he looked at your neck, worried he left any marks or caused damage. 

And now I want to be your dog And now I wanna be your dog Now I want to be your dog Well, come on

You shook your head and smiled at him coming down from your high “I’m all good but my arse hurts” you laughed softly, laying in his arms “one hell of a slap you gave it” 

George went red and apologised but you shushed him and giggled, letting out a yawn you pulled the covers over the two of you and you put your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Tonight was incredible” you said sleepily “thank you for everything, George.”

He smiled and his heart warmed at the sight of you cuddling into him, he held your hand and kissed your head softly “I love you” he hummed, closing his eyes. 

“I love you too” you replied, copying him, drifting off to sleep.

[sunsetinmyvein]

Ran Into Some Complications - Matty Healy

Thank you to the ever lovely @imagine-that-100​ for the request from the prompt list. 

Why did time always seem to go by so slowly when you were stuck waiting by yourself? Was there a reason that seconds seemed to feel like minutes? Was it just mind games or did it literally create some weird kind of wormhole? Probably the former. I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping that I finally had a ‘on my way!’ message sitting there, only to come up empty. Again. So much for meeting at the bar for six - it was already six thirty. I sighed to myself, thanking the bartender as they handed me the cider I had ordered.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing at the bar all by yourself?” I heard a voice call from behind me. I instantly gritted my teeth as I turned to face the source of the sleazy comment. Sure enough, the crooked smile, the greasy, slicked back hair, he looked as shady as he sounded.

“Just waiting for a mate.” I said, trying to diffuse this situation before it started.

“They left you here all alone?” He asked as he slid into the stool next to mine. “Let me buy you a drink.” He added as he tried to flag the bartender down. Ugh. Why.

“No thanks, got one.” I said as I held up my cider. “And they’re on their way.” I dismissed.

“I’ll just keep this stool warm for them, then.” He grinned. I could smell the whiskey on his breath. Gross. This evening was headed in a downward spiral if I didn’t cut this off soon.

“I- you really don’t have to.” I grimaced, my eyes darting around the room to try and spot an easy way out of this. I caught sight of a group of four men walking in, eyeing them hopefully. The one closest to the bar seemed well kept. He had a grey suit jacket on, his straight hair was neatly combed back, he was laughing with his friends. He seemed friendly. He’d do. “Oh, this is him now.”

  I hopped off my stool, stepping in front of the dark-haired man. “What took you so long?” I asked with a warm smile.

He stared at me in bewilderment, “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Come here.” I said with a light laugh, trying to pretend that this wasn’t awkward.

“What? Why?” He asked with a confused frown.

I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, pulling him down closer to my level to try and not be overhead. “Please just come here.” I said, trying to look as imploring as I possibly could. This was going to look bad on me if he didn’t come with me. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if this guy shrugged me off and I had to walk back over there. He stared at me for a long moment, before turning back to his friend who had stopped to see what was happening.

“I, erm, suppose I’ll be back in a bit?” He said with a shrug.

  Thankfully, this man came willingly with me back towards the bar. And I was even more grateful for him being quite clued on. He took one look between me, and the greasy dude sitting opposite me, to get the hint.

“So sorry, love. Traffic was awful.” He said as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and kissed my cheek. Geez, he was really going all in. I felt my face burning at the unexpected attention. At least it was going to look the part. “Have you already got a drink?”

“Yeah. Do you want one?” I nodded, turning to him. He really was standing awfully close to me. At this proximity I was able to smell the pleasant smell of the aftershave that he had used.

“I’ll just have my usual.” He said with a smirk.

“Uhh…” My eyes widened as I processed his answer. Fuck. Had this guy just agreed to help me to be equally as annoying as the sleazy one? Maybe I’d just made this situation so much worse. I quickly scanned over his appearance. The neat hair, the grey jacket, he seemed like the kind of person to drink a clear drink. “Gin and tonic.” I ordered apprehensively.

“Close enough.” He chuckled under his breath.

  The bartender brought over the extra drink and passed it over to my new found fake date.

“How was work? Did you get that booking sorted out?” He asked casually. God, he was smooth. He was definitely the right person to have grabbed to act like who I was waiting for.

“Yeah! It was a hassle but I got there in the end.” I laughed with a nod, playing along. I was surprised at how easy this felt, to be honest. This guy gave me the vibes of someone that I’d like to have a genuine conversation with, rather than a pretend one. “What about you?” I asked back. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. Taking a quick glance at it, I saw that it was a message from the friend I had been waiting on – saying that they couldn’t make it. Phew. Good thing I had dragged over someone else instead of just waiting.

“The studio was a bit gruelling but that’s nothing new.” He shrugged. Studio? What on earth did this guy do for a living? He must’ve noticed me frowning at his comment, because he just raised an eyebrow like he was challenging me to question it. In taking a good look at him, this guy was a bit of a looker. There were definitely worse people I could’ve grabbed. “But this evening is making up for it.” He added as he took a sip from his glass. Wait. Was he flirting?

  It seemed that whatever this guy was doing worked, because my creepy stalker decided to get up and walk off. I let out a sigh of relief as I looked over at the empty stool.

“Thank god he left.” I huffed.

“He’ll come back.” The dark-haired man shrugged as he slipped into the empty seat. I gave him a questioning look as to how he could know that. “He left his whiskey on the bar.” He added as he gestured towards it.

I nodded in understanding. It was nice at least to have a breather to recompose myself and finally have a sip of my drink. “Thanks for this.” I said after a minute of silence.

“It’s okay.” He replied with what looked like a genuine smile, picking up his gin. “I can think of much worse ways to spend my night.” He added as he eyed me over the rim of his glass.

Now that was definitely flirting. Part of my brain found it ironic to have replaced one guy trying to hit on me with another. But… I didn’t mind so much with this one. “Are you flirting with me?” I accused.

“Are you blushing?” He shot back. The air of confidence surrounding this guy was undeniably attractive.

  Before I had a chance to respond, greasy hair man was back. He frowned at the offender sitting in his stool.

“Do you wan-” He started to say, turning to me. But he was cut off before he could finish whatever he was going to ask.

“I can’t believe that you also listen to them!” My fake date laughed loudly. He fell into these shenanigans far too readily. But I wasn’t about to complain. “Shh… listen…” He said, holding up a hand to quiet us. I stopped talking, trying to listen to whatever he had heard. “That’s the sound of me falling in love with you.” He continued.

I let out an uneasy laugh, trying to shrug off his comment. “I’ve been listening to them for ages.” I responded, trying to keep up with how quickly he was building this story.

“Ah, sorry, mate. Just nice to be together after a long day.” He said with a corny grin as he placed a hand on my knee. I looked down at it for a moment, trying very hard to keep my reactions to his blatant flirting in check. “Matty, by the way.” This guy - Matty, said as he stuck out his hand to sleazy dude. “And you are..?” He asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Leaving.” He answered abruptly as he reached between us and picked up his whiskey, before heading on his way.

“Well… that worked.” I chuckled.

  “Seems I was an effective deterrent.” Matty said with a nod as he took a swig from his glass.

“You did a good job with that.” I agreed. “You were far too good at it, though.”

“Too good?” He asked with a surprised grin. “That doesn’t seem like it should be a problem.”

I shrugged. “Just makes me question how many times girls have roped you into situations like this.”

“Roping me into it? What if I was the one trying to get out of the awkward situation?” He questioned.

“You really get that much unwanted attention?”

“More than you can imagine.”

  We chatted for a bit, actually starting to get to know each other properly now that we didn’t have to play pretend that we already did. It turned out that he was in a band, hence the studio time earlier today. The guys that he had come in with were his band mates, getting a drink after a long day. He had a general sense of charisma and charm about him. The more I talked to him, the more I wanted to keep talking to him. And thankfully the flirting dropped off once there was no longer anyone standing nearby to try and convince. It was easier on my brain to process our conversation without having to also process an attractive man hitting on me. Before I knew it, an hour had passed. I was surprised that he was still hanging around, given that what I had asked of him was done now.

“Did you want get out of here?” Matty eventually offered nonchalantly.

I choked on the cider I had been sipping, trying to recompose my thoughts. “What?” I spluttered.

“He’s still side eyeing you across the bar,” He explained, gesturing towards the other side of the room. He was right, sleazy man was boring holes into the side of my head. “if we leave together then he should get the hint.” Right. That made much more sense than the alternative reason as to why he’d ask that.

  Matty’s plan worked. We were not followed when we stepped outside into the brisk night air and ordered an uber. He sent a message to his friends, letting them know that he had to leave. I felt bad. His night had been forced to end because of me. I told him that it was fine now, that I’d be happy to head home by myself and he could go back inside to his friends. But he insisted that he make sure I get home safe. The sentiment was pretty heart-warming, to be honest. I doubt I could’ve picked a better guy to help me in such a shitty situation. Once we were settled in the back of the car, I could finally breathe a bit easier. It was nice to not feel like I was being shadowed.

“Sorry for ruining your night.” I apologised.

“Ah, you didn’t ruin it.” He said with a dismissive hand wave. “I dread the thought about what might’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up.” He continued, staring out the window pensively, before he seemed to knock himself out of whatever train of thought he had been on. “But good thing I was.” He said as he turned back to me with a bright grin.

“Well, thank you.” I nodded. “You were good company, for a fake date.” I chuckled, nudging his side playfully.

“Well… I wouldn’t mind taking you out to a bar again as a not fake date.” He offered, running a hand through his hair. He… what? My brain took a second to comprehend what he was suggesting. “If you’d let me.” He quickly added.

My thoughts kicked into gear as I realised that he thought I might decline. “Yeah. Yeah! That sounds like a good idea.” I agreed.

“I assure you, I’m a much better real date than fake date.”

[carolinaflicker]

birthday girl - calum hood

pairings: calum hood x reader

summary: it’s the reader’s 24th birthday, and somehow she can’t seem to keep her hands off of calum

genre: smut with a hint of fluff

warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, PROTECTED sex (wrap it before you tap it), slight daddy kink, teasing + degradation, calum being hot, also female pronouns!

word count: 1770

The faint smell of hairspray sat densely in the air as she checked her reflection one last time. The red on her lips sat bold, and the black material running down her body clung tight. She fiddled with the rings on her fingers, doubtfully swapping the combination before huffing and leaving them be.

She stared at her own face in the vanity as she began to lightly run her fingertips over every bump and blemish that held her skin prisoner. Before being able to pick apart every inch of her body, her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle call in the living room of her flat.

“Love, are you almost ready?”

She turned her head swiftly as she heard his approaching footsteps, seeing Calum appear in the doorway.

“You know it’s your birthday, right? You’re kind of the expected guest.” His low chuckle resonated through the room.

Her eyes scanned his face as if it would be the last time she saw him. Y/N found herself doing this frequently, and every time she would find something she hadn’t seen before. This time it was a small freckle just under his bottom lip.

She enjoyed these moments with Calum, the little things that made every day with him a new one. She’d never loved someone as much as she loved him and, quite like her boyfriend, once thought she’d never find it.

It was Calum’s teasing smile and quirked brow that prompted Y/N to realise she was staring at him and, with reddened cheeks, quickly turned to make herself busy.

“You look beautiful.” His hands fell upon her shoulders from behind, and she bathed in the comforting smell of his familiar cologne.

“So do you, handsome.” She said, smiling at him through the mirror.

Calum reached down to give a swift peck to the crown of her head before walking away, giving his girlfriend a gentle reminder of the time passing.

Placing her emergency kit into her purse, Y/N finally noticed the trousers that Calum had chosen to wear. Green and blue plaid adorned the muscles of his thighs, wrapping and moving in just the right places to make her palms sweaty.

She took incredible interest in the way the black shirt he’d tucked in was slightly unbuttoned to reveal two silver pendants resting on his toned chest. Her heart began racing as she fantasised kissing every inch that she could see.

She suspected he had picked these ones specifically for her birthday, knowing they were her favourite. Probably also knowing exactly how they made her feel.

After slipping her final foot into her heels, Y/N turned the light off in their shared bedroom and set her sights on seeking out Calum.

Finding him stood at their kitchen counter she took quick steps over to him, not hesitating to run her hands up his exposed chest to let them rest around the back of his neck.

Calum released a hum of satisfaction when his girlfriend planted her lips on the side of his neck. Placing one hand on her hip and the using the other to gently grab her chin, he pulled her gaze up to meet his.

“Was this morning not enough for you, princess?” When he received a shake of the head, he continued. “Oh and not at breakfast either? And then after the shower. And then-“

Y/N pulled his lips down to meet her own, not worrying in the slightest about the red stain she would leave after.

“C’mon, Cal,” She all but whined, “I need you.”

“And isn’t your life so hard, darling?” He tutted at her mockingly with a small pout, before squeezing her hip and walking away to grab his keys.

Calum let out a loud laugh when he heard Y/N’s dejected mutter about being the birthday girl.

———

The party was in full swing; people flooded every inch of the bar they had hired out, celebrities and friends alike. Shouted words were being exchanged over the bass of the music playing and shots were being thrown back like water.

Calum leant at the bar, nursing a drink in his hand, paying little attention to the story that Shawn Mendes had been telling him for the past 10 minutes.

Instead his gaze was focussed on his girl dancing across the room, happily being spun around by Luke and Ashton to the tune of Dancing Queen.

He had been watching for a while now. Seeing her like this with his band mates never bothered him, in fact Luke was the very reason Calum and Y/N knew each other at all.

Having met Y/N two years prior, Luke had invited her to his 21st knowing just how well she would get on with the bassist. Calum had thanked Luke more times than he could count for this, wondering every day how he had managed to find Calum his perfect half.

Now at his girlfriend’s 24th birthday, he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. Not out of jealousy, but rather out of pure want. He’d scanned the way her figure moved around the dance floor so many times he was almost dizzy, but that didn’t stop him.

As the music faded and the beginning chords of Wicked Games played through the speakers, Calum excused himself from Shawn quickly and made his way over.

It didn’t take him long, as Y/N soon felt a pair of familiar hands touch upon her waist, and she barely had to look back to recognise who it was. She released her hold on Ashton’s hand and turned her body around fully to face her boyfriend.

“Well hello, stranger.” Y/N’s face gleamed at Calum’s in the dim light.

“Hey, gorgeous. Having a good time?”

He could barely hear the happy sigh that left her mouth over the music but felt a warm feeling spread in his chest as she announced, “The best!”.

Brushing a strand of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear, he leaned down to whisper, “You wanna make it even better?”

The excited look she was giving him quickly turned darker, as she took her own turn to whisper.

“Show me what you got, handsome.”

Ignoring the cheers from Luke and Ashton, Calum grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her from the crowd. The woman had to stop herself from all but pouncing on her boyfriend then and there, instead giving a polite smile to Michael and Harry, who seemed to be in an animated conversation.

Y/N thanked every entity she could think of that the bar they’d hired was nice enough to sport separate bathrooms. She sure wasn’t quiet with Calum, yet with the music blasting and their own room, she doubted they’d be heard by anyone.

Rushing in and locking the door, Calum immediately lifted his girlfriend onto the counter. As if by magnets, the two grabbed at each other, kissing like their lives depended on it.

Y/N reached a hand into Calum’s curly hair and pulled, releasing a groan from the man’s mouth. As she attempted to grind against him further, he pulled away and took hold of her by the neck.

“Look at you, pretty girl. One word from me and you’re ready to drop your panties. When did you become such a slut?”

The fingers wrapped around her throat seemed to send the blood rushing faster to her core, a desperate, incoherent mewl escaping her lips.

As she reached down to unbuckle the belt around his waist, he was quick to pull her hands away.

“Not yet. Gotta take care of the birthday girl, right?”

“But I want you, Cal.” She cried.

“Shame.”

He tapped her waist, indicating for her to lift her hips slightly, as he pulled the hem of her dress up to her stomach. Dropping to his knees, he tossed both of her legs over his shoulders, getting closer to the ache between her legs.

Tantalisingly slow, Calum pulled the lacy thong she was wearing down her thighs before stuffing it into his back pocket.

Finally giving her what she wanted, he placed his hot tongue onto her clit, moving in slow circles. The moan that left Y/N’s lips was pornographic, and her hands immediately flew to grasp onto Calum’s hair again.

“I wanna hear you more, love.”

As if on cue, her whines pitched higher and higher, matching the muffled sound of She playing outside.

Increasing in pressure and speed, it didn’t take long for Calum to make Y/N a mess. He knew every curve of her body, every sign of pleasure and, equally, every sign of discomfort. With his knowledge, it never took him long to have her writhing underneath him.

“Calum!” She called, “I’m gonna-“

He stopped.

“Beg.”

Looking down in disbelief, Y/N found him fully content in not touching her until she gave him what he wanted. Huffing loudly, she tried to reach for him again in desperation.

“I’m pretty sure I gave you an instruction, baby.” He scoffed, pulling away even more.

“Fuck, Cal!” She released her stubbornness, “Please let me cum. Please!”

He immediately returned to his previous actions, making her cry out. Her body shuddered and she moaned as Calum finally let her release. She felt dizzy against the mirror, her face stinging from the intensity of her orgasm.

Giving her a check over and a chance to catch her breath, Calum reached down to unbuckle his belt and open his trousers. Stroking his shaft out of his boxers, he looked at the woman again.

“You ready?”

“Just fuck me, Cal.”

Earning a smug chuckle from the man as he pulled out a condom from his pocket and slid it on, she grabbed onto his shoulders as he took her words as gospel, pounding into her with no hesitation. Low grunts and swears left Calum’s lips as he thrusted deep and fast.

Y/N reached down to gently rub her now sensitive clit, releasing a cry as a certain thrust hit just the right spot.

Before she could stop herself, she released a series of incoherent whines, followed by Calum’s name as if in prayer.

“Fuck, daddy!”

Y/N’s regret immediately began to seep into her bones. This was a kink that she had quite happily kept to herself and for 3 years had been worried of Calum’s reaction if she ever brought it up.

This regret dissipated immediately however, as her boyfriend’s rhythm grew sloppier and harder at the name. Soon the room was filled with obscene cries as they both reached their climaxes, collapsing onto each other.

“Well,” Calum said after a breath, “You’ve never called me that before.”

This earned him a weak punch to the shoulder, the woman in his arms giggling lightly.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

[joyfullyjay]

bet on it ♛ park jay

summary: okay, you swear that you and jay were going to tell his bandmates about your relationship. but you definitely didn’t expect them to find out like this.

pairing: park jongseong (jay) x fem!reader

warnings: slightly suggestive (making out), but this is literally a crap ton of fluff

-

“did you know all of your members have a bet on when we would get together?”

now, those were words that jay definitely did not expect to come out of your mouth when you stepped into the bedroom, which was conveniently devoid of all of his conniving band members at the moment. 

“they what?!” jay’s eyes went wide under his wire-rimmed lenses, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“you heard what i said jay,” you huffed, throwing yourself next to him on his bunk. “your sneaky little band mates have a bet on when we would get together.” you placed your head in his lap, feeling the small bits of embarrassment and anger that had built up inside of you at the situation dissipate as his long fingers began to play with your hair.

“how did you find this out?” jay asked, annoyance melting away as he failed to hold back a smile when you let out a contented hum as his fingers ran across your scalp. 

“jake and sunghoon are horrible whisperers,” you told, letting out a light laugh. “i asked them where you were and while i was leaving the room i heard them say something about 20,000 won, you and me, and us being hopeless pining losers.”

jay laughed, head tossing back with his eyes disappearing slightly as he did so. your heart skipped a few beats as you looked up at him, a warmth spreading through your veins.

“on a scale of one to ten, how mad do you think they’ll be when we tell them we’ve been together for two months now?” a smirk spread across his face, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

yes, you and jay had officially gotten together two months ago. both of you weren’t exactly keeping your relationship a secret per se, it was just that you both didn’t enjoy pda and his members never asked whether or not you were together. 

you and jay had an inexpiable closeness, so it was normal for the rest of the band to see you guys sitting just a tad too close on the couch, hands only centimetres from each other, or his head leaning on your shoulder.

there was also the fact that the rest of the band loved to talk, and both you and jay were apprehensive of the possibility that someone could blurt out your secret during a live. 

“hm,” you raised your hand to your chin and began stroking it in thought. “i’d say a solid 8.”

jay nodded in agreement, taking a small section of your hair and beginning to braid it as thoughts began to run through his brain.

“do you think it’s time we told them? i wanna see their faces when they realize they all lost this bet of theirs.”

you raised your eyebrow. “is that the only reason you wanna tell them?” there was a teasing glint in your eyes, and jay responded by rolling his own.

“and because i want them to know you’re mine and i’m yours,” he paused, hands stilling in your hair for a few moments. “and i want to be able to hold and kiss you in front of them without having to hide.”

“that’s what i thought,” you sang, a smile on your face as you sat up from your position on his lap. jay lamented for a moment in the fact that his near-perfect braid sat half done on your head, but his disappointment was immediately gone as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. “i agree, let’s tell them now.”

“now as is now or now as in later?” he asked, pushing his hair back with one hand and using the other to grab you by the waist and pulling you onto his lap. 

your back was now to his chest, heart blooming in content as he started to press gentle kisses to the side of your neck. you laughed softly and leaned into his touched, eyes closing as you relished in the sensation of his lips on your skin. 

“i guess later would work better, hm?” you sighed, head tilting slightly to allow him better access to the smooth expanse of your skin. jay pulled away from your neck, and you nearly let out a whine at the loss of contact.

“you read my mind.”

with that he placed his hand on your cheek, turning your head so his lips could finally meet yours. the kiss was soft and slow, but filled you with such a warmth that you felt as if your heart would explode. 

you shifted your body to face him more, deepening the kiss as your legs dangled over the edge of the bunk. jay’s hands settled on your waist, hiking up your shirt a bit as his thumbs drew soft circles into your skin.

he pulled away yet again, the two of you in a breathless daze as he sent you a heart-melting smile.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, gazing adoringly at your flushed features. he gently squeezed at your hips, hands traveling so they rested on the skin of your lower back.

“and you’re so very handsome.” you grinned cheekily, raising your hand to brush a few strands of freshly dyed black hair out of his face. your fingers lingered for a moment over his temple before settling on his cheek. he leaned into your touch and smiled, causing your heart to flutter in ways it never had before. 

jay leaned back in and pecked your lips once, twice, three times; enjoying the way that your smile grew with each touch that your mouth made with his. he pulled you in for another kiss, this time long and sensual, sending a shiver up your spine and butterflies to fly rampant in your stomach.

“i love you so much,” he muttered into the kiss, not wanting to break the intimate contact that he was taking much delight in.

“i love you too-”

“jay hyung, jake hyung was wondering if- OH MY GOD MY POOR INNOCENT EYES!” you and jay were stopped dead in your tracks as jungwon burst into the room without warning, clearly not expecting to see the two of you in such a compromising position.

it was as if a freeze ray had hit you and your boyfriend, because instead of pushing off of him (as one would normally do), you stayed perched on jay’s lap, too stunned to move a single muscle. jay was the exact same, hands still placed unmovingly underneath your shirt.

you were planning on telling the others about your relationship, but this was definitely not how you wanted them to find out.

jungwon’s loud exclamation had caught the attention of the others, who almost immediately appeared in the doorway as well. one by one their jaws dropped, taking in the sight of messy hair, swollen lips and flushed complexions.

“what the hell?” 

sunghoon’s voice rang clear in your ears, the black haired boy taking the liberty of shoving his hand over ni-ki’s eyes in order to maintain the innocence of their youngest.

“uh,” for all the languages that jay knew, he was at a complete loss for words as his eyes flickered rapidly from you to his bandmates. 

“just ‘best friends’ my ass,” sunoo scoffed, folding his arms across his chest and pouting.

it was then that you realized that you should definitely get the hell off of jay’s lap, prompting you to shove your boyfriend back and hop off of him, choosing instead to sit on the edge of the bed.

“well, hey guys?” you offered an awkward smile, sending a little wave to the shocked group of boys hovering in the doorway. 

“i just caught you smacking faces with jay hyung and that’s all you have to say?” jungwon exclaimed, eyes still as wide as ever. 

“uh, yeah?” you were still unsure of what to say in the very awkward situation that you had caught yourself in, and jay had seemingly turned to stone next to you, so he was being no help at all.

the boys all groaned collectively, and you’re pretty sure that sunghoon face-palmed with the hand that wasn’t still covering ni-ki’s innocent eyes.

“wait, so are you guys dating now?” jake’s voice had an undertone of excitement, laced with genuine curiosity. the others’ shock was also wearing off, and they instictually began to lean in closer to hear better.

not wanting to reveal this by yourself, you elbowed jay lightly, finally knocking him out of his stupor. he looked at you with confusion, and you quickly pulled him in to whisper into his ear.

“he asked if we’re dating now,” you explained quietly, and he nodded in understanding.

he cleared his throat. “yes, we’re dating.”

the room erupted with noise at jay’s confirmation, a mixture of cheering, congratulations, and general sounds of excitement. you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, your boyfriend taking the opportunity to snake his arm around your waist and pull you back onto his lap. his chin came to rest of your shoulder, eyes glistening fondly as his bandmates voiced their elation at the confirmation of your relationship.

“wait!” sunghoon’s voice cut clear through the sounds, and the room silenced almost immediately. “when did you two get together?”

their eyes all locked onto you and jay, and if you thought that the tension in the room was stifling earlier, it was nothing compared to right now. every single gaze was locked onto your form (even ni-ki was staring, after managing to pry sunghoon’s hand off of him during the commotion earlier), and it seemed like they were all holding their breaths in anticipation.

you shared a glance with jay, having a quick telepathic moment as you stifiled back a smirk.

“two months ago.”

it took a few moments for the information to sink into their brains after hearing yours and jay’s synchronised words, but after they had processed what you had just said, all hell broke loose.

jake was yelling incoherently, slumped dramatically in the doorway at his loss. sunoo and ni-ki were in a similar state of mind, while the others had began to lament in ways that were as equally dramatic.

“two months?!”

“are you serious?”

“wait, does this mean i lost?”

“how the hell did you hide this from us for two whole months?”

the noise quieted down at heeseung’s question, and six pairs of eyes were now turned towards you and jay yet again.

jay shrugged. “you never asked.”

more yelling. again. if you were being frank, your ears were beginning to hurt with the amount of chaos happening right in front of you. and it was clear that jay was at the end of his patience, judging by the way his face was beginning to screw up in annoyance.

“oi! calm down you guys!” his voice yelled above the commotion, the members falling silent as they caught wind of jay’s irritation. once he realized that the boys had finally reached a state of calm, his features and voice softened. “we’re sorry we didn’t tell you all sooner, we just wanted to make sure we were both secure in our relationship before telling anyone. we also didn’t want to risk anyone accidentally spilling our secret, but genuinely, we’re sorry about not telling you all.” you nodded in agreement with your boyfriend’s words, carefully surveying the boys for their reactions.

jake sighed, standing up straight and eyes softening. “we understand.” the rest of the members nodded along with his sentiment. “being in a relationship is tough as is, and given the fact that we’re idols, it probably makes it even harder.”

“thank you guys for understanding, it really means a lot to us.” you smiled, lacing your fingers together with jay’s from where his hand rested on your thigh. the room’s atmosphere began to relax, returning to it’s normal cheeriness that it normally was when the boys were around.

“oh! there’s one more thing,” you piped up, and the boys all froze in their place, slowly turning to look at you. “if i catch you guys making any more bets on our relationship, i will personally throw away all of the ramen in this household and put glue in your shampoo.” pure fear made its way onto their faces at your words, and an odd sense of satisfaction settled in your body at the sight.

“that’s my girl.” jay smirked at his members, before looking at you with sickeningly sweet eyes. you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, relishing in the way it made the other boys begin to fake gag and cover their eyes at your now open affection.

“and that’s our queue to leave,” heeseung called out, beginning to herd the rest of the boys out of the room. soon enough you and jay were the only ones left in the bedoroom, the yelling of the boys becoming more faint with each second. 

heeseung began to close the door, but not before poking his head in one final time.

“just a quick reminder that all of us do sleep in here, including our dearest baby niki, so if you do anything dirty here you’ll be desecrating the sleeping place of a precious child so-”

“aish, just get out of here!” jay yelled, throwing a pillow at the doorway. heeseung’s eyes widened and he quickly shut the door, missing the flying pillow by only a millisecond.

once you were truly alone, the two of you sat in silence for a few moments, mulling over the chaotic ten minutes you had just experienced.

“so, that just happened like that?”

“yup, it definitely did.”

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Ray Toro x Reader - Deadline - Part Two

Request: Ooh what about a part 2 for Deadline where Mikey doesn't know that they confessed and he goes to Ray and tells him and they just play along thxx

Summary: Mikey still plans to tell Ray you’re in love with him, not knowing Ray and you are already together

Word count: 1 276

Part One

Maybe it was mean. Maybe Mikey did not deserve it. But then again maybe he did. If he had not tried pressuring you into telling Ray how you felt about him, you might have told him about the turn of events, of how you had accidentally confessed your feelings for the guitarist, how you had kissed while watching the sunset. But because Mikey had teased you, you did not tell him. But you told Ray about what Mikey had been up to, and Ray being Ray, came up with a plan on the spot.

As much as it pained both of you not to be able to finally kiss and hug whenever you wanted, you decided you should wait until the following evening before revealing the newest development. After all, that evening Mikey’s deadline was running out, and if he really planned on telling Ray how you felt for him, that would be incredible amusing.

Sure enough you all had dropped down in the dressing room after the show was over, sweaty and exhausted, when Mikey shot you a devilish glance. Oh how much you wanted to hate him, but at the same time you knew that it was him he was going embarrass.

“So, (y/n),” he spoke up, speaking a little louder than he would have done usually to get everyone’s attention. Luckily nobody other than the five band members were present. “How’ve you been?”

“Dude, we’ve been spending the past three months on super tight space, you know how I’ve been doing,” you rolled your eyes, knowing he was simply searching for a way into the conversation.

“How’s that thing going?”

“What thing,” Frank turned around from where he had changed into a fresh shirt, eyeing you curiously, “are you working on that drum-solo again? Man, I sure hope you do, because it’s about fucking time you finally get one.”

“As a matter of fact, I have, Frank,” you grinned, shooting Mikey a smug grin. “I’m almost finished, maybe two more days? And then I could play it to you guys, to get your opinion.”

“You’re the drummer, (y/n). If you think it’s good enough, then it’s probably better than that,” Frank grinned. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Maybe you should play it to Ray first,” Mikey suggested, earning raised eyebrows from you, “you know, he’s a good drummer too. You two might want some alone time.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s much I could help (y/n) with,” Ray laughed, knowing as well as you did, what Mikey was planning, “they’re a bloody brilliant drummer.”

“But maybe (y/n) would like to get some help from you, Ray,” Mikey teased, sending you a huge grin.

“Mikey, stop it,” you warned.

“Stop what?” Now even Gerard had noticed the increasingly weird conversation.

“Isn’t there something you’d like to tell –“

“Don’t make a fool out of yourself, Mikes,” you reminded him, but he only grinned wider.

“Ray, what would you say if I told you that (y/n) would like to… get to know you a little better?”

You could feel Ray’s side glance on you, before he spoke, and you had to try really hard to hold in your laughter.

“Get to know me better,” he asked innocently while putting down a water bottle he had been drinking from, “I think we already know each other pretty well, to be honest.”

“Yeah, but only as friends,” Mikey argued.

“Wait a sec,” Frank jumped up, wide eyed, “are you saying-“ he pointed between you and Ray

Mikey just shrugged.

“I knew it,” Frank cheered, “I knew (y/n) had a thing for Ray!”

“Wow, okay, calm down, Frank,” you rolled your eyes. How many times had you done that today already?

“What-? What are you saying,” Gerard asked, stepping closer.

“Just that maybe (y/n) likes Ray more than just as a friend, or band mate,” Mikey giggled.

“You sound like a twelve year old who just found out their friend has a crush,” you mumbled, and even though you knew that what Mikey so enthusiastically announced was no news to Ray, you could feel a blush burn in your cheeks.

“Well, I sure hope they do,” Ray shrugged carelessly, “otherwise me telling them that I love ‘em yesterday would have been very embarrassing.”

Ray’s casual statement had the hoped for effect. For a few seconds there was absolute silence in the changing room. The Mikey, Frank and Gerard all started talking at once.

“Oh, this is some good shit right there guys,” Frank laughed, “ha, I can’t fucking believe you just told him his lover loves him. Oh my god, Mikey!”

“When did that happen? Why didn’t I know of this? How come Mikey knew, but I didn’t? Am I that bad at keeping secrets? Hey, since when are you two a thing? You’re my best friend, Ray, how could you not tell me,” Gerard whined.

But shouting over both Frank and Gerard was Mikey.

“You already knew? What the hell? Were you just playing me,” he asked, gesturing wildly between Ray and you, “all this time I was trying to set you up, and you don’t even tell me once you’re actually together? How can you be so cruel? I just want you two to be happy and you-“

“That’s what you get for blackmailing me,” you laughed, “serves you right!”

“They do have a point, Mikey,” Gerard agreed. “You can’t just tell someone somebody likes them! What if they don’t feel the same! What if you would have embarrassed (y/n)!”

“Well, I knew I wouldn’t embarrass them, at least not for long,” Mikey defended, “because actually-“

“Actually I had already told him that I like (y/n),” Ray explained, “so from that perspective it was all fail safe.”

For a moment there was silence again.

“So in other words, Ray and (y/n) are dating now,” Frank concluded, and shrugged. “I can live with that.”

“Good to know you won’t drop dead now,” you joked, and Frank sent a mocking air kiss your way.

“So…” Gerard looked into everyone’s faces before turning to Ray and you, “congratulations or something?”

You laughed and Ray was about to reply something equally stupid when Frank interrupted him.

“Yeah yeah, rainbows and pink fluffy clouds and all that, but I’m hungry can we go out for dinner?”

Ray turned to you and shook his head before wrapping his arm around your waist.

“Such a romantic, isn’t he,” he joked, making you giggle.

“But he’s right, I’m starving too,” you admitted.

“So am I,” Mikey pipped in, “but actually I might just need a distraction from this embarrassment. You’re already together, oh man.”

“Dinner it is then,” Gerard agreed.

Frank cheered quietly, and one after the other left the changing room, until only Ray and you were left. When you were about to leave as well, Ray grabbed your wrist and held you back.

“Happy with your revenge,” he asked quietly, a soft smile on his lips.

“Very,” you agreed and smiled back. “but even happier about being able to do this.”

And with that you got on your tip toes and gently kissed Ray, making him smile. He was pulled you closer and was about to wrap you in a hug, when Frank suddenly shouted for you to come.

Unwillingly Ray pulled away from you.

“One of these days we might be able to kiss without being constantly interrupted,” he joked, taking your hand in his, just like he had done the day prior.

“While being on tour with those three idiots?” you asked, following him as he led you out of the changing room and down a corridor, “Keep dreaming.”

  Taglist (if you want to be added or taken off, please let me know; crossed out are blogs i cannot tag anymore):

General: @alexstyx @recommendedattheprice @jayloverthe3rd @robinruns @lookalivefrosty @butterflycore @vamp-void @angelevansfalls

MCR: @deadlovers​

[tommodirection]

Little Sister

Harry Styles x Tomlinson! Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, playful mentions of Larry

Masterlist

A/N: Heylo! I hope you enjoy this! I’ve been working on this for about a month now, never being able to finish it, but I decided to sit down and finish it tonight instead of wallowing in self-pity! The Larry mention at the end is meant to be funny and playful, not something to take seriously! Thank you and have a nice day! ❤️💕🥰

—

When your brother went to audition for the X-Factor in 2010, you expected him to come home after, maybe with a signed record deal, maybe not, but home nonetheless.

Instead, he was put into a boy band with four other boys, and moved out. Your mother was proud, of course as anyone would be, but that also meant her oldest child had left the nest.

That left you, now the oldest in the house, and your four younger sisters. Your mum was handling it the best she could, but with Mark out of the house constantly, it got stressful for her.

You didn’t like Mark that much, sure, he was nice, and he treated your mother alright, he just didn’t seem like a commitment kind of guy to you.

You were adopted shortly after your mum left Louis’s father. Mark was accepting of the fact that she already had two kids, but became a bit offended when she took your side in an argument instead of one of their kids.

You loved all your siblings equally, well, Louis a bit more than the other girls, but you still loved them no matter how their father acted.

When Louis left, you were left to help your mother with the other girls, Mark not being much help. You were often left to help them get ready for school, get ready for bed, and you even had to run errands for your mother.

Since you were only 16, and hadn’t gotten a driver’s license, you had to walk almost everywhere, but you didn’t mind, not when you were helping your mother.

Having a brother who had recently become a famous member of a boy band, also meant you had to watch all the girls at your school drool over him. This also meant that a lot more people were trying to be friendly to you.

Most of the girls at your school loved Louis, probably because they thought they had the best chance with him, not that they had any chance.

However, you preferred Harry. You always had a soft spot for sweet boys with curly hair, but this time felt different. It probably was just a silly little crush, you’d obsess for a few weeks and then get over it.

You were so, so wrong.

You watched your brother and his mates smash their way through the charts for the next two years, becoming the best boy band of the generation.

The whole family was immensely proud of him, even Mark. You were particularly proud of Harry, though the rest of your family didn’t really care.

The small crush hadn’t faded, instead it had grown in the past two years, each time you saw him on a photo your brother sent, or on TV, you flushed and your heart started racing.

He was just perfect. Perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect dimples, perfect smile, perfect lips, perfect everything.

It honestly kind of upset you sometimes.

There you were, the sister of one of his best mates, same age as him too, and yet you had never met him.

That all changed when the band went to Madison Square Garden at the end of the year.

Since you were eighteen and finished with college, you were allowed to go with your mother to go see Louis perform.

As you and your mother approached the stadium, you felt a wave of awe wash over you. Your brother’s face was on the fucking front of Madison Square Garden. He was getting paid to be here.

Where the fuck did you go wrong?

The driver that Louis had hired pulled up in the front, allowing you both to get out along with Liam’s mum, Karen, who was a lovely lady.

You all climbed out of the car onto the busy New York City street, people busling past your trio to file into the large arena.

Your mother grabbed your hand and Karen’s as well, pulling you both into line.

Meanwhile, the boys were sitting in front of the camera, discussing their feelings about the upcoming show. Zayn and Liam were currently in the dressing room, and Niall was finishing his dinner, so Louis and Harry were left to be interviewed.

“You know, this is a big show for us, obviously,” Harry said, trying not to be gesticulative as he spoke, nerves buzzing through his body.

“Yeah, of course it’s big cos it’s MSG, but this is also the only one that all of us have at least one family member in the audience. Liam, Niall, and Zayn have their mums, Harry has his mum and stepdad, and my mum and sister are coming, which is of course rattling, you want them to be proud of you,” Louis said, leaning back on the couch.

Harry paused for a moment, “Wait, which sister?”

“Y/N, she’s finished with school, so mum let her come down, she’s ecstatic,” Louis smiled and Harry nodded, trying to keep a straight face for the camera.

He had never met you, he’s only heard stories from Louis, and seen pictures that his mum always sent him of all the girls.

He thought you were adorable, who wouldn’t? He wouldn’t call it a crush, he hadn’t even met you. However, there was definitely something about you that drew him near you.

Once you had gotten inside, Karen insisted on going to buy something. The concert was starting in a few minutes, so there weren’t many people at the tables, most already in their seats.

She was beaming, looking at all of the stuff with her son’s face on it, your mother bearing a similar smile. Karen spotted the cardboard cutouts of the boys. And her eyes lit up.

She rushed to buy one, your mother chuckling, but you could tell she was contemplating on buying one herself.

The pair began to walk away, the camera crew following them, but you stayed behind, stepping up to the cashier.

Your mother must’ve noticed you weren’t there, as seconds later she was at your side, rubbing your arm lightly.

“Whatcha buying?” She asked, humming as she moved her hand to your upper back.

You felt yourself flush as you ordered the Harry cutout. Your mother was laughing her arse off, clutching her stomach as she doubled over.

You felt embarrassed, but understood her reaction. Karen turned around to see the commotion and saw the cashier handing you the Harry cutout. She gave a light chuckle and waved you both over.

Your mother pretended to wipe a tear from her cheek, smirking at you, “Aw, my baby’s in love!” She teased and you bit your lip.

“Shut up,” you mumbled weakly.

The camera crew saw the interaction, getting the whole thing on tape. As you passed the camera, you gave it a small, awkward smile, stuffing the Harry under your arm.

The show was amazing, you didn’t expect any less.

The boys were energetic, entertaining the audience as they jumped and ran around the stage, clearly enjoying themselves.

You were placed in the front, along with the other mothers and Robin, Harry’s step-father. During Louis’ solos, you and your mother would cheer the loudest, the others doing the same for their respective child.

Each boy came to wave to all of you, grinning as they sang. Louis just made a funny face at you and your mother, almost missing his cue.

The other boys did similar things, running to wave while they were singing, but Harry hadn’t come over yet, something that was clearly disturbing Anne.

During a brief break in between songs, Harry came to sit on the edge of the stage in front of all of you. The fans surrounding you all were screaming, some laughing when he gave a bashful wave.

He brought the microphone to his mouth, interrupting Liam’s monologue.

“That’s my mummy!” He pointed to Anne, making her giggle as he bounced up and down where he sat. “Hi mummy!” He yelled, giving an over enthusiastic wave, the audience loving every second.

A grin spread across your face, watching the interaction warmed your heart. Anne was loving it, she blew Harry a kiss, and he caught it, pressing it to kiss cheek.

“I love you mum,” he said, seriously. The audience and all the boys on stage letting out a sweet ‘aw’.

“I love you, Hazza!” Anne tried to yell above the audience, her voice being drowned out, but Harry understood her perfectly.

He turned his attention to the rest of you, “Hi everyone!” He waved again, his grin still just as wide. His eyes scanned over each of you, and his met yours. “Y/N? You’re Lou’s sister, right?” He asked and you nodded, trying to ignore your mum poking your arm. “Damn!” He yelled and you felt yourself gaping, Louis standing up quickly.

“Excuse me?” He asked, in mock offense.

Harry realized his mistake, “No, no, no! That came out wrong,” he turned to you, “I didn’t mean any disrespect, I just mean that I imagined you being like,” he held up his hand a few feet off the ground, “this tall based on how Lou described you, and that is certainly not the case,” he affirmed and Louis playfully rolled his eyes.

“Sure,” he dragged it out, “I’m sure that’s what you meant,” he joked, and Harry stood, brushing off his bum.

“Anyways! On with the show!”

—

A few months later, the boys sat huddled around a table in the film director’s conference room.

The film was finally completed, and the boys were invited to watch it and suggest changes. The boys were a bit into the film now, mostly taking the piss out of it and teasing each other.

Then came the footage from Madison Square Garden.

The boys stayed silent the whole time that the mothers were speaking, being quiet for the first time since the film started.

After showing the mothers’ thoughts on them performing at MSG, it cut to the interviews backstage. It was mostly just the boys’ preparation. Harry and Louis’ interview showed up, and the teasing started right up again.

“Louis, did you see the way his face lit up when you mentioned Y/N?” Liam said through laughter, Zayn and Niall laughing with him.

Harry was glaring at the boys, trying to avoid looking at Louis, a furious blush coating his cheeks. Louis was trying to hide his smile, looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

Truth was, he didn’t mind at all. Sure, it was a little weird, but he knew Harry, and Louis knew about your little crush on him, your mum had told him about it and had even sent pictures of the Harry cutout, now set up in your room. He would rather you date Harry than some random kid from Doncaster. You and Harry would work well together, he may even dare to say you were perfect for each other. There was only one problem; you hadn’t met.

The boys had finally calmed down and the rest of the film continued. While Liam and Niall were talking about the time they had to be smuggled through a bread van, Louis took his chance. He leaned over, catching Harry’s attention, “Don’t listen to them, if I’m being honest with you, I wouldn’t mind if you dated my sister,” he whispered, Harry immediately getting flustered.

“I, what? I don’t know what you’re talking about, you’re mad,” Harry mumbled and Louis chuckled, patting Harry’s knee.

“It’s alright lad, no need to explain yourself.”

The topic wasn’t brought up again until the movie came out.

Well, it technically hadn’t come out yet. Each boy was allowed to stream it at their home, they were sent digital copies. Louis had invited you over to watch it a week before it officially came out, and of course you had said yes.

You decided to spend the week with him, needing a break from managing the house with your mother. You had felt guilty, seeing as it was now her alone, Mark had left early on in your brother’s departure. Although, Dan, her new fiancé, was there to help out a bit.

You pulled up outside his apartment building, parking and grabbing your bag from the passenger’s seat. You made your way into the apartment, keeping your head down as you knocked on the door.

Louis opened it, throwing his arms open with a large grin on his face. You set your bag down, giggling as you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him tightly.

“I missed you,” you mumbled into his chest.

“I missed you too,” he said, swaying with you in the doorway for a moment. He pulled away, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited someone else over too!”

“I don’t mind,” you said, squinting at your brother, why was he being so cheeky about it?

“Great! Alright, come on in! Harry’s on the couch, and before we watch the film, we’re gonna watch interviews!” He ushered you inside, grabbing your bag.

You stopped once you had entered the house, turning back to Louis, “Hold, go back there for a second, did you say Harry’s here?” You asked, quickly panicking.

You were answered by a voice behind you, “Louis, is your guest…” Harry trailed off as you turned around. He gaped for a moment, clearing his throat quickly, “Oh, uhm, hi Y/N, Louis didn’t say you were coming,” his eyes left you to quickly glance at Louis.

“Hi,” you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek.

It was quiet for a few moments, and Louis interjected, “Ready to watch the interviews?” He asked, not even waiting for an answer as he dragged both of you to the living room.

He sat down on the couch, pulling you and Harry on either side of him. “They sent me a weird version they made that has the interviews first, and the movie immediately after,” he leaned over and picked up a napkin he had set on the table.

On it were two times stamps, one that was pretty early on, and one that was presumably later in the film. He scrolled on the TV for a moment, getting the setting right and pressing start once the DVD was processed.

He began to fast forward through most of the interviews, you were a bit confused when he came to a stop in the middle of the interviews. You were about to say something, but he turned the volume all the way up, pressing play.

“If you had to set up your sister with one of the band, and you could trust them, who would it be?” The interviewer asked, leaning forwards as she spoke.

Liam and Zayn erupted, “None, none of them!” They both chided, clear looks of disgust on their face.

Louis sat contemplating for a moment, both Liam and Zayn looking at him with knowing smiles, “I have an ideal pair in mind, I’m not going to verify who, the lads already know who it is, my sister doesn’t, but I’ve got a plan,” he smirked, nodding enthusiastically.

The Louis next to you looked at his napkin again, fast forwarding it again, this time you were sat for a little bit longer, the tension in the room growing thicker. Both you and Harry had a feeling that he was talking about you guys, but neither of you dared say anything.

He unpaused it again, this time it was the actual film, iit showed you and your mum, along with Karen, it was the MSG footage.

You began panicking, trying to grab the remote from Louis, “Louis, Louis, turn it off, turn it off!” You yelled as you tackled him, reaching for the remote he was holding high.

He ducked to his side, quickly stuffing the remote down his trousers as the film continued playing. He gave you a triumphant smirk, but you narrowed your eyes, “don’t think I won’t look in there,” you threatened, and he shot up, running to the washroom, giggling the whole way.

You let out a grunt of defeat, collapsing on the couch and shrinking in on yourself, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh god, ‘m so so sorry Harry,” you grumbled, sinking further into the couch.

Harry let out a low chuckle, “It’s alright, love. I’ve already seen the movie,” he admitted and you let out an exasperated sigh.

“Shit,” you mumbled.

“Hey, nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assured, you felt him put his hand on your knee, making you flush even further. “In fact, if the roles were reversed, I probably would’ve bought a cutout of you too,” he began rubbing a small circle on your knee.

You removed your hands from your face at his confession, looking at him in confusion, “Wait, really?”

“Of course! When we first got together as a band, you called Louis, and he stepped outside for a minute to talk to you, when he got back, he had the biggest smile on his face. At first we thought that it was a girl he’d been talking to, but then he told us it was his sister, and I just had to know more about the girl who made him smile that big. He began talking about you, and about your other family of course, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how he described you, then he showed me pictures, and you just blew me away, as cheeky as it sounds,” he laughed lightly, your eyes traced his profile, “then I saw you at MSG, and I was even more shocked, you were much more mature than the last picture Louis had showed us. I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl who smiled brighter than sun, the one who loved her family more than anything, the one who could make anyone laugh just by speaking, and I hadn’t even met you! But now I’ve actually met you, and even seeing you wrestled with Louis earlier, it confirmed everything I already thought.” He paused, his eyes opening quickly, “I-Uhm, if you don’t like any of that, you can just ignore all of it.”

You sat in disbelief, joy overwhelming you, “Wait, so you like me?”

“I mean, yeah, if that whole speech wasn’t convincing enough, I can show you my diary,” he offered, and you put a finger to his lips.

“As tempting as that is, I really want to kiss you right now, is that alright?” You asked, scooting closer to him on the couch.

“Yeah, that would be amazing,” he giggled, placing his hand on your cheek as your lips met.

It was awkward at first, you were both angled on the couch, neither position comfortable. You shifted closer, slowly crawling onto his lap, quickly pulling away to make sure it was okay with him. When he gave you a subtle nod, you connected your lips again, his sweet, oddly sugary, plush lips. You ran your fingers through his curls, quickly tangling them. He put his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him as you continued to kiss. It was heavenly, everything you had ever dreamed of. Of course, your paradise had to be interrupted by something.

“Oi Oi!” Louis yelled from the hallway, “I get you like each other and all, but this is my couch, come on lads!” He complained, causing you to hurry off of Harry’s lap, taking a seat beside him. He playfully scoffed, pointing a finger at you, “Now, I’m going to get some food from the kitchen, no snogging while I’m gone!” He demanded as he walked out of the room.

You and Harry giggle to yourself, he turned to you, a playful smile adorning his face, “y’know, now that I’m dating a Tomlinson, maybe the Larries will finally back off,” he joked, earning a chuckle from you.

“Oh darling, you’re forgetting one thing,” you chided, he turned to you, obviously confused. “I’m the biggest Larrie of them all,” you teased.

“Oh shut it!” Both he and Louis yelled.

Permanent Taglist (If you want to be added just let me know!): @notsosmexy @ladytommomomoa @franchesca-791 @alwayshave-faith @bxtchboy69

[the-void-i-scream-into]

White Tulips - Cut Chapter

Hey Everyone. I hope who ever reads this is happy and healthy. So I wrote this idea for my Han Seojun x Kang Sujin fanfic but it didn’t really fit the story at the time, even though I had set it up in the published story twice, so I cut it. But I still loved this idea so I wanted to share it here. 

I would have shared it earlier but I was trying to get the Joseon Era AU started before that but man, have I been struggling with that story. Writing historic fanfic is HARD! Anyway I still wanted to leave this here. Hope you all like it. 

Pairing: Kang Sujin x Han Seojun

Word Count: 1.7k 

Rating: Slightly Mature... or maybe PG 15? I dunno. I am bad with ratings

i.

For all of his flaws, Han Seojun had one thing going for him. He was unashamed. Unashamed of his slight lack of academic intelligence, unashamed of his troublemaker persona, and definitely unashamed of losing to Kang Sujin at everything imaginable.

“Ah-nee, how could you get so good at basketball?” He panted, pulling up his shirt to wipe his brow, not because he was sweaty, but because he wanted Sujin to stare at his abs.

“I was always good, Han Seojun.” Sujin said proudly, holding the basketball by her waist as she unabashedly eyed his abs. “I told you, I was just off my game that day.”

“You were distracted by my face.” Seojun smirked.

“Of course, I was. I had a massive crush on you.” She grinned, kissing him.

“Ooooh, chagi, you had a crush on meee.” Seojun teased like a school boy who had discovered her most embarrassing secret.

“We’re practically married.” Sujin pointed out dryly, the fact that they had been together for over a year now.

“Still.” Seojun grinned.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I finally did beat you.” Sujin countered.

Seojun didn’t tell her that he had let her win today. Her loved her competitiveness and the giddy way she grinned when she won. If Seojun could, he would let her win everything her heart desired. But this he would never tell her, mostly because she would kill him. And Seojun really wanted to live, especially now that he had someone else to live with.

“Technically, we’re at a draw. You only cancelled out your win from back then.” He stated. The two had started packing their things. Sujin dumped her water bottle in their gym bag.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m about to win this argument.” Sujin grinned an evil grin, leaning closer. She spoke in a sing-song voice, “I know your big secret.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Seojun smirked. He was an open book, there was nothing he ever hid from anyone. And even if he did, there was nothing he was ashamed of.

Sujin took out her phone and pressed play.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Really? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Say la la la la la la la la la la la

“Told you I would find out.” Sujin’s evil grin spread wide as Seojun’s smug smile wavered.

Oh no.

It turned out that here indeed was one thing that Han Seojun was ashamed of.

“Ya, Kang Sujin!” Seojun went for her phone but she bounced out of his way, skipping backward.

“What’s wrong, Seojun-ah? Don’t like this song?” She asked in mock innocence.

Oh God, the horror. The pain, the anguish! The embarrassment!

“Ya! Come here!” Seojun ran after her and she sprinted away from him, running around the court. “Stop playing that!”

“No way. This is my new favorite song.” Sujin shouted back breathlessly as she ran full speed. Seojun caught up with her and she squealed and laughed as he held her by the waist.

“Are you not going to stop?” He didn’t lunge for her phone. Instead opted to tickle her, making her squeal some more, laughing uncontrollably.

“I cave! I cave!” She said, her eyes tearing up from the laughing.

Seojun took her phone and turned off the song. Sujin was red from laughter and Seojun felt an ache to kiss her then and there. But he didn’t want to encourage her triggering the PTSD he had from that embarrassing incident in high school.

“Lim Jukyung is such a traitor. I can’t believe she told you.”

“I’m your girlfriend. Of course, she told me. Shouldn’t I know you were dancing around half naked in front of another woman?” Sujin wiped the tears from her eyes, still shaking from the aftershocks of laughing.

“Aish! That was so embarrassing. I never want to remember that happened.” Seojun admitted, going red as he thought back to when he had been dancing around in his house, wearing nothing but his underwear and had failed to notice that Lim Jukyung had been there with his sister the entire time.

“Waeeee? I find it funny.” And then she burst out laughing again. Han Seojun walked away in a huff. He couldn’t face the embarrassment any longer, especially not in front of Sujin.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Sujin chased after him.

Han Seojun would have buried the incident again, along with his memory of that song but then there it was again.

That dreaded song.

They were having lunch with everyone; Jukyung, Suho, Taehoon, Suah and his squad with Chorong, when suddenly, he heard the tune faintly.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Seojun thought he was imagining it. But then Sujin took out her phone and the song played clearer. That damn woman had set it as her ring tone.

That dreaded song.

“Oops, getting a call. Be right back.” Sujin said with just enough pretend innocence that it passed off as sincere to others, but he knew. He knew.

Han Seojun glared at Jukyung accusingly and she made an apologetic face. Luckily, no one else seemed to pick up on Seojun’s discomfort. Suho did give him a pointed look but Suho knew that he did not have the privilege of making fun of Seojun the way Sujin did. And that wasn’t a matter of Seojun getting mad at him. It was a matter of Kang Sujin destroying anyone who would say one syllable against her boyfriend.

“Sujinnie,” Seojun pouted like a child that night as they made dinner, “I don’t like your ringtone.”

Her phone had been ringing all day. A little too frequently, Seojun had noticed. It was almost as if Sujin had scheduled all of her calls to today just to mess with him.

“Oh, should I change it?” She asked causally, “Okay, you pick something you like.”

Seojun grinned and padded over to the counter, setting her ringtone to one of his songs.

That night Seojun had gone to sleep thinking that chapter of his embarrassing event was over. He dreamed peacefully of being on stage and serenading Sujin with the songs he had written for her. But then his dream was interrupted with that jingle again.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Seojun woke up with a gasp. No, it wasn’t just his dream. The song was actually playing. Sujin stirred and shut off her alarm.

Her alarm that was set to play Okey Dokey.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooo! Seojun screamed in his head, cursing the storm he imagined himself drowning in. He loved Kang Sujin. He could never deny her anything, even if it led to his own torment.

But why, why out of everything she had to choose this.

Sujin got up, and didn’t even notice Seojun stuff his head in his pillow as she went to the bathroom.

“Hyung, are you okay?” One of his bandmates asked upon seeing Seojun’s dark circles and dead expression.

“Huh? I’m okey, dokey.” He responded dreamily. The band member backed away in concern.

ii.

Ever since they had gotten close, Seojun had stopped challenging her. True, they would still tease and play the push-pull game but it wasn’t like it had been before. Before they had felt like equals. Now it felt like Sujin had all the power and oddly enough, she didn’t like that. She worried it might get too boring for Han Seojun. She worried it wasn’t good for him to coddle her so much. He needed to have just as much of a say in things as she did.

She had meant the song to just stir some new challenge between them. He would respond with embarrassment and demand that she gets rid of the song. He would finally set a line for her; a restriction and she would comply to and balance would be restored. No longer would she be the one dictating everything.

But it had the opposite effect. Sujin hadn’t realized how it was torturing him till she saw him jump when they passed by a store that had been coincidentally playing the song.

“It’s following me.” Seojun had hissed. Sujin became worried she had gone too far. She hadn’t realized how much the incident had affected him.

Fortunately, Sujin knew what to do.

Come home early tonight. Sujin’s text came.

“Is everything okay?” He asked the second he entered. Sujin never asked him to be home early, knowing his busy schedule. He was lucky that his other band mate had gotten ill, and practice had been cancelled.

“Yeah, gimme a minute!” Sujin called from their bedroom.

Seojun threw his jacket on the sofa and unbuttoned his sleeves, getting ready to make dinner. But then he froze.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

He groaned, “Aaaaah, chagiiii! Geuman-hae already.” He turned and then froze again, dropping his phone on the floor.

In the door frame of their bedroom stood Kang Sujin wearing leopard print camisole and a blue bathrobe, striking an exaggerated dancing pose. The camisole reached just below her thighs. The rest of her long, long, long legs were available for him to gawk at.

Seojun gulped. Good God.

You ready?

I'm ready

Yea, okey dokey yo

Sujin began dancing to the song just like he had, singing along as she moved through the hallway with the graceful movements of a more practiced dancer. It was funny but all too captivating at the same time.

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo,

Is that true? Yes! Okey dokey yo

She came in and danced her way to the fridge, taking out a water bottle, and pouring it over her head.

Really? Yes! Okey dokey yo

Say la la la la la la la la la la la

She didn’t have the chance to continue as Seojun picked her up in his arms. She squealed in joy as he kissed her.

“Ah, Kang Sujin that’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” He said, leaning her over as she laughed.

Seojun forgot all about the song as he bridal carried a squealing Sujin to their room. They both fell down on the bed, laughing. Sujin ran a hand through his hair.

“Hey, Sujinnie. Guess what underwear I’m wearing today.” Seojun grinned.

[youarejesting]

Mania.6

[MASTER LIST] [Mania Master list]

Beta: N/A Rating: Mature 18+ Pairing: BTS OT7 Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Comedy, Omegaverse Words: 1.8k Blood types: Namjoon, Jhope, Jungkook, Yoongi (A) Taehyung (AB) Jin, Jimin and Yoongi (O) (Jimin in real life is an A blood type)

Summary: At eighteen everyone takes a blood test to find out their blood types. A, B, or O. Each blood type represents the person’s secondary gender Alpha, Beta or Omega and can be Dominant (+) or Recessive (-).

When small thin Yoongi receives his letter he doesn’t expect A+. There was no way he was an Alpha especially not a dominant. But as time passes he shows no Alpha nor Omega tendencies and frankly he doesn’t care. Working in his father’s electrical business helps pay the bills but Yoongi’s real passion is music.

One very hot day in the roof space of a luxury apartment that Yoongi is rewiring an intoxicatingly pleasant smell churns his insides and he finds himself in need of something to quench his thirst.

Warning: polybts, orgy, dirty talk, degradation, dom&sub, begging, knotting, heats, slight mentions of Auto-erotic asphyxiation, breeding kink, cum

This entire chapter is smutty I do not encourage those underage to read this content. You can skip this chapter (if full smut is not your scene) and it will not affect the story.

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Jungkook chuckled darkly from where he was teasing Jimin alongside Taehyung. The two pulled away at Namjoon’s orders and all the alphas moved across the room and out of reach. Namjoon pushed Seokjin onto the bed beside Yoongi and walked away ignoring Seokjin’s whimpers opting to sit atop the large wooden desk.

Namjoon’s shoulders were not as wide as Seokjin’s but his whole form just poured dominant alpha pheromones which were so strong it even made the other alphas aware of his presence.

“What do you say to that?” Namjoon referred to Hoseok’s earlier question about wanting to be bred. All eyes were on Yoongi who was now squirming in a full-blown heat desperate for their help

“He did, he begged for three days, he wanted somebody to breed him.” Jungkook mocked, Yoongi's already hazy head spun with embarrassment, “You want that don’t you?”

“Of course he does,” Namjoon smirked almost evilly but his eyes were searching for any sign that Yoongi was uncomfortable or unwilling. But he saw none. “If you want us you have to beg for it?”

The three omegas doubled over assuming a position of submission on their hands and knees., the apex of their thighs becoming damp. Earlier Jimin had unbuttoned the front of Yoongi’s Jumpsuit, the older male becoming desperate to undress.

“Please,” Jin’s voice was weakened and he had completely removed his clothes in an effort to cool his heated form. Yoongi was desperate, groaning his hands traveling into the open front of his jumpsuit, plunging into the waistband of his underwear, and wrapping around his cock trying to find relief.

“Don’t touch yourself.” Hoseok’s voice wasn’t raised but it was full of power.

Yoongi was so lost in the haze of the alpha’s scent it was heavy on his limbs and chest. His cool long fingers had never felt so good around his shaft, unable to stop. He couldn’t suppress the moan that bubbled from his throat. He heard a growl from across the room and his eyes met Hoseok’s disappointed glare, he was disobeying his orders.

Hoseok’s strides ate through the rug between them as his hand clasped around both of Yoongi’s wrists and restrained them above his head. Yoongi was sitting back on his knees squirming as Hoseok took his chin tilting his head up. Yoongi tried to avert his eyes from Hoseoks knowing his cheeks were dusted bright pink, but he found himself unable to look away.

“What do you Omega’s want?” Namjoon asked them to vocalize their desires

“I want you koo,” Jimin whined and with a nod from Namjoon Jungkook crossed the room to his lover.

“I would like to come,” Seokjin swallowed thickly, at the raise of Namjoon’s eyebrow, “please sir.”

“Taehyung,” Namjoon nodded in Seokjin’s direction and the young man bounded across the room, his erection equally excited. Yoongi could hear the two omegas being satisfied but couldn’t turn his head from Hoseok’s firm grasp.

“Please touch me?” Yoongi mumbled his cheeks flushed and eyes falling to his lap, he was giving in to the sensations and his true desires. Hoseok seemed stunned for a second before he fulfilled Yoongi’s request, touching his chest and kissing him sensually. The omega whined against Hoseok and was quick to deepen the kiss, the two gettings heated breathing each other in, as their tongues mingled.

Hoseok already knew he felt something more than lust for Yoongi, he was so sweet and soft and beautiful. Hoseok tried his best to make him feel sexy, and honestly, the way he whined made him want to watch all the other alphas to help breed him, he wanted Yoongi.

The way Yoongi was pulling Hoseok closer, he wanted him just the same. Hoseok undressed Yoongi fully from his work overalls and as he peeled off his underwear he saw how the omega had soaked them in anticipation.

“I want you,” Yoongi said to Hoseok, whining as he pulled him against him. Hoseok had been with a few omega’s but this was the first time he had ever been nervous. He cared for this omega, more than he should, they were barely acquaintances, and here he was imagining more than just sex.

Hoseok’s hand twitched at the sight of Yoongi's collarbones and long neck, visions of piercing the flesh with his teeth and marking the helpless omega as his. Hoseok saw the Omega’s cock was thin and long, just like his finger and they were very pretty fingers at that. They pulled at his hair elegantly, they would wear a ring beautifully.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Hoseok’s big hands wrapped around Yoongi’s dick. Stepping forward to press his against Yoongi’s both fitting securely in Hoseok’s hand. He wanted Yoongi so bad but he tried his best to hold back, he wanted Yoongi to feel good before anything else.

Hoseok knew this Omega was new and untouched, he didn’t want Yoongi to feel even an ounce of fear, doubt, or pain. He prioritized his pleasure, kissing him. Eventually laying Yoongi back on the bed between the two other omega’s. Jimin was lying on his back legs bent around Jungkook’s hips while Seokjin was on his hands and knees braced for the quick pistoning of Taehyung’s hips.

Hoseok turned to grab some oils and lubricants to give him a sensual full body massage. However, Hoseok was surprised when he turned back to see Yoongi’s hand clasped with Jimin's, their fingers intertwined. It would have been cute if Seokjin wasn’t leaning over his omega kissing him passionately.

Hoseok had to take a small calming breath, the two omegas in the band often would help each other in heats and during the group's amorous sexcapades. It just felt like he wanted Yoongi all to himself. Starting with a chest massage Hoseok massaged the oil into Yoongi’s skin and down his soft yet small tummy. He was letting his pheromones work overtime, having them encase Yoongi.

“They are so cute,” Taehyung smiled at the Omegas and Namjoon watched his mate getting pleasured. Namjoon had certain tastes and Hoseok wasn’t one to judge.

“Hoseok, I don’t want your fingers, I need more,” Yoongi huffed, he tried to turn onto his hands and knees the natural submissive pose but Hoseok held him still. He didn’t trust himself with Yoongi’s exposed neck, he might accidentally mark him without his consent.

“Stay still,” Hoseok commanded and Yoongi’s squirming came to an end and he scooped up the omega and carried him from the room.

“Did you like letting Taehyung fuck you?” Namjoon growled

“No, I only like it when it’s you,” Jin’s cry filled the hall.

Hoseok walked Yoongi to his room and laid him on the bed, Yoongi buried his face in the pillows making the Alpha hum appreciatively at the sight.

“You like my scent pretty Omega,” Hoseok smiled

Yoongi squirmed whining,“..‘m not pretty,” Hoseok grabbed a stray belt from the floor and crawled up his body wanting to protest the omega’s words.

“I brought you here so that I can concentrate on you and make sure you are okay, whatever you do, don’t take this off. He wrapped the belt around Yoongi’s neck and tightened it so his neck was covered.

Yoongi’s eyes glistened back arching from the bed, “Please”

Yoongi was in ecstasy, he felt full and the pleasure was tingling deep inside him was almost maddening. He watched Hoseok’s muscles ripple the way his biceps were strained and the roll of his hips was quick, precise, and rhythmic like a dancer. Yoongi only knew Hoseok and his body begged for more, his hands clasping the alpha and bringing him closer, his neck extending to the side.

Hoseok pinned Yoongi’s hands down leaving him a whining mess. Yoongi didn’t have much time to think as Hoseok's hand grabbed the belt and pulled not hard but enough to notice a difference in his breathing. Yoongi gasped “Hoseok please,”

Yoongi was so close and something about the look in Hoseok’s eye made his body tighten. Hoseok’s face contorted teeth bared as his hips stuttered, the belt loosened as Hoseok’s body shook and something warm. No, Hot. Something very hot, filled Yoongi, it was stretching him and pressing against him. Yoongi wondered if Hoseok had somehow grown inside him, that wasn’t possible.

“Hoseok?” he called

“Fuck Yoongi, I am so sorry, I tried to stop it but I got carried away,” Hoseok scooped up Yoongi and pressed him to his chest turning to sit with Yoongi on top. Taking off the belt, Hoseok hugged the Omega and allowed him to sleep against him. “It’s midnight sleep.”

Yoongi woke the only light coming from the small alarm clock reading one-thirty. He tried to move but felt stuck in place. Something was inside him, something big, he felt awfully full and there were strong arms wrapped around holding him in place. He tried to move and felt a hand gently rub his lower back.

“Try not to move, we are going to be stuck for a while…” Hoseok muttered sleepily, “until it goes away”

“What goes away?” Yoongi looked between them squinting

“The knot,” Hoseok pulled Yoongi’s head back onto his shoulder, I accidentally knotted inside you”

“Oh,” Yoongi mumbled, nuzzling a little more against Hoseok’s shoulder. Watching the time pass literally, Yoongi was thankful when the knot disappeared and he lifted himself off of Hoseok only to let out a deep cry. Hoseok turned on the bedside light confused.

“What's wrong?” Hoseok called alert. Yoongi was staring between his thighs as a warm sticky liquid started to run down his legs. “Oh, um, follow me to the shower,”

Hoseok started the shower and Yoongi stepped in but was surprised when Hoseok stepped in the shower with him drawing the curtain. The two cleaned themselves under separate shower heads and Yoongi faced the stream of water trying to clean the oil from his chest

He gently touched Yoongi’s neck and Yoongi felt his heart race turning to Hoseok. “What are you doing?”

“You have no idea how much I want to mark you as mine,” Hoseok muttered frantically, turning the water on his side of the shower to freezing, dunking his head under the stream. “Do you feel any pain or aches anywhere, I can get you painkillers?” Hoseok said, turning off his shower and stepping out, and wrapping himself in a towel.

“My legs feel like jelly but otherwise I don’t feel bad,” Yoongi said, realizing he didn’t thank the Alpha for taking care of him. “Thank you, for taking care of me, for making sure I didn’t hurt,”

“Come on little omega time to dry and go back to bed,” Hoseok held out a towel and Yoongi stepped out letting him wrap him in a towel. The two went back to Hoseok’s room and Yoongi blushed, smelling their mixed scents in the air and even more so on the sheets.

“Put this on,” Hoseok gave Yoongi a baggy sweater and the sleeves covered his hands, and smelt so spicy and warm like Hoseok. He took a deep sniff of the collar and Hoseok chuckled softly. Before Yoongi curled up against him and fell asleep to Hoseok's steady breathing.

Tags:  @staerryminimini​

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[t-o-m-hollands]

And so finally here it is, the fourth and final part of this series.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut. One scene contains memories back to an emotionally abusive relationship (not between main characters). This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up). Also features a PROFOUND misunderstanding of Nietzsche’s work.

Summary: Can you and Timothée make a life together?

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

READ THE PREVIOUS THREE CHAPTERS HERE,

this is the final part of this series.

August, 1953

The days are spent like this, one much like the other, settling into life without either one of you ever really noticing. The future is never mentioned more than a few days ahead and all plans are made for the day only.

But without really meaning to, you both make a home out of villa Marguerite.

Timmy buys a vespa from a man in town. It’s rusty and old but steers easily. His sore feet thanks him for no longer having to walk up and down the long hill each time you’ve forgotten to buy something in the village, instead he now just swings his leg over the saddle and swiftly sets out to buy it for you (“unpitted black olives, please”).

Each night you insist on doing the cooking, telling him you find pleasure in it; and well, who is he to deny you anything that brings you joy? So each night you cook and after the food and the wine shared on the terrace he goes back inside to do the dirty dishes. With shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows he sets to work, going over each utensil with great care. Louise snickers at him most nights, tells him there’s no need, that it is her job; looks at him with a knowing smirk he can’t quite translate to meaning. Still, he does the washing up. Wants to do it. Loves the domesticity of it, you cooking; feeding the both of you, and him cleaning after; helping out.

*

One afternoon as the sky above shifts in shades of pink and lilac Timothée and Marco sit by the square, playing chess. Marco is winning, a habit he has when they are playing together. Timothée in turn is trying not to sulk, something he spectacularly fails at, which is entertaining Marco to no end.

It is not the losing that has got him in such a terrible mood.

You have had to go back to London for a few days, (“there are papers that need to be looked over and signed”).

“Honestly” Marco says, as he takes Timothée's queen. “Why don’t you just tell her you are crazy about her?”

“Afraid that ship’s sailed, mate” Timothée mutters, taking one of Marco’s pawns, a small victory indeed when one has just lost his queen. With his head resting on his folded arms on the table he observes the chess board in front of him with vague interest, trying to figure out Marco’s plan of action.

“Why’s that? She has clearly not kicked you out of the house so she must be somewhat fond of your sulking ass?”

Timothée snorts. “Fond? How nice, the word we save for people we can’t force ourselves to love”.

“Then why do you stay there? Leave. Find another woman, let yourself heal.”

Timothée’s head snaps up, and for a second he’s stunned silent. “No” he says eventually, but not after having first considered the idea. “ No, I can’t do that” he says. It is not as if Marco had suggested something impossible, like walking on water or turning water into wine. Timothée could leave. He could go back to your home, pack his bags and take the first train back to Paris. It would not be an equal action to that of the resurrection. Marco moves his queen across the board but Timothée isn’t looking, has his mind somewhere else; far away. For the first time he truly ponders about the option to leave. To start anew; to forget he ever met you.

But he doesn’t want to.

It’s as easy as that. Living with you, sharing space with you; why would he ever leave that? Even if he’ll never get to kiss your soft lips again he’d still stay. As long as he sees you in the morning, unguarded with tousled hair; drinking coffee he’s made you; as long as his days end with a meal shared with you, drinking wine and talking.

Marco waves a hand before him, a sly smile on his face, “your turn, Romeo”.

Timothée rolls his eyes and moves his king out of Marco’s queen’s way.

“And shack mate” Marco says, a broad smile on his face as he knocks Timothée’s king over with his knight. “Next time maybe keep your focus on the game” he adds, winking at him.

“Oh you fucker” Timothée grumbles, taking a swing from his wine glas.

*

Later that night as he walks home, having drunk much too much to drive, he hears a small, injured whimper. He stands very still for a moment, trying to ignore all other noise, before he hears the sound again. Following the injured mewling he soon discovers the source. It’s a kitten. Looking not older than a few weeks old and tiny enough to fit in the palm of his hand, with fur completely black from head to paw and eyes shining yellow in the night. It looks strangely like a very small panther. It looks slightly worse for wear as well. Skinny and small and with uneven fur. The kitten looks up at him, opens its mouth and lets out the same whimpering sound once again.

Timothée stands up, presses the small animal against his chest to keep it warm, and takes him home. He lets it sleep in his bed and it curls up beside him and the next day he takes it to the vet; who informs him that the creature, all though underfed, is in perfectly good health.

When you come back from London the next day, face more strained than before but seemingly happy to be back, Timothée tells you the story.

“What have you named him?” you ask, scratching the purring kitten behind his ear.

“Well, I thought that maybe you should be with me on the decision” he says, watching you pet his newfound friend.

“Any suggestions?”

“Well,” Timothée begins, suddenly shy. “I was thinking maybe Chopin?”

You smile at him, with genuine fondness in your eyes, and he feels his cheeks heat up. “Chopin it is. It was very good of you to save him, Timothée”.

And something like hope blooms in his chest.

That night as he lays in bed, Chopin sleeping on his chest, he reflects on his conversation with Marco and the words ‘let yourself heal’ comes back to him. The words had startled him, confused him, and maybe even shocked a little. He ponders over the words, the meaning and the implications, and decides that no. He cannot heal.

Because he is not wounded. He had been, after you left Paris that spring, he had been a wounded thing; a child who flew too close to what he wanted, only to find his wings melting and his body falling down into the sea.

But he wasn’t wounded anymore.

Through the other side of the wall he can hear how you walk around your room, going through the nightly routine. He hears the squeaking sound as you lay down on the big iron bed. Chopin purrs on his chest and Timothée closes his eyes, ready for sleep to take him.

There’s no use in thinking ahead, he decides. What will be, will be.

*

September

Late one night Timothée is playing cards with some new-found friends.

Marco had finally given in and arranged a jazz night to Nathaniel’s and Timothée’s great joy. The Milanese jazz band consists of five free-spirited and unbound vagabonds. When they play the whole village square dances. After their performance Timothée, Nathaniel, Marco and the musicians sit down to play cards. The night passes and the rum flows as easy as the conversation. The room is quickly filled up with cigarette smoke and wild anecdotes of past victories. The musicians, although a cheerful lot, have not got much to bet with, so the stakes are kept low and the spirits high.

So how exactly it came about that Marco lost the old piano in the bistro to Timothée no one can remember the following day, for the details are blurry and stained by drink. Nevertheless, as they wave the five musicians off the following morning, it is clear to them both that Marco owes him a piano.

“Ridiculous” Marco grumbles, his Italian accent clearer when aggravated, as he and Timothée push the piano up to the truck. “You can’t even play the damn thing!”

Timothée snorts, “I can learn!”

“Oh really?” Marco bursts out, sarcasm heavy in his words “like how you’ve ‘learned’ Italian you mean?”

Sweat runs down his back, the afternoon sun is bearing down on them and the heat feels like a physical pressure against his skin. “I speak perfect Italian, thank you very much” he defends himself.

It is Marco’s time to snort, which he does with great satisfaction before announcing “speaking French while putting on an Italian accent is in fact not speaking Italian at all”.

His head is pounding; but he is in a good mood and so he laughs. With much effort and even more grumbling from Marco they manage to load the heavy thing inside the rented truck and after having driven it up the hill they carry it into the villa. Deciding to place the instrument in the drawing room they lean on each other’s shoulder for a bit, trying to catch their breath; laughing.

He offers the older man a beer, but Marco declines; has a business to get back to.

So Timothée steps out into the burning sun on his own, the stone floor of the terrace scorching his bare feet. The world feels peaceful in all its golden glory. He can hear the rhythmic waves of the ocean far below, the radio playing in the kitchen; the seagull’s calling in the sky. He takes a deep breath and tastes the salt of sea water on his tongue.

His oil paints and canvas are still where he left them yesterday, a half-finished attempt of a sunrise pictured on it. On the table stand a vase with bright blue hyacinth and blood red poppies that you must have picked.

For a few minutes he just stands there, soaking in the sun. With unhurried fingers he starts to unbutton his white linen shirt. Removing it he lays it on the sunchair beside him and his trousers soon follow suit. Turning away from the sun he walks down the hot stony steps by the terrace and down to the private beach. It’s a long walk down, but he feels a great need to wash himself clean of the sweat, the dirt, the booze from last night.

With his eyes glued on the steps in front of him he makes his way down, and only as he jumps the last hot stone does he rise his head; and he sees you. You are already out in the water, swimming on the spot, your face turned towards the horizon. He clears his throat, not wanting to pry on you, nor does he want to scare you. He fails, as you turn around, startles, and lets out a sharp gasp.

“Hi,” he says, feeling awkward, shifting from foot to foot, aware that he is only in his underwear. “Didn’t know you were here”.

“’s alright” you say, sinking down into the water slightly.

Knowing not where else to look he looks down at the ground, spotting with surprise a white towel thrown on the sand, next to your dress. It is only then he realizes that you are completely naked.

“Mind if I take a swim as well?” he asks. He’s almost certain that you will ask him yes; tell him to wait until you are done but you just shake your head.

“Hop in” you say “the water’s nice and cool”. And so he asks you to turn around, so that he too can rid himself of his last remaining piece of clothing before walking out on the jetty and jumping down into the deep water.

Swimming out to you he keeps a few meters distance out of respect. The water is still somewhat clear, and he doesn’t want to peep, even by mistake.

And so there, wading in the water, avoiding the others eyes, you both watch as the sea and sky in front of you slowly turn from vibrant blue to lilac as the sun begins its journey down the horizon.

“I, eh, I won a piano” he says eventually, wanting to break the somewhat awkward silence. You turn to him, wading the water, surprise written on your face. “A piano?”

“Yeah, put it in the drawing room, hope that was okay?”

You laugh, the sound clear and bright and something flutters in Timothée’s stomach like the wings of a butterfly. He tells you the story of how he came by it and you laugh some more and he can’t help but smile at the sound, can’t help but stare himself blind at your beautiful face.

You swim on the spot and you talk; about everyday life, how you both think Louise has fallen in love with a baker in the village, about Chopin scratching on the furniture, about the pasta you had for lunch. About life in all its domestic simplicity.

You’re looking at the sun. It is the golden hour and it has painted you golden as well. You seem to shine in the light, laughing at something he’s said as you wade the water in front of you, the water golden as way; a reflection of the sky above. It hits him almost with brutal force, how beautiful you are. He looks at you thinks; Aphrodite, who entered the world fully formed, born out of sea foam, the goddess of love and beauty. You blink up at him, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly and his chest feels too tight, as if something inside where his heart should be is taking up too much space

Without either one having realized it you’ve swam closer to each other. You are so close that he could easily reach out and touch you; could easily lean in and taste the saltwater on your lips. You are looking at his mouth and he is wondering if that is what you want him to do but he is not sure and because he is afraid to ruin the tender friendship you have built by blundering in - he doesn’t. And you don’t either.

‘But, we used to be lovers’ he thinks. His body used to know your body like it was a continuation of his own. And perhaps that is why it hurts so bad to be parted from you.

“I should get back” you say in the end, avoiding his eyes. “We haven’t even had dinner yet”.

“Alright” he says “I’ll come join you in a minute”. He turns away from the beach, leaves you to get out of the water and get dressed in privacy.

*

Later that night there is dinner, and drinks, and your bare feet as you dance in the dining room to a jazzy tune, a glass of sangria in hand as Chopin runs circles around the hem of your dress. Later there is laughter as Timothée tries to teach you poker, something you turn out to be disastrously bad at.

And later somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

One day is much like another. You wake up in the morning and Timothée makes you coffee and you share it on the terrace. Then he paints and you move through the house; going through the things that need to be gone through, doing the tasks of the day. You read your correspondents and write your letters back.

You set out to the market, chat with the vendors. You learn their names and their stories and in turn they share their family recipes for the perfect pasta vongole or ratatouille. You buy your vegetables and bread, your fish and meat, your wine and cheese, excited for the dinner ahead.

Sometimes you go to the tailor and you share a cappuccino in the sun with Claudette, the old woman running it. You chat about clothes, of fashion in the past versus the fashion of now, about the passing of time. She tells you about the war and the occupation. Of the rationing of fabrics and how she has learned how to make each cut of cloth work - wasting nothing.

In her store you pick out a light floral pattern chiffon and Claudette turns it into a beautiful summer dress, so light and different from the heavier material you wore in London.

You buy handmade pottery from the woman in the square. Big pots and jars and urns that she’s crafted with her own hands and with handpainted flowers and patterns on them; made by her sister. You keep olive oil and flour and flowers in them, and place them around the house in their rightful place.

You go to the beach and you collect seashells. Bringing them with you home you tie them up on strings and you hang them by the terrace door and with each dust of wind the gentle noise of the seashells rattling against each other can be heard.

You don’t talk about the future and never plan ahead. You are not together; just two people living in the same house after all.

*

You watch him, laying on some faded old sheets on the terrace floor, soaking up sun. Timothée approaches sunbathing the way he does everything else in life; with reckless abandon. Despite Louise’s warning words that he’ll burn his pale skin he lays under the scorching sun for hours, wearing nothing on his skin but white bathing shorts. His nose has already turned an angry pinkish colour that will surely change to red soon. Beside him lay an open book, Robert Graves - The Greek Myths. His half-finished landscape painting of today lay abandoned on the table.

In the kitchen you hear the clattering of dishes as Louise does the washing up after lunch. She’s singing along to a tune on the radio and without looking you know that she is dancing.

Walking back into the house, up the steps and into your bedroom, you lay down on the bed. The bedchamber had been your aunt’s at one point and her style still lingers over the room like her old perfume, a bottle of which still lay on the antique vanity. A comforting presence.

Staring up at the white ceiling you’re trying to put a name to the feelings you’ve been having lately.

It feels, you decide, like you’re playing a game with the past and you’re not sure you’re winning. Going back to London had been a mistake. You had walked the same old streets, dined in the same old restaurants and met the same old people as you had when you lived there with Freddie. It had been a mistake to go back, and hear all the tittle-tattle gossip of the divorce, of your absence from the London scene. You had sat there, in the great white dining room of The Luxembourg, you’re back straight and poise perfected, and the gossiping tongues around you had played in your head like an orchestra. You had seen your dinner companions mouths moving, but the words all seemed distorted and slow, coming to you as in a haze. Your face feeling strangely taut, as if you were wearing a mask over your own skin, unable to move the mask's features.

The only success of the journey had been that it made you all the more certain of your decision; to sell the Mayfair flat and rid yourself of the London scene once and for all.

You had visited your parents as well. Had sat through a luncheon with them and calmly listened to their grief and despair over your split from Freddie. Had heard their praises and glorification of your former husband and you had kept quiet all the way through it, poking at your food and feeling rather sick.

In London baron Freddie Fairfax was a constant presence even in his absence.

Your marriage had consisted of days filled with silence. Days spent apart, seeing different people; living different lives. Thought not at all really, since it was all in the same small social circle. Any secret relieved between friends between crystal glasses of wine at lunch would not stay secret for long. By cocktail hour it’d be known by one and all of the tight-knitted, blue-blooded social circle you called friends. Any secret shared to a confidant would reach Freddie’s ears before the sun set, no matter how much time you spent apart; dining and drinking in different restaurants.

The evenings, if shared just the two of you, would either be spent in total silence; during which you would turn on the radio just to fill the space between you. In the night he would touch you, move in and out of you with sharp thrusts as you pretended to be somewhere else, his grunts filling the only sound in the night.

Or, if he was in one of his moods, the evenings would consist of him leaning over your shoulder, wherever you turned. Breathing down your neck. Always ready with a comment, a sly remark on your clothes, your face, your figure; you’re thoughts and opinions. On the things you said, or on your defeated silence. He never asked you any questions about yourself, had no curiosity about who you were or what you thought. The only exception was when he interrogated you about the men you conversed with, or at times about your female friends; how long you’d known them, if they were dating anyone. How attractive he found them.

Your feelings were his to toy with, because in his eyes you were his plaything to do with as he pleased. Because to Freddie love would always go hand in hand with possession and to you love would always mean hunger.

Hunger for something gentler, warmer, and altogether different. Hunger for someone else.

Pictures of dark curls play in your mind. Timothée, his eyes furrowed and a pencil in his mouth, looking at the canvas in front of him with great concentration. Timothée, with blue paint splattered on his pale cheek, the sun shining in through the dirty windows of his artist flat, illuminating him.

Timothée who had slowly helped you put yourself together again when you fled to Paris; thought he’d never asked for glory for his role in the mending of your heart.

Nevertheless, he had. With great care and gentle hands.

Once in Switzerland you had gone with your father to the horologist. Your father was to have his watch repaired. You had watched the horologist with great interest as he sat down by his desk, thick glasses resting on his nose as he opened the back of the clock. The old man had furrowed his grey brows and with great focus and piety set to work with repairing the complicated machinery of the timepiece. Putting it together with the expertise of a mechanic who not only knows how each fragile piece works but why.

That’s how you imagine Timothée loving you; with great precision, knowing just how every piece of you fit.

And so maybe in the end that is what love means to you; not hunger, but being understood.

The windows are all wide opened, but no breeze makes its way inside and the room remains boiling hot under the late summer sun. The warmth feels like a heavy blanket covering you as you lay there in bed, just taking in the sounds of the house. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall, the seagulls screeching in the sky, the far-away sound of Louise singing in the kitchen and further away still; the ocean.

The bedchamber remains stuffy and hot.

Sitting up you reach for the cigarette package on your bedside table, discovering that they are Lucky Strikes; instead of your usual Gauloises. Timothée’s cigarettes then. You must have taken them by mistake. Grabbing the package you walk down stairs and out on the terrace again, where Timothée lay where you left him, sprawled out on the floor, the tip of his nose now bright red.

“You’re burning yourself” you tell him, throwing the cigarette package down on the ground beside him. Timothée lifts a hand to shade his eyes, otherwise blinded by the light. He looks at you with a lazy grin, before moving on the sheets to make room for you. Keeping his eyes on you he pats the spot next to him on the floor and so you lay down beside him.

“Think you have my Gauloises” you say, the entire world orange as the sun shines through your closed eyelids. “Must have taken your Lucky Strikes by mistake”.

Timothée hums, before rising and moving into the house. A minute later he is back with your package of cigarettes and an ashtray. Handing you the cigarettes he then helps you light up with his precious silver gift, his dark curly hair falling down his face as he does so. He smells of seawater and turpentine and as you lay down on the ground beside him on the ruffled sheets you feel like you can breath again.

Laying there under the sun you smoke and observe him. His hand with their specks of blue paint left from his work this morning, his legs slightly spread, his chest slowly moving up and down with each breath. His eyes are closed, and the ghost of a smile still plays on his lips. He seems at peace.

You wonder how long this fine line you both have been walking is going to last before one of you tumbles. The fine line between lover and ex lover. You wonder what will happen next.

Or perhaps this is the way things will always be. Each day lived out ad infinitum, one much like the other. A foolish thought; a childish one. For sooner or later he will take another lover, find someone new to cherish. Someone in no need of healing. And you think of Lucy, and her laugh as light as the bubbles in champagne, her easy charm and carefree personality.

You’ll wonder if he’ll take someone home with him one day, make her love to her in the room next to yours. Where he’ll learn her body like he once knew yours .

You wonder if you’ll do the same.

***

October

The days are cooler now, still pleasantly warm but not intensely so, and most of the tourists have left the stony shores; leaving the whole village less crowded and easier to move through.

For two weeks Timothée goes back to Paris. He sits in the street and paints the people he sees in their everyday life; reading newspapers on the park benches, friends sipping cappuccinos on rotting chairs outside the café, old women choosing their bread with great care at the boulangerie. He adds no drama or sensationalism to the scenes, but settles for painting the people in all their simplicity and its realism.

He visits his art dealer, who with great astonishment accepts nine landscape paintings and a handful of sketches. “No portraits then, monsieur?”

And Timothée tells him no. He is waiting for the perfect model for the job.

He goes to his artist studio, and is surprised to find that it feels less like home than before. He doesn’t linger for long, and when two weeks are up he books a new compartment on the Blue Train, treating himself with a first class ticket this time.

On his way to the station, his bag slung over his shoulder and a package of new pots of paints tucked in underneath his arm, he walks by a bookshop. Casting an eye at the shop window he stops dead in his tracks. A placard with William’s face stares back at him through the window, his mouth twisted into a wide smile and his hair styled neatly.

Timothée walks into the store and five minutes later he walks out with a freshly printed copy of ‘A siren calls’ in his hands.

He borders the train, lays down in his train compartment and he begins to read. And through the entire journey home he reads.

*

Villa Marguerite is much the same when he returns from Paris. Chopin greets him as he hears him come in, happily accepting scratches behind his ear as an excuse for his absence. Placing his bag and his paints on the floor, but book still firmly in hand, he walks out on the terrace in search of you, but finds it empty.

Walking upstairs he knocks at your door and upon hearing you call ‘enter’ from the other side he steps inside.

You are laying on your stomach on the bed, wearing your silk canary yellow robe, flipping through a copy of Tatler, the gramophone in the corner playing Chopin. You look up at him, eyebrow raised in silent question.

He clears his throat, unsure how to approach this any other way but straight on. “Have you seen this?” he says, and raises the book for you to see.

“Oh that” you say and sigh. “Yes, he wrote to me informing me of it weeks ago”.

“You knew?” he says, astonished.

“That William’s great piece of literature was going to be about me” you flip a page in your magazine “of course I did.”

Timothée leans against the doorway feeling like the air has been pushed out of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You look up at him again, and again with a surprised expression on your face. “I didn’t know you wanted to know that” and then “is it any good? The Tatler’s reviewer calls him the new Fitzgerald”, you nod down to the magazine in front of you.

Timothée hesitates, unsure how to respond. “It's, well yes I suppose it’s alright. The prose is quite stunning, if not slightly overworked”.

“But?” you say, sensing an objection.

“He’s made a caricature out of you”.

“He’s written me as he saw me, just as you’ve painted me as you saw me. And you’ve both sold your works for money. On this, if perhaps on this only, you are the same”.

Again he is stunned. Then, voice slightly shaking with held back frustration, he says “please tell me I’m closer to the real you then this” and he holds up the book again “this rubbish. He’s made you out as this, this…” he wrecks his head for the right word before finally settles for the obvious one “siren. This woman he can’t help but love but his love for her is standing in the way for the life he wants to live of unbound pleasures. A siren that keeps calling him back from his path on the search for perfect bliss. This siren that drowns him with her love”.

Silence for a heartbeat, then “you were”. He blinks, and you continue “you were closer to, as you refer to it, the real me. But that doesn’t make his interpretation of me any less real. Like I said, I’m sure that is how he sees me”.

“Well he’s dedicated the book to you”

“That’s sweet”

“I’m not sure it’s meant to be. Before it could be up for assumption who the book is abou. Now it’s crystal clear for everyone to see.”

“You don’t think he’s meant that as a compliment?” Standing up you tighten your silk robe around you. “I think so. I think he’ll consider it a great honour to have a book written in your honour, no matter the subject matter”. You walk past him “but never mind, let’s have drinks on the balcony upstairs, I think it’s going to rain tonight”.

*

“You never talk about Freddie” he states. It is late at night, rain dipping against the ceiling above, and they are sharing a bottle of wine.

“There’s not much to talk about” you say, avoiding his eyes, eyes set on the rainy scenery in front of you.

“He was cruel to you, wasn’t he?”

“There are others who’ve had it worse.”

“Doesn’t make it less cruel” he says. Feelings are fighting with each other in his stomach, like a nest of vipers they twist and turn inside him, fighting for dominance. Feelings of anger, empathy, sadness and love.

He walks over to you, and sits down on the bench beside you, his warm hand cups your cheek and you close your eyes, looking ready to weep.

“I’m so sorry, ma chérie, I really am” he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, moves his arms so that he holds you to his chest instead. Soon you let yourself cry. He holds you to him, his chin resting on the top of your head and as far beneath you the waves are crashing against the rocks and in the chill evening air he keeps you warm.

He holds you for the longest time and somewhere in the village church bells are ringing.

***

An early morning some days later you walk out on the terrace. It is decidedly cooler outside this morning and the air feels crisp in your lungs and pulling your robe tighter around you you sit down by the laid table.

Timothée sits hunched over a book, a cigarette in hand, a cup of black coffee next to him. Despite the morning chill he’s only wearing his usual paint-stained linen trousers.

“What are you reading?” you ask, pouring yourself coffee into a small, porcelain cup. His eyes are still on the book, brows furrowed, and so you look around, take in the scenery around you; the cerulean blue sky stretching out over a landscape of hills and pastel coloured villas, and further down - the ocean.

“Nietzsche”.

“It’s too early for Nietzsche”

“I never went to sleep” he answers.

You try to keep your eyes on the horizon in front of you, but despite your might they dart back towards the tussle of brown, curly hair on the other side of the table. He’s hunched over his book and it is hard to tell, but you think you can see shadows of blue underneath his eyes. He looks tired.

“And what does Nietzsche have to say?”

“Well” he starts, before going on to read from the page. “Nietzsche claimed that the exemplary human being must craft their own identity through self-realization and do so without relying on anything transcending – such as God or a soul. This way of living should be affirmed even if one were one to adopt, most problematically, a radical vision of eternity, one suggesting the eternal recurrence of all events.”

“What does that mean, the eternal recurrence of all events?”

“That the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space”.

You stay silent, contemplating this momentous new idea.

“You know, scientists say that we are made out of stardust” Timothée says.

You don’t follow his train of thoughts but you go along with it and ask, “how could that be?”

“Well, everything we are and everything in the universe and on earth originated from stardust, and it continually floats through us still. It directly connects us to the universe, rebuilding our bodies over and again over our lifetimes. When stars get to the end of their lives, they swell up and fall together again, throwing off their outer layers. If a star is heavy enough, it will explode in a supernova. The brighter the star; the faster it burns. So you see, most of the material that we're made of comes out of dying stars, or stars that died in explosions. And those stellar explosions continue. And so, we have stardust in us as old as the universe, and then some that landed here maybe only a hundred years ago. And all of that mixes in our bodies.”

You stay silent for a while, him with his eyes stuck on the page in front of him, obstinately avoiding your eyes and you; eyes fixed on him, sipping your coffee.

“I don’t understand what you are trying to tell me, Timothée” you say in the end.

He blinks, eyelashes fluttering over cheekbones delicate like fine china, now tanned after months spent on the riviera. The sun is shining down on the both of you by now, and through tousles of dark curls you can now clearly see the dark shadows underneath his eyes. The wind whistles through the cypress trees.

“Just that there is nothing new under the sun” he says after a long silence. “And I guess that I’m trying to talk to you about destiny; how we are born, and reborn ad infinitum. Again and again and again our dice are cast, casting out our roles in life. We all have our parts to play. Parts that we are destined to play, and they are decided for us. It is beyond our control.”

“And what do we learn from this?”

“Amor fati”

“To love one’s fate?”

“To love one’s fate”.

***

One afternoon Timothée wakes up from a nap on the terrace. He opens his eyes and for a moment he’s blinded by the light, seeing only silhouettes in front of him. Stretching out his arms and legs, his body stiff from laying on the terrace floor, he groans. His limbs feel heavy and numb and his mind is unusually quiet, as it has a habit of being just after he wakes from slumber. Closing his eyes again he lets the bright sunlight turn the world white behind his eyelids.

Above him the seashells you’ve put up tinkle in the soft breeze. From way down below he can hear the ocean, steady today in this fine autumn weather. But he can hear something else as well. The clinking of a piano being played. Standing up, as in a haze, he follows the sound.

Walking into the house, past the tinkling seashells and white curtains, through the kitchen and hall he follows the sound into the drawing room.

You are sitting by the piano, playing Für Elise with unpractised hands. The sun is coming through the large windows, lighting you up, painting a halo atop your head.

“Can I paint you?” he asks, for the first time in months.

Your fingers fumble with the piano chords for a second before carrying on, showing no other signs of having heard him. You continue playing until the piece comes to an end.

Then, in the silence, your soft voice.

“Alright”

***

Someone has dug out an old Fletcher Henderson record and the music is blaring from the gramophone as people dance to the old jazz music, one woman has gotten up on the table and is stamping her bare feet along to the rhythm, twirling her dress and swinging her hips. Others are standing in groups, laughing and chatting; cocktail glasses in hand. Others still are sitting by the table.

You can’t tear your eyes from Timothée as he sits leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the railing and head thrown back in laughter. The afternoon light has turned the entire world golden, but Timothée seems to have been more blessed by the light than anybody else; as if he had been picked out and touched by Midas himself. He seems to shine as he laughs with his new-found friends, cheering them with a glass of cheap wine. They’re discussing new revolutionary ideas and he laughs as they clink their glasses in celebration of their own drunken brilliance. He’s wearing his nice white dress shirt and suspenders. The first couple of buttons are undone at the top, and sunkissed skin peeks through. His hair a mess of sea-salt curls, falling over his face, and pearls of water falling from his skin like little stars; the party having gotten back from a swim just moments before. They are mostly Timothée’s friends, though some are yours. Locals, whom you’ve befriended during your time here; with the added number of guests being a couple of british and dutch backpackers Timothée met up with on the way back to the villa.

You look at him, carefree and golden in the sun, and you know the image of him like this will stay with you forever – that you never will see anyone or anything this beautiful again. You don’t think of rebirth, or of reincarnation - of lives destined to be lived over and over again until the sun finally implodes and swallows you all; thus setting you all free from your destinies. You don’t think destined, star-crossed or fated.

Or of amor fati.

Instead you look at him and you think of immortality. Of gods and heroes of the ancient past and of all the holy creatures legends say has roamed the earth since there was anything to roam. You watch him in the golden afternoon light and you think of Achilles and of Apollo and of the archangel Gabriel.

(And you understand why the ancient Greek believed in heroes and god amongst men. You believe as well.)

On the first day God created light.

And so, the scientists say we are all made of stardust. You watch the golden boy in front of you, seemingly shining in the sun, and you wonder to yourself if perhaps the stardust he was made of ever really settled into human skin.

You have never felt more blue, like a sea creature dragged up to the surface against its will; but he is half boy, half ethereal creature. Something Holy. You can almost see it; heavy white wings sprouting out between his shoulder blades, casting a great shadow beneath him, wherever he goes; a golden halo atop the mess of curls on his head. There, at the table under the golden mimosa tree, he throws his head back in laughter again and the sound rings clear over the music, over the other’s voices.

His eyes meet yours where you stand in the shadow underneath the roof and the laughter seems to die in his mouth.

On the third day God created the seas.

The sun goes over the horizon; the golden hour has passed, and everything is set in shadow. You keep your eyes on each other while the rest of the party roars on around you. Their laughter, the clinking of their glasses and the loud music falling on deaf ears as he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

The sun has set, and the boy in front of you is no longer golden for you are all in shadow now; you are both human again.

Yet you still swear you can see the faint light of a halo atop his head and you can still feel the heavy weight of saltwater inside your lungs, taste it on your lips.

Eyes still fixed on his, you raise your glass to your lips, and you drown the last of your red wine. You can feel a drop slip from the corner of your mouth and make its way down your chin, your throat, your chest; down on your white silk dress. You put the glass down beside you and turn away from his gaze, walking away from him.

On the fourth day God created the moon and the stars.

The deep steps down to the water are wet from the passing tide and you move your feet carefully forward as you make your way down to the water. The sounds of music and laughter are soon replaced by that of waves. Passing by the old wooden jetty you walk down to the small piece of stony beach by the rocks. And there you stand. In front of you, a landscape of water so dark it appears black, and reflected on it from the sky above, the moon and the stars.

You hear the creaking sounds of someone stepping on the jetty.

And on the sixth day god created mankind in his own image.

Timothée stands in front of you, hands in pockets, his shirt undone and suspenders slightly astray; looking at you with such intent that you swear there’s thunder in the air, though the sky remains cloudless. Slowly, as if giving you plenty of time to retreat, he moves closer. Then, with his hands holding on to you, he kisses you. It is saltwater and sweet wine. It is red hot and wet and slow, until both of your breaths come heavy and your hands are fumbling over the other’s clothes. You tumble back against the flattened cliff wall behind you and you’re pulling him closer to you, tugging at his clothes until he’s pressed against you, chest to chest. Your hearts as close to each other as can be.

Your hands fumble with his zipper until it finally comes undone, and lifts up the skirt of your dress, pushing down your underwear until they fall at your feet. Hooking your leg around him you struggle for a second with finding the right position. Then, with a jagged thrust he’s inside you and you suck in a sharp breath. “Careful now” you moan in his ear, your arms around him holding onto him tightly. “It’s been a while”.

The reminder seems to soothe him, and the thrusts become slower, more dragged out but deeper too. His hands become gentler, less rushed, but still firm as he holds on to you; each hand pressing into the smooth flesh of your thighs. Your arms are clinging onto his shoulders, painted red nails digging into his back, your own back arched from pleasure. Moans and whimpers are falling from your lips and into his ear; his hair, still wet from the earlier swim, feels cold against your cheek.

There, in the dark; the night only lit up by moonlight, with waves crashing against the stones beneath your feet, he moves in and out of you and the air itself tastes of seawater.

You lean down and kiss his exposed tanned collarbones peeking through his half-opened white shirt and as you gently bite down he hisses and fumbles with the pace for a second, before regaining his posure; pressing you harder up against the wall again.

“That’s right” you moan, hands clutching onto his shirt and your head thrown back. “Fuck, harder!”

And he does.

And when you come it is white-hot bliss. Like the invisible strings holding together reality are all pulled out and you tumble through existence; unsure of where anything ends or begins.

Except that maybe the answer to both of those things are Timothée’s ragged breaths as he fucks you with feverish pace. Maybe there is where it all ends and begins. He comes in a whimper, your hands in his hair, his face in the crook of your neck.

And there you both stand, holding each other; fighting for air, as the waves crash around your feet.

***

You’re in the market and nothing feels real to you.

It is like you’re watching it all happen on film in front of you, the vendors shouting out prices and shoppers picking out their vegetables. It is like you are watching it all happen very far away.

The sun is high in the sky, and it is unusually warm for a day in late october. Your skin is clammy and your palms feel sweaty; yet you feel strangely cold. And you are trembling, feeling certain that if someone were to prick you with a needle right now – you wouldn’t feel a thing.

You see the people moving, arguing over prices of leek one moment and laughing the next. People carrying wicker baskets filled to the rim with ripe fruit and vegetables. It is like they all move in slow-motion, the sounds they make muffled and far off.

You step away from the crowd but when you turn around you walk straight into Timothée. He stumbles backward a step, unprepared for the collusion. He says something, swears perhaps, but you can’t hear him. There’s a ringing in your ear and the ground feels unsteady underneath your feet, the sun glaring down at you.

Then his hands are cupping your face, and you see him mouthing your name. He looks at you, eyes full of worry. He takes your hand, leads you away from the market and into the ancient church. His hand warm in yours he leads you down the aisle before turning into one of the box pews. You sit down beside him and he takes your hands in his.

“Your hands are cold” he says, before lifting them his his lips to kiss them.

He had been inside you just hours ago. You had cleaned up as best you could, before walking up the stairs again and re-joining the party. You had retired early, claiming a headache, while Timothée stayed out on the terrace with his friends. In the morning you had risen before him, heading down into the market before breakfast.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” he asks and you want to laugh. Because the question is so precisely what has been on your mind ever since last night.

You think of the ocean; the way it can carry you or drown you depending on its whim. You think of the seawater in your veins, of lungs heaving for air. You think of never ceasing, impossible blue. Of bones engraved with memories from the past. And how all of this is who you are, that it is not a temporary blueness.

“Do you think we can ever be happy?” you ask back.

“I don’t know” he says. The church is cool and drafty, despite the warm weather outside and his hands around yours feels warm and safe. It wakes an unholy sort of wanting inside of you.

“Ask me who I am” he says.

“Who are you?”

“Someone that loves you.” His voice is low. You are not the only two people in church, a few rows ahead there is a woman praying and at the front two priests are conversing with one another. He continues in his soft voice, “I can’t promise you perfect happiness forever, no one can, and frankly; I’m not sure that is what you really want either. It’s perhaps what you think you should want, but that’s not the same as actually wanting it. I think part of you loves your melancholia”.

“Well then, what can you promise me?”

“I promise you that on the days you feel like you’re drowning I will keep us afloat and I’ll hold you until it passes. I’ll keep you warm”.

“And you don’t wish I was more yellow?” you ask, voice sightly trembling.

“You know, I’ve always loved the ocean. I’ve never felt the need to change its hue, despite its darkest blue”.

“It’s that easy?”

“It’s that easy” he says, and kisses your hands again.

***

On the balcony floor outside your bedroom you both lay that night, spread out on sheets and plush pillows you’ve carried out. You lay there, your head on his stomach, and stare up at the stars. Neither one of you is wearing a thread of clothing, but you are both tangled up in sheets. There’s an empty bottle of wine beside you and in Timothée’s hand his book on Nietzsche’s philosophies.

“So what do you think?” he asks. “Do we have a free will or is it as Nietzsche believes, that the dice have already been cast far before we’re born, leaving us to live out our stories without the ability to ever change the outcome. Leaving us to simply accept our fate; to love our fate”.

“It sounds terribly defeatist to me” you say

“Or brave” Timothée says, “I’m really not so sure which. Perhaps both.”

“So you agree with him? You agree with Nietzsche? We are not ourselves in charge of our lives?”

“No, no not at all” he objects “I don’t believe he’s right. I’ve made my own choices in life. I’ve created my own mistakes and fortunes. And my fate has never been to love you, I’ve done that intentionally.”

You love me on purpose?

Yes I love you on purpose. I chose it, I chose you”

“I chose you too”

*****

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

[forthehpfanboys]

Quidditch and T

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him; transmasculine reader.

Summary: Harry surprises Ron with tickets to the Quidditch World Cup after the war, after Hermione and after finding out Ron has a crush on the first professional trans masculine the Chudley Canons or the World Cup has ever seen. 

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, tiny amount of transphobia?? super long, focuses on Ron more than it should, super long and probably really bad.

Notes: Trans masculine reader again! We love to see it- No one asked for this but I liked the idea. Also, Ron has long hair because I love him and Harry is a good friend. The bestest of friends.

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Even with the second wizarding war years behind them, everyone struggled to regain control over themselves. Loved ones were lost far too soon, strained relationships came crashing down and businesses all but shattered like glass, but that was a year or two after. Families were beginning to recover and move forward, but some struggled. It was only natural, that was why the Ministry decided to bring at least a tiny bit of normality back to everyone's life with the Quidditch World Cup. They thought it would bring some light in the barely lit times everyone lived in.

While life for some was morphing back to a semi stable state, times were transitioning to a new era. Of course, no one batted an eye or fought against her when the Hermione Jean Granger demanded rights for wizards, witches and sorcerers who were, for lack of a better word, different. Not after everything she’d done for the world with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and especially not after S.P.E.W.  The world really was shifting for the better.

She created two acts for equality. If house elves can have it, why can’t magical humans who just- feel different. Hermione called it S.P.L.A.T.E.R, also known as Sorcerers Lover Protection Against The Everyday Routine, and it was meant to protect wizards and witches who desire relationships with the same sex against discrimination. The talented witch went on to create a similar movement against portraying gender and identity; The Sorcerer’s Typical Identity or Gender May Alter Shield, better known as S.T.I.G.M.A.S. Both were very welcomed by the public, which happened a good year before the game would be returning, and that led to you gaining your dream job.

You were able to join the Chudley Cannons, your dream team despite their reputation. You were naturally talented on a broom and weren’t afraid to pull some risky stunts to get the golden snitch, plus it fueled your ego to hear the crowd gasp, go silent then cheer loud enough to be heard from Mars. The team and their fans didn’t care that you were the only trans masculine player, in fact, they loved you! The team was very proud to have you be their seeker and it was even better when the Cannons got into the World Cup. You basically carried the team, and they fucking knew it.

Your face made the front page almost weekly, quoting comments from your games and showing off your merchandise like it was no big deal. While you caught the attention of many wizards, witches and magical humans in between, there was one who was absolutely fascinated, maybe borderline obsessed, with you. You somehow stuck in his head, causing him to repaint his room in his shared flat bright orange just like his childhood bedroom. The ex-auror even went as far as getting your newly printed poster. He would glance at it when he was writing letters to his mother, but then would spend a good few solid minutes staring at it, daydreaming about meeting  you and lose track of time. Life got a little harder with the moving poster in his room. Of course you had no idea the famous Ron Weasley was a die-hard fan of yours.

The youngest Weasley son ended up being the first out of three up everyday just to read the newest info about (Y/n) ‘Point Breaker’ (L/n) and the rest of the team. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew enough about you to be considered a borderline stalker and couldn’t help but spew facts about you to his twin brothers. Those very twins would tease him about his newly found crush but were secrealty very happy that he was getting over his heart break.

Ron and Hermione, more Hermione, had decided splitting and remaining friends was better for them, leading to the poor bloke locked in the spare room of his older brother's flat for a solid week. They told everyone it was mutual, but it was clear to Fred, George and Harry that it was most definitely not a decision that they were both fond of. Harry could still remember the frantic howler he got from Fred and George saying their little brother all but stopped functioning as a human.

He only started eating and showering once he heard the team was up and running again. He figured that was why Harry showed up to the flat one afternoon with tickets to the sold out game. When Ron asked his best mate how he got them, he just smiled and said something about knowing people and favors being exchanged. The ticket was more like a bandage encased in clear plastic and stuck to a lanyard, which is what Ron was fiddling with the day of the game when his best friend suddenly appeared in the middle of the flat.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron screeched out as he steadied himself in his chair. His hand gripped at the shirt on his chest and chose to ignore the head rushing to his cheeks. “Could’ve sent me a warning!” He let out a slow sigh, trying to steady his rapid heart beat. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry laughed out. The professor had his hands in his jacket pocket, a sly grin across his face. “Come on then! Game’s gonna be starting soon!” The raven haired male all but yaned his freckle covered friend out of the chair.

“Ok! Ok, sheesh. Let me grab a jacket.” The red-head knew this was going to be a game that leaked late into the night. Both teams were itching to get the trophy and forget about their troubles- It was gonna be absolutely beautiful. 

Grabbing his coat and reaching into the pocket, Ron pulled out an elastic band and put his hair up into a messy bun quickly before tucking the jacket into his arm. He walked over to Harry, who was gazing at the photo-covered walls of the flat.

“If you want, I can take ca-” Harry was cut off by Ron grabbed his hand.

“No, it’s fine. I like it like this.” Ron shook his head back and forth causing the messy ball to swap back and forth. “Come on. You were the one rushing us.” Harry let out a simple chuckle before apperating them to the field. 

“Tadah!” Harry did a fancy little wave, gesturing to the crowded field and began to make his way down the hell, passing by the old boot. Ron looked down at it as they passed before looking back at his best friend.

“Damn, it has been far too long.” Ron sighed out. A smile broke out across his face when he saw little kids running around with paint covered faces and happy couples sharing tea outside of their tents. “Do we have a tent?” 

“Nope, won’t be needing one this time around.” Harry shoved his hands in his pants pocket.

“No ten- Blimey, Harry, this is a game! This is going to go on for hours-”

“Ron-” 

“Won’t need it my arse. Hours, Harry. Where are we going to sit? The damp ground?” Ron was flaring his hands about.

“We get to spend our time in the Minister’s Box, Ron, relax.” Harry shook his head in mock disapproval before adjusting his glasses and moving forward. 

“Minister’s Box-” Ron’s voice stuttered out.

“Yeah! Isn’t that cool? We’re gonna be in the middle of the action!” Harry waved to a child who had recognized him with a smile.

“Ministry box-” Ron was’t used to such luguries, even after working with his brothers at their shop. Harry figured he’d never get used to being spoiled like this. It made him choke back a soft snicker.

“Yes, Ronald, the Minister’s Box, now hurry up! I told them we’d get there before the game started so we can chat.” Harry grabbed the lagging boy’s wrist and proceeded to maneuver through the crowd with him. 

“How did ya score this, Harry?” Ron all but yelled over the crowd. Once Harry dragged them through the crowd and to the front doors of the stadium, he spoke up.

“Remember when we went on that assignment to stop LeStrange again? Just before her Dementors Kiss about a month before we quit?” He handed the ticketier his lanyard to check over. Ron did the same before they both entered.

“Yeah? What about it?” Ron’s blue eyes glanced across the crowded inside. Gods, it really had been a while since he’d been here. It felt normal, like he almost hadn’t lost Fred to an explosion, like Harry’s life wasn’t on the line everyday, like every day wasn’t terrifying. Ron turned his attention back to his friend when he spoke up again.

“Well just before that, I went on a loner mission. This one involved taking care of some dark witch who was claiming she could bring back the dead and threatened to bring back Voldemort and the Death Eaters, so they sent me down to check it out.” Harry led him to an elevator, where the gate opened allowing the pair to step in. There was an exhausted looking male standing in uniform, most likely a worker from the Ministry himself. “Ministers Box, kind sir. Thank you.” The gate closed with a shuttering rattle and soon they were moving upward. Green eyes turned back to blue to finish the story. “Anyway, turns out she was actually trying to resurrect the noseless twat, but instead of over time or promotion, I asked for this and the best seats in the house. Figured this would be a good gift for you.”

“Gift? Harry, bud, mate, my fuckin best friend.” Ron placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to do this for me. You’ve already done your fair share of helping me. Blimey, I’m not worth this.”

The gate opened again, allowing the two ex-aurors to step out but not before tossing a few sickles to the poor man who looked bored out of his mind. Ron casted him a short wave before he was sent back down.

“You deserve more than a crummy game and a nice seat, Ronnie. You literally helped me destroy Voldemort.”

“I didn’t do that much and besides it’s not a crummy game!” Ron took his hand away from Harry's shoulder. They walked down the short hallway to the door leading to their seats, but paused just before opening it. “That’s fuckin wild, isn’t it?” Ron grumbled out. “Was she smooched by a Dementor in the end?” 

“Yup. All her research was swiped and burned. Anyone and everyone she knew was obliviated. Now enough talk about old work, let’s relax.” Harry spoke before opening the door and allowed Ron to walk in first. 

The room was bigger than Gred and Forge’s flat, Ron was sure of it. It had silvery blue walls and a huge open window in the front, showing off the screaming fans and showed the entire field which held the perfect view. He couldn’t help his eyes from darting across the fancy black leather seats and the buckets of ice holding expensive bottles of wine, flasks of firewhiskey and glass pitchers giggle water and suddenly Ron wanted to cry and simultaneously brag to Malfoy. Sure, he hadn’t seen the blonde in a year or so but it’d be nice. The red-head didn’t realise he was drifting toward the giant window until someone spoke up, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Ah! Mr. Potter! Mr. Weadley, I’m so glad you could make it!” A wizard dressed in a suit came scurrying over, his chapeign glass almost overflowing with foam.

“It’s Weasley, actually.” Harry didn't hesitate to speak up. “But of course! I was thrilled when Ron decided to come with me! I couldn’t have caught that witch without him. Anyway, where will we be seated?” Harry was using his Auror Voice™ while Ron stood there, trying to recall how on earth he helped his best friend with a case he wasn’t even on.

“I did wh-?” Ron was interrupted.

“Ah. My apologies. Of course, of course.” The man in the suit adjusted his tie before gesturing to the window in the front with his glass.. “Front row, just as you requested.” He took a sip from his glass before walking off to the seat he came from, talking to the witch next to him. 

Harry thanked the man before grabbing Ron’s wrist and bringing him over to their seats. He sat Ron at the seat right in the middle of the big opening. Harry could actually see his friends blue eyes gloss over with tears, causing Harry to chuckle into his hand.  It was so worth fighting that witch and staying in St. Mungos for a week with a concussion, broken hand and a stupid spell that nearly killed him.

“Bloody fucking hell, Harry. What did you do to get these seats?” Ron’s voice did little to hide his excitement. Harry released a chuckle over his friend's excitement, but the sound got louder when Ron literally threw his jacket haphazardly onto the seat only for it to fall to the tiled floor.

“I already told you. Don’t worry about it.” Harry took his seat as he grabbed a bottle of wine from the ice bucket on the coffee table at their feet. He examined the label before nodding his head and popping open the cork.

“Wish I had a camera. Ginny would’ve loved this.” Ron walked past the table to the window, resting his hands on the railing and leaning over, looking across the field.

“Ron, she’s a professional coach-” Harry rolled his eyes, testing the wine with a small sip. He set the dark, tall bottle down on the table with a clank.

“Fred and George then.” Ron turned back to his friend and walked over, plopping himself down in his seat with confidence. Harry snorted, almost dropped his drink all over himself. This was therapeutic; he got to spend time with his best friend without the ever looming death threat of Nose-less Snakey Man breathing down his neck. 

“Yes, I’m sure their jealous tears could flood the shop.” Harry’s voice was filled with sarcasm and it had Ron laughing too. Harry checked his watch while the giggling red-head grabbed an empty glass at the table in front of them and poured himself a shot of firewhiskey. “It’s about 5:53. Game should be starting at 6 something.” He turned to Ron, casting him a smile while he brought his glass to his lips. “Wanna talk about your newest boyfriend or should I ask him for the details myself?”

Ron almost spat out his drink, his hand coming up quickly to catch the dribbles falling off his lips. Blood rushed to his cheeks, ears and before he knew it, he was bright red. He wiped his hands on his jeans, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth.

“I’m sorry, my what? Harry, I’d be lucky if he gave me the time of day let alone be my boyfriend!” Ron ran his hands through his hair, his eyes cast downward into his drink. “I mean, have you seen me lately?” He gestured to himself. “I’m a bloody mess. He could do better anyway.”

“You’re not a mess, Ron, anything but. In fact, you’re probably more put together than I am. Ginny would beg to differ, but I’m sure it’s true.” Harry shook his head in disapproval before taking another sip from his glass. “Besides, you’re a good guy. You did get Mione to fall for you and you are kinda well known, aren't you? I say you got a better chance than most.” Once the niorette male finished, he turned to look at his friend who nodded his head in silent agreement before deciding to change the topic.

“How is Gin, by the way?” 

Harry answered with a long explanation that she was good, but one of her chaser’s kept giving her trouble and didn’t believe Ginny was good for the team. The Harpies would be starting their first game soon and Ron made a note to buy a ticket. The questions came around to his brothers, of course, so Ron 

“Hey! Good for them!” Harry refilled his drink once it was finished and put the glass back in the ice bucket. “And good for you.” Harry checked his watch again when it beeped out, indicating the change in hour. “Game time!” 

The room went silent as the minister walked over to the window, doing his usual speech, but no one was really listening. Ron's legs were bouncing with excitement while his eyes looked across the white, green and orange fans waving flags. Ron should’ve known it would've been the Kenmare Kestrels duking it out against the Chudleys Cannons.

The crowds were going absolutely ballistic over the Kestrels and the screaming only seemed to get louder once the Cannon’s made their appearance. He watched the players zoom past the window, felt the air rush past him and before he could control himself, Ron was back at the railing, practically leaning over. His eyes bounced around the orange and black colored players for the new seeker.

“Harry!” Ron gestured pathetically behind him. “Harry! Come here! Look-” Ron pointed across the field to the seeker who was taking circles in the middle, taking in the crowd. He couldn’t help but stare at your confident smirk as you pulled the goggles over your eyes, casting the crowd a wink. The red-head basically melted.

“Godric, your smitten, aren’t you?” Harry was leaning against the railing next to his friend, his glass still in hand. A smirk came across his lips when his friend turned red again.

“Shut it.”

“You a Cannon fan, Mr.Wealsey?” 

The two ex-aurors turned to see the man who approached them earlier coming to Ron’s free side. The man held a cocky grin and a new drink in his hand, most likely giggle water. The red-head turned back to the game once the whistle sounded.

“Yeah. Have been for years.” Ron didn’t take his eyes off the field.

“Huh, even with their sour reputation? I’m more of a Bats fan, myself. Wouldn’t count this game in favor of the Chudley’s though, new seeker and all.” The man scoffed before sipping his drink. “Good seekers are hard to find. Hogwarts was lucky to have you though, Mr. Potter. Should’ve played Quidditch professionally, if you ask me.”

The two males shared a look with each other and came to the conclusion it’d be better to not fight the man on his clearly biased opinion and clear ass kissing. The pair gazed on, ignoring the crowd forming behind them the longer the game went on. Ron almost shoved his friend over when the announcer yelled you spotted the snitch. Ron blinked and you were standing on your broom, balancing perfectly, leaned over, golden snitch just a few inches from your fingertips.

“He’s a risky bloke, isn’t he?” Harry spoke up, hands going to his chaotic locks. “Gdoric, he’s gonna fall!” He squealed out when your foot shifted just a little too far on the broom.

“He’s bonkers.” Sir Pompous sneered out over his fancy drink, causing Ron to audible groan. 

“Sod off, will you?” Ron was so fucking sick of this man. “Stop bein’ pissy he has more balls than you and he was born without them.” He shot the suited wizard a glare before turning back to the game.  He let out a cheer when you finally grasped the snitch, plopping yourself down on the broom. The freckled male turned to Sir Pompous and smirked. “So.. Wouldn’t put this game in their favor, huh?”

The wizard turned on his heel, grumbling what the two friends assumed to be insults as he walked shamefully to his seat. Harry and Ron clinked glasses, giggling like school girls as they took a victory shot. They sat back in their seats, discussing games and just over all basking in the win. 

“Godric, I could get used to living like this.” Ron sat back, spreading his legs and just feeling confident. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I can’t afford to do this all the time, Ron.”

“I can dream, can’t I?” Ron didn’t blink twice when the door to the ministers box opened or when two voices spoke up. He was busy relaxing.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Coach Dorkins! The Chudley’s have always been my favorite-” The same kiss ass from earlier, spewing the same pompous bullshit as earlier. Ron was gonna fake a gag, but he hesitated. Coach Dorkins? Coach of the- of his favorite team? 

“Ah, well, thank you, but I’m just here to drop off Point Breaker.” As your coach went on with his arm now wrapped around you. Ron whipped around, his jaw was dropping to the floor. “Got a favor to fill in for an old friend. Ah, there he is! Potter!”

“Nice to see you again.” Harry stood up and shook hands with the coach. Ron’s blue eyes bounced between his old friend, his favorite coach and his favorite player. What the fuck was going on? Ron shrunk into his seat when you glanced over. He was acutely aware of his messy outfit and hair and- did he brush his teeth? “Ah! I should introduce you to my good friend, Ronald Weasley-” Harry waved over to his friend, a smile on his face. Ron stood up as well, but almost fell into his chair when he saw you shaking hands with his old friend and suddenly everyone was turning to him.

“Uh-hi-” When did his voice get all high pitched and creaky again. He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his jeans before shaking hands with the coach. “Sorry, big fan.” 

Dorkins shook his head, saying how he understood between deep chuckles. The male then turned to you, who was standing by his side. He introduced you to the red-head while you held a similar, nervous smile on your face. You held your hand out as you spoke up finally. 

“I know all about you, Mr. Weasley. Well, no not- Wait, not everything like.. Like everything everything, like um- I.. well- Ok, let me start again.” You cleared your throat, shaking the ex-aurors hand. “Hi, I’m (Y/n). I’m a fan, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron was just kinda shaking your hand, confusion filled in his brain. He was just running over your rambling and was so confused. 

“You’re a fan of me?”

“The famous auror? Of course!” You were grinning now and he found himself just staring at you. The two of you missed how Potter and Dorkins were chuckling about star struck fans and wondered somewhere else in the room.

“You played great today-” Ron almost blurted out, his voice turning prepubescent again.

“Thank you! You don’t think it was too much? Too flashy?” 

“No, no, I’d say it has the perfect amount of flash.” Ron shot you a lopsided smile. The smile allowed you to relax some, the star struck tension between the two of you almost dispersing completely as you joked back and forth. You soon found yourself sitting in Harry's abandoned seat, chatting away like you had been friends since your school years. 

“So then- then- hold on, stop laughing-Haha! No, shh! We stole my dad's car just to save him! My brothers didn’t even try to talk me out of it! The only thing my older brother said was “yeah, get the car. We’re gonna find out if it’s considered kidnapping if we’re children"! Mum really chewed us out when we got back that mornin’!” Ron finished his 7th story that night while you were enjoying a nice glass of cold water. You couldn’t get over his terrible impressions of his brothers. More than a few times his stories led to you almost choking on your drink or just letting out a loud laugh.

You told him some stories about your life at home too and only got encouraged by his snickering behind his own drink. You were so open with him, telling him stories of quidditch practice and the strange gifts you got from fans, his favorite being a bra with your face hand painted on it. 

More time passed by as you chatted, finally coming around to just playing 20 questions just day to day stuff. Now, it was your turn to ask a question and honestly, the game shouldn’t even be called 20 questions, it was more like 500 questions.

“Ok. Ok. Is it true that you had a thing for Krum?” You grinned when his cheeks turned red. “I heard from a chaser that you were here when we got on the field and our  keeper was willing to bet his life on this rumor that you had a fling with Krum.” 

“N-no, no fling! Just uh- more of a sexual awakening, if you will.” Ron snorted out, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes turned away from yours for the first time that night, casting his gaze out across the empty field.

“Ooh! What is the great Ron Weasley’s sexual preference?” You leaned forward, your grin turning to a teasing smirk. You put a hand on his shoulder when he started stuttering over his words. “Come on! You can tell me! I don’t spill secrets.”

“Would hot quidditch players be an acceptable answer?” Ron was playing with a spare ponytail holder on his wrist now, his face turning redder.

“I’d say so.” You smiled, setting down your water glass. 

“What about you?”

“What?”

“I told you mine. It’s only fair, Point Breaker. Spill it.” It was Ron’s turn to get cocky as you blushed. 

“May or may not be hot ex-aruros, but who’s keeping track.” You were not going to admit you’d been fanboying over the red-head since his face came across the Daily Profit. While he knew a lot about your game stats and quotes, you knew about the dark wizards he fought against, how he helped Granger and Potter and decided fighting was too much.

“Oh really?”

“I said maybe. Don’t get cocky. Besides, I could mean Harry-”

“I have a feeling you don’t mean him.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“How about a date?” Ron leaned back in his chair, gauging your reaction. He mentally sighed when you didn’t appear grossed out or scared.

“Hmm, let me think. “ You pretended to count stuff on your fingers before smiling at the red-head. “Leaky Cauldron?”

“Sure! Tuesday?”

“I’m free after 6.”

“Done.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

I hope you feel better soon and have some relaxing days!

For smooth promots what about hand or (signet) ring kisses (or both) with Geraskier

probably not exactly what you were looking for but oops

tw: mildly horny, MCR lyrics that mention suicide

---

Jaskier stomped and screamed along with the rest of the crowd; everyone could see the inky silhouettes taking position on the stage. After a few moments of shuffling movement the sound of a singular, low guitar reverberated through the shitty, podunk concert venue. It was joined by a second rhythm guitar, then a bass, and then drums. 

All five members of the band shouted out: “Hail! Hail!”

The lights went up and Jaskier nearly dropped dead.

Geralt “The White Wolf” deRivia was standing in the middle of the stage looking absolutely downright sinful. Jaskier was thirsty enough to begin with and this definitely was not helping his situation. The white-haired rocker was wearing a ripped white t-shirt, painted-on black skinny jeans, and elaborately buckled black leather boots. Jaskier wanted the singer to stomp on him. Honest to gods.

Geralt wrapped the mic cord around his forearm, his gorgeously muscular forearm, and took two long strides to the front of the stage. Jaskier felt his knees wobbling and straightened his legs to keep from toppling over in sheer joy.

“We kill the girls to get paid

And put the whole damn room 

On the edge of a blade.

.

“You'll get far, stay clean,

And if the world stops believing, well I'll keep believing

That the world could make a change

And put the suicide dolls as the last ones to mate;

.

“So come hard, stay clean,

And sing a song for the damned, now.”

Geralt paced back and forth as he sang, his long, silvery ponytail reflecting the lights of the stage display behind him. Jaskier thought he looked like some kind of fallen angel. He certainly sounded like one, his voice low and emotive even as his face betrayed so very little. The young brunette’s heart fluttered in his chest when the White Wolf’s eyes briefly met his own. 

“Hail! Hail!”

Geralt punctuated each shout by pumping his fist in the air, his scowl more beautiful than it was scary. Jaskier felt himself blushing for no reason at all; it wasn’t like Geralt had actually noticed him.

“Cause the king is gone,

And if you don't stop believing, we'll keep believing.

You put the record on

And live the life that you're making, 

Shots that you're taking...

.

“So grab the cash and run,

And let the suits watch each other kill one another.

It doesn't matter if the words don't mean a thing;

You gotta kiss that ring.”

The White Wolf moved to the far side of the stage and leaned his back against the guitarist’s, miming an instrument to play as Lambert shook his head and laughed. Eskel, the bassist, threw his entire body back and forth as he wailed on the strings.

“Well, alright.”

Geralt returned to the center stage and lowered his voice, making it sound almost breathy as he completed the second verse. 

“Move like the wolves, and keep the faith;

There ain't a dry eye left in the back of the place.

Is it hard to stay clean?

And if you all keep believing, I'll keep believing

.

“That the world drives the saints

And puts a shotgun shell in the hills it makes.

So come hard, stay clean;

Because they don't give a damn, now.”

Aiden, the rhythm guitarist, thrust his pelvis with every repetition of the word hail and Jaskier noticed the way Lambert’s eyes seemed to lock onto him at every opportunity. Was Geralt equally interested in another of his band members? He seemed pretty close to Eskel but Jaskier wasn’t sure that it was romantic. Not that the singer’s relationship status even mattered. Jaskier was just a fanboy anyway, an emo kid with too much money and free time; there was no reason for him to be daydreaming about Geralt as some kind of romantic partner.

“Hail! Hail!

'Cause the king is gone,

And if you don't stop believing, we'll keep believing.

You got your leather on,

And live the life that you're making, 

Shots that you're taking…

.

“So grab the cash and run,

And let the suits watch each other kill one another.

It doesn't matter if the words don't mean a thing;

You gotta kiss that ring.”

Geralt locked eyes with the younger man suddenly but firmly, his golden pupils working like magic to keep Jaskier in place. The singer winked once before headbanging a few more times. As he neared the end of the song he thrust his closed fist into the air and dropped to one knee:

“Fist up, head down,

Hail! Hail to the king!”

Hail to the King, indeed. 

Jaskier knew he would need to see another concert after this. And another after that. There was no way to live without Geralt deRivia’s glorious voice, now.

[likeiwishiknew]

Azriel x Gwyn - Small Fires

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They had agreed to meet at Rhys and Feyre’s house by the river. 

It was easier to have Lucien meet them there than to have him winnow part way to the House of Wind.

Azriel would admit he was in no rush to see the firey male. However, this wasn’t about what he wanted. But rather what Gwyn needed. 

He’d truthfully never seen her angry before. Frustrated, stubborn, fierce, he’d seen that. Her anger at Devlon’s inaction, on the other hand, had been another story entirely. At first, Azriel had thought he'd imagined it. The shimmer to her skin, the spark just under the surface. Until he’d felt the heat rolling off of her and caught sight of fire flaring to life in her hands. Only then had he been certain it wasn’t his imagination.

He knew in that instant that he had needed to get her the hell out of that camp. The Illyrians had hardly been welcoming, but they’d be even less so if they further learned Gwyn's origins. They'd already considered her an outsider. The last thing anyone needed was for the Illyrians to deem her a threat.

Azriel did not fear them, not in the slightest. But he also wasn’t stuck living among them. Emerie was. And if Gwyn had done this for anyone it was Emerie. To see all her efforts de-railed by the blood that ran through her veins, something she had no say in, he refused to let that happen.

When they’d arrived at the house Lucien had been standing silently / sitting silently observing Elain with a thoughtful look on his face. 

Elain appeared to be ignoring him as usual, though, as always, she did not send him away. She never did. Azriel had never noted so before, but now it was plain to see. Although an undercurrent of unease sat between them, neither of them ever fled the other’s presence.

Strangely enough, neither the realization did not bother him.

Instead, it was the fact that as soon Gwyn stepped into the room Lucien’s head turned her direction. The other male’s awareness of Gwyn, that bothered him. 

What’s more, as soon as Lucien’s eyes landed on her he smiled. 

Lucien stood up from where he sat and approached them. Elain did not move from her seat, but Azriel did not miss the brief flicker of her eyes toward Lucien’s back as he moved away from her.

Gwyn stepped forward to meet the male halfway.

She smiled at him fondly, earnestly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And Azriel found himself disliking the other male more than ever.

- - - 

Gwyn was surprised when Azriel had been the one to suggest bringing Lucien to meet her. She had a distinct impression that the two did not get along and that the feeling was entirely mutual. Which was a shame, because she quite liked both their company.

“Is everything alright Little Red?” Lucien asked as soon as he was close, “Rhysand was rather vague in his request that I come and see you.” 

“I’m okay,” she assured him, “But there is something I think you should see.” 

Lucien’s face grew concerned but he remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. Rather than say anything, Gwyn decided it best to try and show him. 

Exhaling, she focused on her hands, tried to summon the flames and ignite her palms as she had in Devlon’s presence. 

But nothing happened.

Maybe focus was not enough. 

Gwyn thought about what she’d been feeling when the incident had happened. Her anger, her frustration, her desperation to not feel helpless. She attempted to recapture those feelings as she tried harder to call upon the fire. 

Gwyn glanced down at her hands as she began to feel the tiniest kiss of heat. 

No flames lit, but her skin had begun to glow a faint orange and she could sense the heat further building beneath her skin. Thus, she doubled down on the negative feelings she’d felt back at the camp and soon enough the tiniest flames flickered to life at her fingertips.

Looking up, she saw those very flames reflected in Lucien’s eyes. A slight smirk graced his lips. 

“I suppose you truly do have fire in your blood, Little One.” 

She could tell from his smile that he was remembering their previous conversation, and so Gwyn found herself smiling back. Far easier than they’d come, the flames faded. But she could still feel the warmth sitting just under her skin. 

Lucien must’ve sensed it as well because he reached for her, but before he grasped her wrist he looked to her for permission. She gave him a single nod. And so, Lucien took her wrist in one hand and ran a finger along her veins. Likely getting a feel for her power. 

“You’ll need training, to control it properly,” he commented. 

She nodded again. 

She’d had the same thought. Fire was a beautiful but equally destructive element. Gwyn knew well enough that she could not afford to lose control of it. 

Like any skill, she would need to work on it, hone it. That was surely why Azriel had asked for Lucien to be brought to her in the first place, and she was grateful he’d had the foresight to know that she’d want to learn. 

They were the same in that regard, she and Azriel. Both of them were always eager to learn, to acquire more knowledge. 

She’d learned that back when they’d first grown close. It was one of the reasons Gwyn had known she could trust him. 

Those willing to learn, who sought knowledge, were rarely if ever, bad people. 

Gwyn would certainly have her work cut out for her though, with all the revelations this week. 

She had hoped to learn more about her heritage and wound up discovering new abilities she knew next to nothing about. At least, they were new to her.

But the sooner she could get some grasp on them the better. 

Lucien’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Come stay with me, I will train you.”

- - - 

Lucien wanted to take her away. That was the last thing he caught of their conversation. 

His shadows cried out their objection, to which Azriel agreed. He all but glowered at the male standing not so far from him. Not that Lucien noticed or even cared.

Before he could speak up in objection, Nesta beat him to it. 

“Not a chance on hell, Vanserra,” the eldest Archeron sister spat, probably with more venom than was necessary.

He could always count on Nesta to speak her mind. Though at times it was to her detriment. 

“Nesta,” Gwyn chastised, looking back over her shoulder at her friend, “Should it not be my choice?”

From the shock, upon Nesta’s face, it was clear the female had not been anticipating her friend’s response. Azriel had certainly not. 

“You wish to leave the Night Court?” Nesta asked, her surprise evident in her voice. 

“I did not say that, but I should like to have the chance to think about it,” Gwyn replied, turning back Lucien who'd kept his eyes focused on her the entire time.

“May I?” she asked the male.

Lucien nodded, “Of course.” 

No one else in the room spoke up in favor or against the idea. 

Elain was silent but her hand stilled on her flower arrangement she'd been working on the moment Lucien had made the suggestion. Nesta was clearly not excited about the prospect. Feyre, of course, eyed her sister worriedly, no doubt fearing Nesta would say something damaging she couldn’t take back. And naturally, his two brother’s moods were reflective of their mates. Cassian ready to step in should he need to, and Rhysand no doubt communicating silently with Feyre through their bond. 

While Gwyn didn’t see Lucien as anything other than potential family, Azriel wasn’t so sure about the other male. Gwyn may very well belong to the Autumn Court, but that did not necessarily mean they were actually related. 

And while Lucien might be mated to Elain, perhaps the other male might finally be considering abandoning the effort. It had been years now, and not all males were as foolish as himself. Content to wait around years in the hopes that something might change. It was quite possible, Lucien might entertain the idea of walking away.

Hearing Gwyn’s words to Nesta, that she would consider going off with Lucien to stay with his band of misfits left Azriel feeling cold. As though, if she went, Azriel would again find himself losing to the Autumn Prince. But as soon as he had the thought, he chased it away. Gwyn was not some prize to be won or lost. He knew that. 

It took a moment, but Lucien finally seemed to read the tension in the room. 

“If the idea of leaving makes you uneasy I have no issue with coming here to see you,” he offered, then, seeming to give it some further thought, looked to Feyre and Rhys, “Assuming I’m welcome move about the Night Court freely?”

Rhys appeared to consider this, whereas Feyre answered almost immediately. 

“Of course you can,” his High Lady spoke with a smile. 

Once upon a time, Lucien had been her first and only friend in the realm of Fae. Though Feyre never admitted it, he knew the rift in their relationship saddened her. Rhys knew it too. But there was nothing that could be done to fix it. Too much had happened, too much time had passed. One day they might find their way back to each other, but it would be no easy task. 

Personally, he did much like the idea of seeing more of the Autumn Princeling. But if it was for Gwyn’s sake he’d learn to deal with it. 

It was far better than the alternative. 

- - - 

Sometime after dinner, as talk again returned to a discussion over Gywn’s situation, along with that of the remaining mortal queens, Elain had managed to wander off. 

As Gwyn was busy speaking with Nesta and Lucien, Azriel took it upon himself to check on the middle Archeron sister. 

Unsurprisingly, he found her in the garden with her rose bush. The gloves Lucien had gifted her all those years protecting her delicate hands. She’d never thanked the other male for the gift, but Azriel had noted countless times how often she’d used them. 

“How are you feeling about Lucien being here more often?” he asked. 

She said nothing at first, only halting briefly in her pruning. 

“He won’t exactly be here, will he?” Elain responded. Her tone sounding odd. 

No, he supposed she was right. He wouldn’t be visiting the river house, but rather the House of Wind. But who was to say, given free reign, that he would not try and come to see his mate. Then again, as much as he disliked Lucien, the male was never one to appear uninvited. 

“Have you ever thought about how much easier things might have been if you and I were mates?” she questioned softly. 

Azriel blinked once, surprised by the turn-in conversation. But he knew the answer well enough. 

He had.

But the cauldron had not seen it fit to bless him with a mate. 

However, he had once coveted the beauty before him. Their attraction mutual, as far as he could tell. 

“Yes,” he found himself admitting, “I have.”

- - - 

Gwyn wound up in the small library of Rhysand and Feyre’s home. Though to call it small might’ve been a bit of an insult. It simply wasn’t as large as the once housed in the House of Wind. But it was nice, tidy, private. And she needed that bit of privacy right about now.

Gwyn dropped into one of the chairs by the window. 

Azriel had wanted Elain for a mate. 

The very idea broke her heart. A new crack forming among the many scars that already ran across it. 

A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye, but she wiped it away almost as quickly as it came. Which was just as well, because not a moment later she heard a knock. 

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lucien standing in the doorway. Normally, she’d have no issue detecting him. But clearly, her heightened emotions had her distracted. 

It took a mere second for him to take in her face. His mood immediately shifted as he approached her. His long strides closing the distance between them with ease. Lucien sat down in the seat opposite her and placed a gentle hand on her knee. 

“Little One, what’s wrong?” he voiced, concerned. 

Gwyn pressed her lips together, inhaling deeply she forced herself to push the feelings down and keep the tears at bay. 

“I’m an idiot,” she confessed. 

Lucien straightened at that, “What?”

Her foolishness did not require explaining. It was Elain. It’d always been her. The necklace, everything...

Why had she done this to herself? Why had she gone and allowed her hopes to flourish again?

Gwyn shook her head, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

From the look on his face, Lucien obviously did not want to let it go at that. But he conceded to her all the same. 

“Alright,” he let out reluctantly. 

The male stared at her with thoughtful eyes. 

“My offer to take you away from this place still stands,” Lucien spoke softly, as though fearing someone might hear, “Clearly, something here has upset you. I will take you away from it, should you wish.” 

She appreciated his willingness to help her by any means. In truth, Gwyn hardly knew anything about Lucien. Only second-hand stories she’d heard from Nesta and the others. But she found something about him inherently trustworthy. Her gut insisted that he would not hurt her, and she was inclined to believe it. 

She’d been honest when she’d said she would consider his offer. The idea of leaving the comfort and security of the library, the Night Court, left her feeling a tad apprehensive. But in recent months Gwyn had started to learn to push past that feeling.

Lucien’s idea made sense from a practical standpoint. It would get her out of her comfort zone, and she’d have a teacher readily available. She knew she’d be safe. After all, if Emerie could manage to live among men she loathed. Gwyn could certainly learn to live with Lucien. 

Yet despite knowing that, she still felt uneasy. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready to leave,” she admitted. 

She’d miss everyone, Nesta, Cassian, her fellow priestess’...Azriel. 

Lucien said nothing in response, only sat there quietly, ready to listen. 

“I know it sounds silly. It’s not as though I’m leaving to never return again. It’s just, the idea of being away...it feels strange. For years now, this place, this court has been my life. My home.” 

But then Gwyn was struck with the realization that she hadn’t this way when she’d wound up staying at the Illyrian camp. She hadn’t felt as though she’d left home at all. 

Because Azriel been there with her. 

Her throat ached at the thought. 

He wanted someone else. Had always wanted someone else, despite the fact that the female already had a mate. A mate who happened to be sitting right in front of Gwyn now. She wondered if Lucien knew. Though she supposed, he had to.

He might not have been as old as three males of the Inner Circle, but he’d certainly been around long enough to learn how to read other’s intentions. 

And yet he did nothing. He did not pressure Elain, nor did he seem to hold any resentment toward her for entertaining the company of another male. He also never returned her coldness toward him. Lucien was only ever the patient mate, waiting on the sidelines for the female the Cauldron destined for him to make her decision. 

Gwyn wondered how long he’d be willing to wait. 

She found herself almost envious of the other female. She wondered what that must be like, to be wanted, to be adored. Until she remembered something her mother had always said. That envy was one of the worst sins. It could twist even the purest hearts into wicked things.

She refused to go down that path.

Gwyn had plenty in her life to be thankful for. She would not ask nor demand more. 

She was content. Gwyn had friends who were like family. A possible family that she might one day reunite with. Every day she grew stronger and more skilled in combat, more capable of fighting for herself and those she loved should war descend upon them. 

If she could gain mastery over her fire, she would prove stronger still.

“A home will always be a home, if it is where you are meant to be you’ll always find a way back,” Lucien said, his voice close to a whisper. 

She stared up at him, to find him watching her. 

“I will never force you to do anything you do not want to or are not comfortable with. I only want you to understand that you will always have options and that in your life the only one with the right decide what you do is yourself.” 

The way he spoke, she could tell his words were as much a reminder for him as they were for her. 

“I know first-hand what it feels like to believe you have no other choice. It leads one to make mistakes one can never take back.” 

Gwyn eyed him with concern, “Have you done something you regret Lucien?” 

His eyes saddened, “Far too many things.” 

She wanted to reach out to him, hug him, and tell him that she believed in his goodness. That his mistakes alone surely did not define him. But Gwyn wasn’t sure that was what he wanted, and so she held back. 

Lucien rubbed her head and gave her a small, almost bittersweet, smile as he rose from his seat. 

"Let me know what you decide, Little Red,” he said briefly before departing without another word. 

With him gone, she was once again left alone in the library with her thoughts. And what a great many she had. 

- - - 

They’d returned to the House of Wind rather late that night, after having had dinner at the river house. 

Cassian and Nesta had gone off together almost immediately upon their return. In the months since their mating, their hunger for each other had yet to subside. Though, if they were anything like Rhys and Feyre, it was likely it never would. 

He was happy for his brothers, even if it left him feeling a bit green with envy at every reminder. 

Gwyn had not said much to him on the way back. But he’d overheard her telling Nesta that she intended to work out in the training ring despite the late hour. Something about needing that time to think. 

And so, after he’d gotten his own affairs in order, Azriel headed up to the ring to find her. 

As he neared Azriel could sense his shadows begin to dance. They moved as though in time with a song he himself could not quite hear. 

Reaching the archway, he caught sight of Gwyn. Her movements were rhythmic and fluid, the sword she was wielding a perfect extension of her arm. 

She must’ve sensed him because she stopped what she was doing and turned his way. 

Their eyes met, but her expression did not change. It remained perfectly neutral. A practiced look that he all too easily recognized, because it was one he enacted almost every day of his life. The sight of it on her face fed his growing concern.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked. 

It took her a moment, but she nodded, “I have a lot to think about.” 

In that regard, he agreed with her. The last few days had no doubt proven life-changing for her. She’d awoken abilities she’d never even known she had. But something in her tone, in her voice, in her steady effort to keep her neutral expression in place gave her away to him. 

“You’re honestly considering leaving with him.” 

Neither of them needed to clarify who it was Azriel spoke of. They both knew. 

Yet for some reason, Gwyn appeared surprised at his directness. Her beautiful eyes widening a fraction in response. But she did not speak up in denial. They stared at each other a moment longer before she managed an answer.

“Perhaps,” she admitted. 

Azriel found himself stepping into the ring, closing the distance between them. 

“Why?” he found his voice rising, “Lucien has already offered to teach you here.”

And he’d come to terms with that, but the idea of Gwyn leaving? He had not prepared himself for that. 

She inhaled, before answering, “I know.”

Then why were they having this discussion?

“But it might do me some good to see what lies beyond the borders of the Night Court.” 

Azriel did not want to trap her here. He would never dream of it. He had always been supportive of her broadening her horizons, seeing the world. She deserved a chance to learn, to live. 

Yet something had him fearing her leaving in this current state. As though, if she left now she might not come back. He could not explain why he thought this, but he felt the certainty of it in his very bones. 

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” he attempted to say, only to realize that wasn’t what they'd agreed on.

“When did I say that?” she naturally responded. 

He corrected his wording, “You said you wouldn’t run from me.”

- - - 

His words struck her, leaving her unsure as to what to say. 

She wasn’t running from him. Was she? 

“I’m not running from you, Azriel,” Gwyn found herself insisting, “This isn’t about you. It’s about me, how I feel.”

She wasn’t lying about that, not exactly. Gwyn had tried to put her growing feelings for Azriel aside to protect their friendship, but the more time they spent together the harder that was proving to be. 

Gwyn had believed she’d been successful right up until their time in the Illyrian camp. When she’d come face to face with the prospect of Azriel with another. The sight had left her with an ache in her chest, and though he’d run after her to assure her there was nothing going on between him and the female it did not mean that he wouldn’t have a relationship with someone else in the future. 

That someone might be Elain or it might not. All that mattered was she could not behave the way she had at camp. Little by little she had to learn to let these feelings go. Because locking them away clearly wasn’t working. 

Distance might help save what was between them. 

“You’re lying,” Azriel insisted, “I’m not sure why but there’s something you aren’t being honest about. I can feel it.”

His observation left her feeling angry. 

“Stop that,” she shouted, “Stop trying to see into my head, my heart. You have no right.”

For the briefest of moments, Gwyn found herself blaming him for her inability to let go. He was the one sending her mixed signals, acting as though he might want something more with her only to turn around and admit to wanting another female as his mate.

Her feelings were to mostly blame, but he was not faultless. How could she let him go when he seemed to not want her to? 

“Gwyn,” he said almost pleadingly. 

But she could not do this. Not now when her emotions were running high, clouding her judgment. 

“I need to go. Try to get some rest. I’m sure I have a lot to catch up on with Merrill in the morning.”

His face shuttered.

“I see.”

He said nothing else.

And so she moved past him, leaving him standing there in the ring alone. 

- - - 

It had been days and still nothing. 

After her discussion with Lucien in the library, Rhysand had found her there. 

When she’d started to apologize for wandering off, he’d brushed it off and reassured her he did not mind her presence in the library. 

Instead, he’d asked her a favor. The High Lord had explained to her his suspicions about the book she and Azriel had encountered in the library. Both he and his second in command, Amren, believe that the book was related to one of two things. True witches or the true immortals. Both of which would prove dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands. 

When she’d questioned the High Lord about owning the book he admitted that he’d never come across such a thing, had not even known it existed amongst the vast collection of books he’d inherited. 

Rhysand had tasked her with finding the book, by any means necessary. Gwyn had been trying for the last week or so and still she had nothing to show for it. She’d tried asking the House. She’d checked the library archives for any mention of such an ancient tome, and she’d all but searched every single shelf on the floor she and Azriel had been on when it appeared. 

Wherever the book was, she felt rather certain it was content to remain hidden there. 

The hours she’d spent had not been a complete waste though. It gave her a distraction. 

Busy as she was, she almost forgot about the argument she’d had with Azriel. If it could be called an argument. 

But he needed to understand that if she chose to leave it would be because it was what was best for her, not because she was running away from anything. She knew better than anyone that there were two things in life you could never outrun, the past and your own feelings. 

So for now, she would remain in the Night Court. Not for Azriel, but for herself. Because she felt there was something she was meant to do here, and she had a strong inclination it had something to do with the book she'd been tasked with finding.

And she would find it, one way or another.

- - - 

He sat with Nesta and Elain in the living room of Rhys and Feyre’s home. 

Elain held Nyx within her arms, the little rascal giggling wildly as she played peekaboo with him. 

Azriel himself wasn’t particularly familiar with the game, but both Nesta and Feyre had assured him and the others that it was a common practice in the mortal realm. Along with pretending to steal a child’s nose, which, personally, made no sense to him. 

Then again, many mortal traditions did not. 

Cassian was speaking with Rhys and Feyre. Nesta had intended to join them, but Azriel had asked to speak to her first. It was something that had seemed to surprise all of them. 

In fact, Cassian had made some joke about it. Not that he’d paid much attention to it. 

No, he’d kept quiet until he and Nesta were alone. Well, aside from Elain and Nyx. 

The four of them sat under the warm afternoon sun in the garden that Elain tended to.

“Gwyn wouldn’t be avoiding you over nothing,” Nesta remarked. 

He knew that of course. But days had passed since he’d last seen her and he was no closer to figuring out what it was that had caused the sudden shift in her attitude toward him. She still hadn’t chosen to take Lucien up on his offer to spirit her away from the Night Court. 

According to Nesta, the other male had agreed to come once a week to meet with Gwyn. And so he was due for a visit soon. Azriel needed to fix the rift between him and Gwyn before then.

“Do you think she could’ve overheard our conversation in the garden that day?” Elain spoke up, as she lifted Nyx off the ground to spin him around. 

Nesta eyed Azriel, “What conversation?”

He gave it some thought and realized Elain might be right. 

Usually, his shadows alerted him when anyone approached, but that often wasn’t true when it came to Gwyn. And the timeline made perfect sense. They’d been fine when they’d left the Illyrian camp and when they’d first arrived at the river house. It hadn’t been until after dinner when they were getting ready to return to the House of Wind that Azriel had noted the strangeness in her mood.  

If that was the case he could easily understand how his words might’ve been misconstrued. 

Azriel had admitted to once wishing that Elain was his mate. It stood to reason Gwyn might think he still felt that way.  

But, if so, why hadn’t she said anything to him about it? 

He considered this a mere second before the answer grew obvious. 

What reason had he given her too?

Closing his eyes, Azriel took a deep breath.

He knew now what he needed to do. 

~ ~ ~

Notes: Sorry this one is coming to you a little late. I’ve been a bit of a mini rut this week between writing this fanfic and working on my own original story. I also haven’t been reading much these past few weeks, my free mostly spent watching baking shows, so I’ve been a bit short on inspiration. And I do not like putting anything out that I do not enjoy reading myself. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the end product of my toil. 

As always, any feedback is appreciated =) 

~ ~ ~

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