#by people who should have BEEN THERE for her but just couldn’t be arsed

[femvaylin]

I’m gonna start screaming I love Vaylin so much I can’t breathe

[ellecdc]

Would you be willing write a Remus fic about that super blue moon that is supposed to be happening?? like maybe it’s so so bad for him and he takes it all out on reader and she’s really sensitive and you can go from there lol

that’d be great love but it’s okay if not, thanks!! <3

thanks for the request! decided to make this with our Black!sister reader since we've been having fun with her <3

Remus Lupin x Black!reader who he takes out his Super Blue Moon frustrations on [1.6k words]

CW: Remus was being mean/rude to reader but we don't really see the angst... just the consequences of the angst, hurt/comfort, big brother Sirius having absolutely NONE of the nonsense!

“Hey moons, have you seen my sister around lately?” Sirius asked nonchalantly as he entered their shared dorm room; noticing immediately the tension in Remus’ shoulders as he positioned his body away from the door. 

“How should I know?” Remus muttered darkly. “I’m not her keeper.”

And though Sirius had tried to be cool when he first realised his baby sister and best friend had less than platonic feelings for each other and vowed to stay out of their relationship, there were unfortunately some things that Sirius couldn’t let slide.

“Did she eat all of your chocolate?” He asked calmly, causing Remus to roll his shoulders in an attempt to pacify himself. 

“No?”

“M’kay.” Sirius agreed as he put his school books in his trunk. “Did she throw your books into the Black lake?” 

“Sirius.” Remus hissed warningly.

“Did she tell Snape to sneak out after curfew to the Whomping Willow one night so that he would come face to face with Moony, only for James to have to fight you off of him as Snape ran for his life? Oh, wait, that was me.”

“Fuck off, Sirius.”

“No thanks.” Sirius huffed as he closed his trunk with a thud. “Well, if she hasn’t done any of those things, why are you treating her like such an arse?” 

“I’m not treating her like anything, Pads. Stay out of it.” Remus nearly growled as he stood abruptly from his desk and moved towards his bed. 

“Shan’t.” Sirius refused, following his friend across the room. “You chose to date my sister, you have to deal with the consequences.” 

“Great bloody choice I made.” Remus muttered petulantly, yelping when a book hit him in the head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He hissed as he looked at Sirius who was staring him down defiantly. 

“If you know what’s good for you, Rem, you will never speak about my sister like that again, got it?” 

Remus seemed to relent as he laid back on his bed and pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to bring his boiling anger down to a simmer. 

“I’m the first to admit that Black’s are not often a good bunch, but if a Black could be perfect, she’s about as close as they would come. And I don’t like seeing her this terrified.”

Remus sat up at that, narrowing his eyes at his friend in confusion. “She’s not terrified of me.”

Sirius shrugged in disagreement. “She tenses every time you walk into the Great Hall and can’t seem to make eye contact with you, which usually only happens after a crucio or two from mummy dearest.”

Sirius watched the fight leave Remus almost immediately as he looked down at his lap in shame. “She’s…sensitive, Rem. We all are, we-” Sirius cut himself off as he stared unseeingly at the stone wall behind his mates head. “We can’t handle these kinds of moods as well as some other people can; tension and anger always led to pain and punishment growing up.”

“It’s not her, Pads.” Remus whispered. 

“I know it’s not. Somewhere deep down she might know that too but…”

“I know.” Remus offered, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “It’s this…this fucking moon, I- it’s driving me barmy.” 

“I understand that, but you can’t take it out on her; it’s not her fault.” Sirius offered gently before retreating from the dorm to allow his friend to digest what he said; he may not like the fact that his best friend and sister found their way to each other, but he also knew that both of you deserved to be happy. If he could help you both achieve that by being supportive, well, supportive he would be. 

。.。:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:。.。:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:。.。.。:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:。.。:+*ﾟ

Remus felt shame course through his body as he walked through the library in search of you. 

Between his senses being heightened this close to the moon, the additional magic at play with the super blue moon, and the fact that he knew you were a creature of habit and had a table you often frequented, it didn’t take him long to find you. 

“Mind if I join you?” He asked quietly, feeling his heart crack painfully when you did, indeed, flinch at the sound of his voice and sat impossibly straighter in your chair.

“Okay.” You whispered in response, not looking away from your book as he moved to sit across the table from you, though he could tell you were no longer reading as your eyes remained glued to one spot. 

“I’m sorry that I’ve been such an arse, Dove.”

“It’s okay.” You said quickly, still not looking at him.

“No it’s not.” He argued softly.

He watched your jaw tighten as you repositioned yourself in your chair in obvious discomfort. 

“It’s this moon.” You explained breezily. 

“Which isn’t your fault, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you- dove, can you look at me? Please?” 

He watched your throat constrict as you stole yourself and brought your eyes up to his. They were glossy, but not like you were about to cry - glossy like you were hiding, like you were occluding. 

He hated it; hated that you were hiding from him, hated that you felt like you had to hide from him, hated that he made you feel like you had to hide from him, hated that you even knew how to hide inside your own mind at all. 

“Dovey, look at me.” He repeated gently in hopes that you’d let the walls down, daring to reach a hand across the table in invitation. 

He watched as your eyes flit to his hand and back up again and he tried to keep his face neutral; no pressure or force as he let you decide if you were willing to trust him. 

You placed your hand in his, but kept your gaze pointed at your joined hands. 

“I know better than to let my moods affect you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He pressed sincerely.

You scoffed and moved your gaze to one of the rafters above you. “I’m not some delicate flower you need to tiptoe around, Remus; I can handle a bad mood.” You shot back defensively. 

“I know…” He whispered as he rubbed circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

He knew you weren’t a delicate flower; on the contrary, you were one of the strongest people he’d ever met. 

You gave the entire Hufflepuff house a run for their money on who was the most loyal wix in the castle. You always looked out for your brothers, constantly playing referee, devils advocate, and a surrogate parent for the two young Black boys. You grew up making sure Sirius never acted too outlandishly or brought too much trouble onto himself, making sure Regulus wasn’t completely beaten down into nothing and grew up to be a semi-decent boy, and taking the blame when you were unable to do either of those things. 

And to top it all off, you put up with him; a foul-mouthed, poor, Welsh, anger-issue riddled boy who didn’t deserve you. 

“Baby, look at me, please.” He begged, reaching forward with his other hand so he was holding your one in between both of his.

You turned your gaze to him and it seemed to be taking everything in your power to hold his gaze.

“I’m so sorry, my love.” He whispered, bringing your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your fingers.

Your eyes tracked the movement before flitting back up to his.

You offered him a curt nod and chewed on your bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” You whispered, eyes turning glossy for a whole new reason.

Remus made a pitiful sound from the back of his throat and stood to move to the chair beside you, never relinquishing his grasp on your hand. 

“You didn’t upset me, dove, I was just upset. And an arse; don’t forget the part about me being an arse.”

You offered him a wet chuckle at that as you sniffed, returning his hold of your hand and giving it a squeeze. 

“I hate not being able to…help, to take any of the burden off of you, to make it at all less painful for you.”

“You do, sweetheart, you do. By being here, and being with me, and being patient even when I’m an arse, okay?” He insisted, punctuating each reason he was grateful for you with a squeeze of your hand. “I don’t deserve it but I’m so lucky to have you.”

“You do deserve it.” You murmured, bringing your eyes back up to his.

And he couldn’t help himself, really; he had always been powerless against the pull you had on him and this time was no different as he closed the distance between the two of you to press a lingering kiss to your lips. 

“The point of all this,” Remus said as he broke away from you and bumped your nose with his, “is that you didn’t deserve to be treated the way that I treated you this week, and I won’t let it happen again, okay?”

You gave him a sad smile and gave his nose a bump in return.

“How mad was Sirius?”

“Fuming.” Remus admitted immediately.

“Did he throw a pillow at you?”

“A book.” He corrected solemnly, earning him an astonished look from you. 

“Oh…you crossed a line.”

Remus nodded abashedly. “Honestly? I think it might be harder to get him to forgive me than it was to get you to forgive me.”

Remus relished in the surprised laugh that bubbled out of you at that, and he vowed to never ever let another moon cause him to go this long without hearing it again.

[a-pute11as]

stubborn

r has a hidden relationship with one of the team physios, but texts from an unknown number reveal she's being used and alexia isn't happy about it.

warnings - 18+ MDNI suggestive smut themes, stalker texts, angst

words - 2996

part 2

my phone pinged. 

unknown number : she’s taking advantage of you, she’s done this with other people and she knows you’ll say good things about her to other staff so she’ll keep her job 

i furrowed my eyebrows, surely this wasn’t a text for me? the number wasn’t saved in my phone and i had no texts from them before.

me : i think you may have the wrong number 

i shut my phone off without thinking about it much after that, i knew it wasn’t for me but i very much felt sorry for the person it was intended for. 

i pushed myself up off the sofa to get myself ready for the evening training session, as nice as it was to train when it wasn’t as scorching hot, though i still preferred morning sessions. i stepped into my bathroom, standing in front of the mirror to slick my hair back into a ponytail, doing the same hairstyle i did most days. all of a sudden a pair of arms wrapped around my waist as i began brushing my hair, causing me to smile at the contact.

“we could do this every morning” she whispered before placing a peck on my neck, instantly having a calming effect on me, though it didn’t last long, “if you changed clubs”.

my face dropped and my body tensed up, she knew how much i hated this conversation and yet she never saw how ridiculous it was to ask me to leave a club like barcelona just for a casual fling to become something more. 

“mhm” i couldn’t say anything more, no matter how many times i tried, she would never actually listen to the words that were leaving my mouth. i was constantly fighting a losing battle.

“don’t be like that” she said, dropping her arms from me and stepping back. “this is my job just as much as it is yours, why should i risk my career so you can play football for another year at the ‘best club in the world’ before you go back to a half decent club”, her argument was stupid, but the audacity to use air quotes when referring to barcelona as the best club in the world stung. since we met i would always talk about how playing for barca was my dream, and how excited i was to be living that everyday, she knew exactly what this club meant to me. 

she leant against the bathroom door, staring me down, waiting for me to fight back and challenge the hurtful words she spewed at me, but she made it clear that she didn’t respect me and i was getting tired trying to gain a half-arsed apology from a person like her. 

“ana” i took a deep breath “if that’s how you feel then that’s okay, but i won’t be looking for a transfer just to please you” i sighed, continuing to put my hair back, “you know what this means to me”.

she rolled her eyes, “im not doing this, it’s always about what it means to YOU and never to us” she dramatically flung her arms in the air but i knew to stay quiet to avoid the same fight repeating itself. “you’re going to put me in a bad mood for work again, and don’t you dare think about going to isabel for a massage during recovery” with that she picked up her bag and left for work. 

peace and quiet, finally. 

i finished getting ready before grabbing my bag and heading down to my car, normally i’d go to training with keira, but she’d been out all morning so i assumed i’d be meeting her there. as i sat in my car i checked my phone, assuming it would just be a couple of texts i wouldn’t need to pay any mind to. 

unknown number : this is y/n, isn’t it? 

me : yes? why? 

unknown number : i know you’re with ana, she’s taking advantage of you. you aren’t the only person she’s with and she’s done this with multiple girls before you

my eyes widened.

me : who is this? how do you know this?

unknown number : i’ve been watching you, ive seen you leaving training together. i hate the way she looks at you and the way she touches you during recovery, it makes me sick.

i know she doesn’t give you what you deserve. i wouldn’t keep you hidden like this. 

i could give you so much more, i’d never hurt your pretty heart like this. 

i sat in my car, not wanting to move, i couldn’t care less about it being Ana or that i was receiving slightly stalker-like but somewhat hot texts from a random person, but i did care that i’d been used for someone else’s advantage. i knew i couldn’t let it go on any longer, not just so it would benefit her career and ruin mine. i swiped onto ana and i’s messages.

me : i’ll talk to you after work but we aren’t doing this anymore  

ana : don’t be like that, it was just a silly argument this morning, i’ll talk to you at work

me : can you read? i said after work. we aren’t doing this anymore, find someone else. 

i closed my phone and blasted music as i drove, assuming it would help re-centre my focus before i got to training, i couldn’t have something like this affect my performance. as i pulled into the car park i took a minute to collect my thoughts, somehow i had to remain professional but how could i when all that was swirling around my mind was finding out i was being fucked over and stalked in the same day. 

i finally got out of my car, grabbing my stuff as i headed towards the door. 

“alanna! stop ignoring my texts” i heard a small shout from behind me, i knew it was ana but i wasn’t about to give her the time of day. 

“what’s that about?” cata asked, standing at the door, clearly waiting for me to catch up to her. 

“we were sleeping together, not anymore though” i said blatantly, i had mentioned i was seeing someone but i never gave any more details than that, the only person who knew the true picture was keira but that was only because we lived together. 

“woah, i didn’t expect that” cata said, standing still for a moment, assumingly trying to process the information, as i continued to walk to the locker rooms. she quickly caught up to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder, “im here if you want to talk about it, but not if you wanna test out your advanced spanish, thats way too painful” she added, with a small laugh, causing me to laugh too. 

we walked into the changing room, which was already filled with our fellow teammates, i quickly greeted them before heading to my cubby to put my stuff down, giving myself a minute to sit down and check my phone.

unknown number : you look so good today. dios mios the things i’d do to you… 

i quickly looked around the room to see if anyone was on their phone, no one was, all the girls were engaged in conversations with each other or had already left to go to the training pitch. i put my head in my hands for a minute, my attempts to refocus had failed. i wanted to wait until i was the last one in there, either so i could scream or cry, with no one else around. 

“habla con ella ale, tu eres la capitana” cata mumbled, trying to be quiet enough that i wouldn’t hear, but she was never very good at being quiet. 

“no quiero hacerla sentir peor” alexia mumbled back “nosotras no estamos tan cerca después del incidente” she added. 

the ‘incident’ was a very drunk champions league after party, which ended with alexia and i finding our way to the club bathroom to make out. we somehow made it back to her flat together, and whilst we didn’t sleep together, we certainly got close to, so close that we woke up naked. i didn’t regret anything about that night, not the drunken flirting, the incredibly close dancing or the bathroom make out session, i didn’t even regret making it back to her flat and taking off each other's clothes before we passed out. i regretted how i dealt with the situation, but i knew alexia held that same guilt too. 

they continued mumbling between themselves as i reached for my phone to text this unknown person. 

me : can you send me some kind of proof? for some reason i believe you, i just want to see it with my own eyes

moments after i hit sent, a phone within the locker room pinged. alexia’s phone. i didn’t think anything of it, she was one of the biggest names in women’s football, her phone was constantly going off.

as i put my phone back into my bag i noticed cata had left, leaving just me and alexia alone in the locker room. she was stood in front of me, maybe 6 feet away, one hand rubbing the back of her neck as her eyes darted about the room, making me realise just how awkward the situation was. then the realisation hit, this was the first time we had been alone in a room together since the incident, at least we were fully clothed. 

“ale, you don’t have to do this” i said, standing up so there wouldn’t be the awkward tension that happens when someone is looking down on you.

“i’m your captain, i should be here for you if you need someone to talk to” alexia said, meeting my eyes. 

whilst things had been awkward between us for the last couple of months, we actually hadn’t seen each other much, i was back home, playing a couple of games for england but ale was representing spain in the olympics, so we never really got the chance to talk about things. 

“it’s just something personal, honestly it means nothing, you don’t have to worry about me capi, i’ll be focused” i awkwardly shuffled the bracelet around my wrist and forced a smile. 

“i’m not worried about you being focused nena, y/n im worried about you being okay”

my name rolled off her tongue like it was made for her to say, so perfect and effortless as if english wasn’t her second language yet it was like hearing an angel. she never really knew the soft spot i had for her. before that night, we were close, of course people thought we were together and some of the girls would joke about it, but in reality we just enjoyed each other’s companies. she made me a better person and i challenged her in every aspect, especially when it came to who could cook a better paella. it was always her, but i enjoyed teasing her about it. 

“someone i trusted was using me, that’s all, it was nothing serious but it just hurt so i’m in a bit of a shit mood, so if you’ll excuse me i’m going to train” i said, adjusting my socks as i headed towards the door. 

but all it took was one very quick, and smooth, movement from alexia for her to be standing in front of the door.

“who” she asked so simply yet her eyes had shifted, they seemed darker, the eye contact she held was so intense yet i couldn’t escape it. 

“you wouldn’t know them” i said, my breath hitched slightly, realising how close we were stood to each other, yet i don’t think she realised. 

“ahora no es el momento de ser terco” she responded, huffing at me slightly “give me a name”. 

“i’m the stubborn one?” i questioned, my eyebrows raising as i got irritated “you wouldn’t know stubborn if it hit you in the face. you’re so much more stubborn than me, everything happened and every time i tried to make things right you ignored my calls and my texts, i had to show up to your door just to be told you wanted space. i flew to france to watch you play and all the other girls came over but you, that hurt ale because the only person i really wanted to come over was you” tears threatening to spill from my eyes as i spoke “you are so stubborn alexia putellas, i tried to fix this but you were the one stopping that, so don’t act like you want to protect me all of a sudden” i added, tears now rolling down my face.

alexia took a step back and took a minute before attempting to speak, but i quickly cut her off. 

“please, just go out to training, i’ll be there soon, i just need a minute” i said, with that she walked out the door leaving me in the locker room alone. 

i took the time to compose myself before heading out to train, putting on a very fake but very convincing smile. at this point i needed the distraction and being on the pitch would offer me a retreat. i quickly apologised to pere blaming my lateness on a personal emergency before joining my group for training. 

and to my joy, the distraction did work. by the end of training i was genuinely smiling and laughing as if nothing had happened at all. we all headed inside to recovery where i promptly made my way over to isabel, another team physio, knowing exactly how it would make ana feel. surprisingly, i was feeling extra flirty today, even if it was superficial.. 

“how can i help y/n?” she asked, as i perched myself on the edge of the table. 

“my thighs please, they’re feeling quite tense after training, so i definitely need your magic hands to do some work” i said with a small smirk, laying down on the bed. i glanced over at ana who was working on cata on the table next to me, her face already showing the effect i was having. 

“i can definitely put my magic hands to work” isabel said with a wink, before getting to work on my legs. 

throughout the massage i showered her with flirty compliments, telling her good my legs felt after she worked on them and how she was the best with her hands. she knew i was doing it to rile up ana, yet it didn’t stop her in returning the flirty comments back to me. 

“jesus ana, that hurts” i heard cata remark, turning my head to see a red mark on her leg where ana had gripped it too hard. 

recovery was quickly over and surprisingly i felt a whole lot better. something about purposely making the person that used you intentionally angry felt like a release.i packed my things up and changed back into my normal clothes before heading out to my car, i hadn’t even made it half way across the parking lot before i heard my name being called. 

“don’t walk away from me when i’m talking to you” ana called out, causing me to pause where i was standing and turn around. 

“ana, i’m not doing this in public” i said, i wanted this to be over and i definitely didn’t want it to happen in front of my teammates. 

“i told you i wouldn’t be impressed if you went to someone else in recovery, and i specifically said not isabel, so why are you acting like a whore now?” she questioned, raising her voice so anyone close by could hear. 

“a whore?” i questioned, before shaking my head to refocus on the actual situation “i’m not doing this here, you can call me when you’ve calmed down” i added, turning around to walk away.

all of a sudden i felt a hand grip my arm and pull me back, making me lose my balance slightly, ana had gripped my arm so tight that her nails were beginning to grip into my arm. 

“let go of me ana, you’re making a scene” i said, my chest getting heavy as i became aware of the amount of people who were around us, tears instantly started to form in my eyes as my anxiety increased. 

“i’m not letting you leave until we talk about this” she said, refusing to let go of my arm. 

“get off of her” mapi said, quickly dropping her bag and running over to us. the other girls, who were leaving training at the same time, weren’t far behind her as they all instantly diverted their attention to the situation. 

ana was quick to drop my arm when she saw the attention she had gathered. 

“this isn’t what it looks like, we were just having a conversation” ana said, trying her best to defend her actions. 

“i think it’s best if you leave” cata said, before taking me by the shoulder and walking me towards my car. 

whilst there was some distance between us, i could still hear a few of the girls interrogating ana, and she wasn’t doing a good job at defending herself. 

“hey it’s okay, why don’t i come round for a bit and we can just sit and chill for a bit” cata said, giving me a reassuring smile, causing me to nod in response.

before getting in my car i looked back at ana to see a very heated conversation between her and alexia. 

“you’ve taken advantage of her for too long now, go and pack your stuff, you won’t have a job to come back to” alexia said, her voice as clear as anything. 

her words repeated in my head, i could’ve sworn i heard those words recently to describe this whole situation. the messages from that unknown person said i was being taken advantage of, the exact thing alexia said. 

any spelling/grammar mistakes, please let me know x

[mothiir]

a great kindness done

this is a sequel to the fic words rarely spoken but you don’t need to have read that to understand this. the only background is that the POV character is a serf who said one nice thing around peturabo, who responded — calmly and rationally — by dragging her off and jerking off onto her face. @moodymisty hope this is okay I wrote it in one go and couldn’t be bothered to proof read it so it’s not my finest work 😅

cw: power imbalance, dubcon in that no one reallyyyy gets the chance to say no.

—

—

It was not the Men of Iron who felled the corrupt government that held dominion over your planet, but the yellow-clad Imperial Fists, led by their father Dorn — and yet it was the Iron Warriors who rebuilt afterwards, smelted ore from the. cavernous depths of the planet, built barracks and cities and factories, and it is the reconstruction that matters more. Anyone can siege — it takes real talent to build —

“No,” Perturabo says, tearing your dress open with one flick of his wrists, your breasts spilling free. He kicks the door to his quarters closed, hard enough to dent the durasteel. “No, it’s — hard to siege —“

“Of course my lord,” you stammer, rewriting your internal script. “I’m so stupid, please forgive me —“

“Not stupid,�� he growls. “Just human, foolish — “

He lifts you up with one hand, effortlessly strong, palm large enough to almost cover your entire arse as his fingers bite into the meat of your thighs. With his free hand, he fumbles at his armour; removing the entire suit would take time, and the assistance of the Iron Circle (he allows no serf near his armour), but he’s in a hurry, and so only bothers with his codpiece. It clatters to the floor with an uncharacteristic lack of care. You imagine the machine spirit within fuming at the ill-treatment.

“—sieging is hard, and rebuilding as well, and the people who hail the Fists are — are misguided, silly little children with shiny trinkets and —“

You don’t get any further into your mollifying speech; Peturabo’s tongue fills your mouth. He doesn’t kiss so much as attempt to lick your skill clean from the inside, his gauntleted hand biting bruises into your buttocks.

“You’re mine,” he says, pulling away. A strand of saliva stretches between his mouth and yours.

“Always,” you say, privately wondering what his reaction would have been had you done more than simply thank the Imperial Fist. For that is what set this whole affair off — all you did was smile, and thank the Astartes, because he had held a door for you. That was that. And here you are.

“Mine,” he growls, again, his voice slipping lower, into a register that sounds more chainsword than human. It frightens you on an instinctive, primal level — like standing before the merciless churning of a great furnace, and knowing that should you fall in, even your bones would be reduced to ash.

“Yours,” you echo. “All yours.”

It has been barely three weeks since the start of your — well, relationship is a strong word for what amounts to kidnap and a permanent assignment to Perturabo’s service. Rather: a permanent assignment to service Perturabo. The work is certainly easier than your previous role — cleaning, some mending, plenty of time on your back — but although the rations are better, you do wish that some of them were not routinely painted across your tits.

“Yes,” he says, and buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. His forehead crumples, as he huffs annoyance. “You smell wrong.”

“I’m — I’m sorry —“

You can’t help your gibbering apologies, even though you know it irks him when you show any outward sign of fear (“I’m not going to hurt you, you foolish little whore,” he once thundered, in a surprisingly unsuccessful attempt at comfort).

“No. Not your fault. Mine.”

He drops you onto his bed, standing before you, his cock level with your face. He strokes himself — once, twice — then shoves it towards your mouth. It bumps against your slack lips, and he grunts in frustration.

“Open. Now.”

You let your tongue loll out, slurping around his prick; he likes it when you’re messy and wet, drinking him down like he’s the only nourishment you’ll ever receive. For the first three days, you had thought this the case, until you realised that no, he’d just forgotten how often humans were meant to eat — he wasn’t planning to force you to subsist on a diet of Primarch ejaculate.

He rubs his length over your face, almost poking you in the eye a few times, deliberately working his pre-cum into your hair. He likes that as well: leaving you covered in the remnants of his pleasure, often refusing to allow you to wash it off afterwards. You keep your mouth open, like a mindless hole for him to grind against and spill inside.

“Not enough,” he mumbles, and catches your jaw with his index finger and thumb. “Need to be inside — this will hurt.”

You don’t have time to protest, or even ask what he means. He pulls smartly down, forcing your jaw open, and something clicks. Pain streaks up to your ears, and suddenly you can open wide enough to accommodate his cock. He moans satisfaction, and forces himself deeper into your throat, heedless of the scrape of your blunt, human teeth. Your body starts to panic at the lack of air; you want to pull away but you can’t; you want to breathe, but you can only manage strangled sips through your nose, and hurking gasps through a jaw that feels fucking dislocated —

And then it is over, and Perturabo pulls out, and the dark wings of terror beat a little softer. Drool drips from your abused mouth; your eyes stream. You want to ask him what the hell was that, what — and before you can think how to form the words he’s pushed in again, his fingers holding your mouth open, one hand cupping the back of your head to angle you to his liking. It takes him a few bruising thrusts to the roof of your mouth before he gets it quite right, and slides down your gullet in an implacable surge.

He continues like this for long enough that you lose track of time: your world reduced to the thick, sloppy sounds of him fucking your throat; the pain in your jaw; the slap of his balls up against your chin; the smell of him, like gunpowder and hot steel and something else, something completely inhuman. He takes you to the verge of blacking out — your vision blurring, your thoughts growing disjointed — and then permits you a hard swoop of a breath, before pushing back in. When he does eventually cum, it’s as you breathe in — you end up inhaling some of his cum, coughing and sputtering up the last little bit of your dignity, along with a wad of white gunk.

“My — my lord —“ you gasp, trying to form words: give me a moment to breathe, let me rest —

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” There’s an edge to his voice now — needling and hungry. “You’re all mine.”

He wrenches you up by the hair, catches your jaw and feels along the sides. You’re as delicate as a bird next to him, and just as fragile.

“Nothing broken. You’ll be fine.”

“Yes my lord. Thank you my lord.”

He grunts irritably, and you scramble to think what you could possibly have said — and then it occurs to you. Thank you my lord. Exactly the words you’d spoken to the Imperial Fist.

Before you can think of a better way to convey your appreciation, Perturabo has shoved your face back into his groin, this time forcing your lips against his balls.

“Suck,” he says, and you do: rolling crinkly skin against your tongue, taking the warm weight of them in your open mouth. Perturabo, a man of few words at the best of times, directs your mouth back to his cock by dragging at your hair.

The second time he cums it is all over your face. You get a brief reprieve as he wrangles off some of his armour, enough that he can clamber onto the bed without his limbs being held to stiff attention.

Then he flips you onto your hands and knees, slots his cock against your cunt — you feel him snigger at your panicked clench — then slides himself to his more accustomed place: fucking between your bruised, tender thighs.

“One day soon,” he pants, as he thrusts, “I’m going to fill that tight cunt up.”

“Yes — please —“ you reply, exhausted and sticky and barely able to string the words together. “But let me prepare — first —“

He leans over your back, hunching awkwardly so he can lick at your neck, his breath humid in your ear.

“Yes — will split you open — split you open and fuck you full and everyone knows that you are mine —“

He flips you back over before he cums, milking his release onto your chest. You feel his cum starting to dry in your hair, cling to your skin; you feel absolutely disgusting. And yet Perturabo looks at you with a bizarre mix of hunger and tenderness. Like you are just the most precious thing he has had the privilege to own.

By the fourth time, you think he’s starting to calm down. The rest of his armour discarded, the Iron Circle tidying as discretely as war machines can, and he has you stroke him off with your sticky, trembling hands.

“Open,” he says, and you let your jaw hang slack, the hinges still aching. His release spills all down your front as you make a lacklustre attempt to swallow what catches on your tongue.

You don’t think your throat will ever work properly again. Maybe he’s ruined it entirely, shaping it into nothing more than a cocksleeve for his use.

The tenderness is back in his eyes as he lifts something up to your face. Too fucked out and bleary to register what it is, it’s the camera flash that alerts you to the pict he’s just taken.

“Hey!”

“Shhh. This is just for me. Just to see how pretty you are. Just to remind me.”

He strokes your hair, heedless of the cum drying in it, and inhales deeply, grinning at how thoroughly you smell of him. No one will ever mistake you for anything other than his.

“And no more thanking Imperial Fists, yes ?”

“Yes my lord,” you say.

[alovesreading]

Nice Kind Of Messy

Summary: Your friends set you up on a blind date, one that you aren't really looking forward to at all but when you find George Daniel there waiting outside the restaurant, there is no doubt it'll be a date to remember.

Word Count: 16.7k 

Warnings: smut.

A/N: So I wrote this as part of my Alex series but I figured I should turn it into a one shot so my George girlies could read it without having to commit to a long Alex Turner fic lol It took me a while to get it ready on one shot form but I hope you enjoy now that it's here hehehe xx

Masterlist

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You wake up that morning quite nervous. Your excitement makes you shiver in anticipation but the feeling brushes the line of anxiety and it’s rather overwhelming.

You’ve not been really looking to date lately, there hasn’t been any type of enthusiasm when hinted about putting yourself out there again since you got cheated on by your ex boyfriend. You couldn’t be arsed about it—the whole process of actively trying to look for a person that you felt was right and suited what you at least felt was the bare minimum was exhausting just to think about.

Going out with your friends was almost always a failed mission. They tried to get you out on the pull with them but you ended up straying back to the table and waving them goodbye when they came back with someone hanging from their arm, winking at them as if to wish them a good night.

They had only been lucky to send you off with someone a handful of times, but despite their best efforts to push you to pursue those who you had spent a night with, you had left them as that: a one night stand.

So they had used a new method this time, which entailed the fact that they had apparently been scheming about behind your back for a few weeks. You had only found out when you were having a wine night with them over at your flat, your jaw dropping and brows furrowing when they let you know they had made a reservation at a certain restaurant in Covent Garden so that you could meet up with someone they swore was the perfect match for you.

“It’s a blind date, we can’t tell you,” said one of your friends with a wicked grin on her face, sipping on her wine as you took the time to glare at your other two friends sitting on your settee.

They only offered you gallic shrugs and giggles, bubbly and high pitched which unfortunately managed to tug at the corners of your lips until they formed a smile.

A happy, “You’re excited then?” made you realize what you were doing, so you took a gulp of your wine and shook your head in disagreement as you swallowed.

“No, I’m just confused.” You really were, it was worse you didn’t have a clue who it could be because there wasn’t really anyone you think had shown interest towards you that you all knew. “Am I allowed to back out?”

You hoped you could, even if a meal at a restaurant you had been dying to go to for ages paid by one of them was on the cards here, but you were truly wary about throwing yourself into a situation where you actually had to put yourself in the dating mindset.

As you cursed your stupid cheating scum of an ex for ruining the prospect of dating for you, your friends shook their heads and said, “No.” in unison.

And they unfortunately went on to explain how your date knew about it already and had cleared their schedule for it to happen, and since you were an awful people pleaser, you sighed in defeat and agreed to go.

So there you are, slowly making your way to your kitchen to make yourself breakfast, despite the nerves making your stomach flip constantly and making you nauseous. Slowly you eat, slowly you wash your dishes and put them away.

You do everything slowly that day, taking a long shower and lounging in bed, still in your robe and letting your hair air dry. The date wasn’t until four so you still had time, and you figured if you went about it at a steady pace, then by the time you were fully ready you would have to leave and there wouldn’t really be a long space of time for you to bail out at the last minute.

By the time it hits noon, you’re doing your hair. Straightening it and curling the ends leisurely, humming along the music you’re playing on your speakers which is interrupted by a call.

“Good afternoon Miss Y/L/N, are you ready for today?” One of your friends greets you with a chipper tone in her voice, you could practically see the beaming smile on her face just from her voice.

Biting on your bottom lip, you let the phone rest on your lap as you continue with the next section of hair and shyly admit, “I’m actually nervous…”

The way she coos at you makes you roll your eyes but there’s a wave of consolation that comes over you when she says, “Good but also don’t be. He’s an absolute dream.”

The tiny piece of information actually makes you more curious about who he is, so you try your chances again as you ask, “Are you finally gonna tell me who it is?”

You had been trying all week to get anything out of your friends but they had been surprisingly good at keeping this one secret under a lock. And this time wouldn’t be different since you only get a vague, “All you have to know is that he’s fit and I know you’ll get on with him perfectly well.”

At least the reassurance that you and him would get on well eases your nerves a little. Not as much as you would like though, but that’s because you know yourself and when you first meet anyone, you get shy and a bit awkward, so you’re praying that you'll be able to get a bit of courage not to make a fool out of yourself.

Thankfully your friend stays on the phone with you as you finish doing your hair and you actually facetime her when you’re doing your makeup. She keeps making you laugh throughout it all and somehow makes you forget about how tense you had been for a bit.

Her boyfriend, Matty, comes back to her flat from a meeting right as you’re showing your friend the dress you’re wearing for the date and, to her dismay, he almost slips and tells you who it is that you’re seeing in merely an hour from now.

“Matthew!” She exclaims loudly before the name can fall from his lips and he quickly throws his hand over his mouth with wide eyes.

His honest, “I’m so sorry.” sounds muffled behind his hand and it only gets an eye roll from your friend which makes you laugh.

But you are gutted that your only chance to find out is gone that way. You whine as you complain, “Why do you react so quickly?”

Your friend takes her boyfriend’s close mishap as a sign to let you go though, completely ignoring your complaint to remind you, “You’re gonna have to get faster Miss, it’s quarter past three and it’s a twenty five minute walk over there.”

“Shit, right.” You curse under your breath, realizing you need to get dressed already and leave as soon as you can so you aren't late.

“You look fucking stunning, babe.” She states with confidence, reassuring you since you seem to start growing panicky, “I’m gonna leave you now so you can change but you have the best time Y/N/N, alright?”

You purse your lips at the camera and clutch your chest, “Thanks hun, love you.”

She grins sweetly at you and reciprocates, “Love you too. And let me know how it goes, alright?”

“Will do, but I don’t promise anything too interesting.” You make sure to make that point clear, you don’t have much expectations for the date just so you don’t end up feeling defeated for it not meeting whatever you could imagine it to be if you allowed yourself to.

But your friend is in heavy doubt of it not being interesting considering she knows who you are meeting with. So she shrugs as she smirks, “Yeah, well… We shall see about that.”

It’s the way that she looks like she’s trying not to laugh that has you narrowing your eyes at her, “What?”

Question that isn’t answered because she plays dumb and simply says, “Okay byeee! Love you!” loudly, blowing you a kiss before hanging up the phone.

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You walk the best you can in your high heeled boots which were not a great pick when mixed with how nervous you are and how far you had to walk. You had debated getting a taxi when you were locking up your flat but decided against it when you realized that if you did, you’d get there quicker and you wanted to stall as much as you could.

You aren’t even late yet, ten minutes left for the clocks to strike four in the afternoon and you are merely five minutes away. The whole walk, you had been practicing in your head whatever you could say to the guy you were meeting with, just to prevent embarrassing yourself. If anything went wrong though, you had brought your camera with you and a few rolls were stuffed in your pocket so that you could at least take the opportunity to take pictures.

In your head, you had gone from any topics you could come up with about yourself, deciding against being the one to mention your tragic love life and picking a few questions that could be interesting to ask your date.

But all the inquiries and words you had been rehearsing die in your throat when you round the corner at the end of the restaurant’s street and you see the tall dirty blonde smoking a cigarette, leaning on a lamppost right by the entrance of the establishment.

You think of making a run back to your building, hesitating which way would be easiest to go and how it would work with your long dress but his eyes fall on you before you can make up your mind and when he smiles sweetly at you, cigarette perched between his lips, you know it’s too late.

On your face a shy smile breaks and you give him a little wave before approaching him, faking confidence as you get closer until he’s only a few feet away so you say, “Oh hi, I wasn’t expecting you.”

Your face is burning up and you know he can see your flustered demeanor because he smirks down at you, and cheekily asks, “Were you hoping for someone else?”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you smile harder at his playfulness and in a rush of bravery you choose to play along, “Do you really want to know the answer?”

He takes a drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke out steadily as he shakes his head, “I’m just hoping you remember my name.”

And how could you forget, “Of course I remember you, George.”

George hums, taking one last drag of his smoke as he takes in your appearance and he’s grinning mischievously when seeing the dark satin and lace of your dress contrasting on your skin, your leather jacket making you look even more stunning and coincidentally matching the one he’s wearing.

“Glad you haven’t, Y/N.” The drummer replies with a wink, dropping the bud on the ground and stepping on it before taking something out of the pocket of his dark jeans, “Y/F/N sent this for you.”

An involuntary “Oh.” falls from your lips, entirely intrigued by what it can be that your friend had wanted to tell you that couldn’t be said on the phone because George hands you a folded piece of paper that only says Y/N/N x on the front.

You carefully open it, trying your best to avoid George seeing it—which is a bit of an issue since he’s so tall he can easily read if he looks down—and you instantly blush harder when you read Get the nice kind of messy ;) x

A flashback of the moment at Glastonbury when you had been gawking at George and you had let slip how fit you found him comes to the forefront of your mind and you can’t help yourself getting a little flustered at the mere thought of it.

“He’s fit as fuck.” Your eyes are unable to move from his figure, the way his muscles contract and define with every hit of the drums and the facial expressions he makes as he plays.

Your friend snorts in laughter and leans in to ask further, “Oh, so you fancy George then?”

You stutter as you try to come up with a response, “I mean… Look at him!” You’re entirely entranced by it all and it doesn’t help that he’s covered in a thin coat of sweat already, only three songs into their set, so his white top is slowly becoming translucent and sticking to his body.

It’s like your brain is shutting down and all that it can register is the look of the drummer because it takes you a few long seconds to realize your friend has teasingly said, “I’ll make sure to relay that message.”

“Oh, no, don’t.” The panic of that happening is the one thing that helps you snap out of your trance.

You watch as your friend’s face contorts in confusion and she fights your answer, “Why?! You need to get back out there and who better than George?”

But you shake your head, “No, that’d be so messy!” You can’t think of anything worse than trying to get with your friend’s boyfriend’s best friend—you cringe just imagining how that going wrong would cause a horrendous change in the group’s dynamic.

All of your worries come to a halt and you choke on your own spit when your friend smirks as her eyes fall on George, “That’d be messy, alright. The nice kind of messy.”

In an attempt to try and play it cool, you fold the note and shove it in one of the pockets of your leather jacket, clearing your throat, adjusting the strap of your camera on your shoulder and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like it’s all fine and normal.

But George can see the way you’re pursing your lips and how you hid the note so hastily so your behavior completely betrays your attempts to be secretive about it. “What did you say?” He kept his promise that he wouldn’t open the note when Matty gave it to him earlier that day, even though he’s been really tempted too, especially when he realized Matty knew what it said because he was giggling when his girlfriend handed it to him.

You don’t give him an answer though, only a little cough that acts as a coverup of you avoiding his gaze and a subtle shrug, “Just a little joke.”

“Can you share?” He tries further, his hand coming to nudge you softly in the arm.

Not even that helps your answer change. You shake your head and say a shy, “Not really.”

“I see how it is.” George narrows his eyes at you and adds, “S’alright, I’ll remember that.” which is a promise that has you biting your tongue.

“Shall we go inside?” The drummer says then, watching you struggling to come up with a response to his previous statement.

The new question is much easier to reply to, a soft “Yes.” falling from your lips, breathlessly.

And he takes your breath even more when he lets you walk ahead, only to rest his hand on your lower back delicately and casually comment, “You look beautiful by the way. Really like that we’re matching with the leather jackets.”

The opportunity to not acknowledge the compliment is perfect because you feel like you’re going to explode under George’s attention. You giggle and nod, “What a great coincidence huh?”

His answer being, “Hot coincidence.” accompanied by a wink doesn’t make it easy for you though and you find out then that being on a date with George Daniel means blushing every five minutes even if the chat is about mundane topics.

You talk about your hometowns and the differences between your upbringings, how different it was that you’d stayed in the same city for your entire life while he lived moving around for a good part of his childhood until his family settled in Manchester. You tell each other how you had ended up doing what you were doing currently and you end up cooing constantly when George tells you how the guys became friends and how the band had come together. You exchange stories about your jobs, finally having the opportunity to ask all that came to your mind about producing music which you had always found fascinating ever since you’d gotten closer to the band. George being fascinated about your knowledge on films and everything to do with photography and cinematography, which really comes with your job as a photographer and videographer.

Then he asks about your hand tattoo—the ‘Pure Desire’ written on the back of your hand is rather enticing—smirking when he rubs his thumb over it and asks if you have any more which ends up in you both sharing the amount of ink you have on your bodies which George beat you to by an incredible amount. You end up taking your jackets off and showing each other each piece you have on your skin.

Eventually, the chat comes back to the band and you ask him whereabouts The 1975 has toured so far. Your jaw drops the more his list continues and you genuinely have a hard time wrapping your head around them being relatively new to the mainstream scene when they are already going to all those places.

“I don’t even remember the last time I went on holiday, fucking hell.” You chuckle out in awe at the information he’s just given you.

And George turns your innocent amusement into a mess of heated cheeks, pressed lips and eye rolls when he suggests how that could be easily fixed, “We just have to take you on tour with us next time, don’t we?”

“Think it’ll be crowded enough now that Matty is taking Y/F/N with him.” Your eyebrows are raised to accentuate how serious you are trying to be about it, it’s so hard to conceal how flustered you are at his insinuation.

But he makes it difficult for you to play it cool when he shrugs, “We can share a bunk then.”

“You’re such a flirt. Bet you say that to all the girls.” It almost sounds like you’re scolding him and he likes seeing the reactions he can get out of you, but there’s one thing that has been constant in the back of his mind and he decides to bring it up.

Taking his glass up to his lips, he takes a sip and gulps softly to start saying, “Surprised me when Y/F/N called me and asked if I wanted to go on a date with you.”

“God, that’s embarrassing.” You wince at the information, hating the way it looks for your friends to be asking people around if they want to go out with you. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin and die in a ditch.

George smirks playfully, “Going on a date with me?”

You laugh in response to that, shaking your head before clearing up, “Y/F/N asking if you wanted to go out with me. You know you could’ve said no.”

He frowns at you, like you’ve just said the most outrageous thing and he wholeheartedly asks, “But why would I?”

“Oh George, stop it.” You warn him, pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes at him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” George reaches his hand out to touch yours and you almost shiver under it.

You let your fork down beside your plate and fan yourself with your hand as you admit, “You’re making me blush.”

But that’s not something that will keep him quiet, because he confesses, “Yeah and I quite enjoy doing it.”

The rest of the date is spent between good food, good wine, laughter, a picture you take of George when he asks about your camera, and chatter that has been really entertaining and entirely not awkward like you’d been expecting. Getting to know George in a deeper way is like a breath of fresh air and that’s why, when you leave the restaurant and the drummer offers to walk you back home, you don’t even hesitate to accept.

He takes a few detours on the way, taking you around places where he had hilarious and very wholesome stories of his childhood and teenage years when he would come around to London with the lads and other friends just to mess about. You’re so grateful for the anecdotes because you’re making sure to capture each place in its unique beauty and you know now that behind each shot you’d have the memory of what George had shared with you.

George watches you closely every time you take a picture, taking in every little thing you do before and after you press the shutter. You’re so adorable to him, the way your face lights up when you press the shutter and look at him excitedly when you roll the film.

You guide the both of you back to the way to your flat and as you walk, you’re smoking cigarettes and chatting. It’s so easy to carry a conversation with George, he exudes such an energy that just makes you feel free talking about whatever comes to your mind without having to think for a split second about what you should say or shouldn’t.

And just as easy comes laughter, because not only is his laugh hilariously contagious, he is funny himself and he has you struggling to catch your breath multiple times at his quips and comments.

There is something about this evening that you just feel the need to remember as best as you can so he catches you sneakily trying to take candids of him, every time he’s called you out on it and you shamelessly lie about the frame being focused on just what was behind him—every time something mundane and boring—but by the fifth time, instead of calling you out and have you grumpily change the focus of your lenses, he allows you to take a picture of him and even smiles for you; he doesn’t miss how your eyes twinkle after you’ve pressed the shutter.

The way you smile to yourself and proudly state, “I’m really gonna like that one.” makes George’s chest swell and in a lack of any more self control, he stops dead in his tracks and turns to you, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you into him, your chest hitting his chest eliciting a gasp to fall from your lips.

“Oh hi.” You giggle at the sudden action, your hands subconsciously resting on his chest after that, but any other words die in your throat when he dips his head and traps your lips with his.

You hum into the kiss, which is a dizzying combination between sweet and determined. His left arm stays wrapped around your waist, pulling your flush into his chest but the other one comes up to cup your jaw and he keeps you at the perfect angle for him to kiss you just how he wants.

Your arms slowly move up until they are wrapped around the back of his neck and you let your fingers tangle in his hair. It’s soft and long on the top of his head which you really like. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, his fingers clutching your tighter and you let your mouth open so you can taste each other.

You completely forget where you are until someone walks past you and whistles at the two of you, startling you out of the kiss. You really enjoyed that kiss, and it shows in the way you look up at George with burning cheeks and something written on your face.

“I liked that.” George cheekily states, getting ahold of your hand and resuming your walk.

You hum, trying not to giggle when he intertwines your fingers and a feeling you can easily recognize starts bubbling inside you. “Yeah, I liked that too.”

You felt like a teenager. Blushing to yourself while you walked hand in hand with the person you had a crush on, and it’s so ridiculous but so relieving at the same time to feel this kind of pathetic elation instead of despair and heartache for once.

Your conversation resumed from whichever point you last remember it being left at but after that kiss it only gets more and more flirty, and you like where it is going but soon enough you reach your building and you have to slowly come to a stop with a pout.

“This is me.” You mumble, squeezing his hand in yours but he doesn’t let go.

He hums as if hesitant of believing what you’ve just said and instead he suggests, “Don’t you wanna take another walk around the block?”

“George, my feet hurt.” They had been hurting for a while but you hadn’t said anything just to not ruin things, and because you were enjoying his company so much that you were willing to endure the pain for a while longer.

The drummer comes to a quick solution, “I’ll carry you.”

Which makes you chuckle, “Sure you would.” You genuinely don’t want the date to end so in a bit of a rushed decision, you bargain, “Don’t you… Do you wanna come upstairs?”

He gets a kick of excitement inside him but he wants to play it cool, so he jokes, “What, are you gonna take my picture?”

You hold back a snort of laughter, and shrug as if it was fine by you that he only wanted that. “If that’s what you want.” There’s a little voice in your head that tells you not to but there is another one that purely encourages you to have fun.

“Yeah, that works.” George casually says, like he isn’t praying that he gets lucky to even get another kiss out of you.

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“Where’d you want me?” George turns to look at you as you drop your camera on your bedside tables and take your jacket off to perch on the back of a loveseat you have in the corner of your room.

You take one of the new rolls out of your pocket and change it for the one you’d almost fully used earlier that day. “Wherever you’re comfortable.” you tell him, focusing on perfectly lining the roll before you can turn to him.

“Bed’s quite comfy.'' You hear George say from behind you and when you look up to see him, you find him lying on his side, head perched on his hand and a smirk on his face. “Paint me like one of your french girls.” He teases, resting his other hand dramatically on his forehead.

All you do is giggle at his antics, “You’re such an idiot.” Shaking your head, you come up to the bed and try looking at the scene through your lenses but you aren't quite convinced by the shot.

George watches you struggle, stepping backwards and forwards, to the sides before sighing. He reminds you with a soft smile, “I’m not used to being the one to pose for the camera. You’re gonna have to guide me.”

“Okay.” Silently, you think about it as you bite on your thumb and once a vision comes to your mind, you start instructing him, “Lean into your forearms, sideways so you fit in the bed.” But you find what’s bothering you and it’s that his legs are half hanging off the bed.

“Why are you so tall? Oh my god.” You go over to the drummer and prompt him to go further into the bed, perching one of his sock-clad feet up on the bed and the other leg staying stretched on the bed. “There, now look at me.”

George looks at you with a blank face first to which you complain about but when he actually shows you a smile he starts giggling, and if there had been something you had learned about George quite early into your date was that his laugh was incredibly contagious, so you find yourself shaking with laughter as you try to take his pictures and you end up having to call him out for it.

“Don’t laugh! You’re making me laugh!” You scorn him, struggling to sound serious between your giggles.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes halfheartedly, swallowing his laughter until he goes back to a stoic face and he gives you the perfect soft smolder.

You hum in satisfaction at the result of that frame and then you move onto instructing him to do the next pose, “Throw your head back a bit and close your eyes.” He silently listens and does as you say which earns him a sweet, “Just like that.” from you.

Of course, your words make George give you a look, one that had you lightly blushing and since you know he can recognize the way you get flustered, you hide behind your camera.

“What?” You say behind the device, inquiry thrown out into the air, and warn him, “Don’t look at me like that.”

George chuckles to himself, wondering if you are this naive or if you are playing dumb. So when you take another picture of him, he purposely complains, “My leg’s cramping.” to then throw himself back on the bed, ending up completely splayed over the duvet and breaking the pose.

“George!” You scold him yet again, a bit of amusement sneaking through your words.

He groans in response and without moving, tells you to “Just take a picture like this.”

You kiss your teeth to exaggerate your disapproval and shake your head, “I can’t even see your face.”

“Come here so you can see it.” He resolves easily for you, waving you over to come close to the side of the bed instead of taking pictures by the end of it. You roll your eyes at him in amusement, not moving at first but since he actually doesn’t plan on moving, you have to do as he says.

But attempting to get a picture from above while standing beside the bed is an actual failure, “That’s an awkward angle, look at me.” You try to get him to turn to his side again but he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Need you on your side.” You say explicitly this time but he doesn’t let up either.

Instead he suggests, “Why don’t you just get up here?” He pats the bed, right next to his hip and you blush just thinking about it. At your silence, he opens his eyes and turns his head to the side to encourage you with a “C’mon.”

He offers his hand so you can use it as leverage to kneel on the bed on each side of his hips and hover above him. You struggle as you do so because you’re growing nervous and therefore clumsy.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse under your breath, seeing him from above is an angle that you don’t really know if you can handle.

“What?” George bites his bottom lip to not let a smirk break on his face.

Yet, not even that keeps you from knowing that he knows just what he was doing but you won’t say anything, because you’re enjoying this a lot more than you are supposed to. So you stick to just replying, “Nothing.” as you take yet another picture of him.

Remembering his tattoos, you bit your bottom lip for a few seconds before hesitatingly asking, “Why don’t you take your jacket off?”

George lets his hands rest right above your knees and squeezes your legs as he teases, “Is that code for something?”

You hoped your flustered state wasn’t obvious so you can play off your nonchalant, “For ‘I want to see your tattoos’, yes.”

It goes right over his head though, because he keeps smirking as he sarcastically replies, “Right, right.”

You move so he can take the piece of clothing off without you hovering over him but when he’s done and laying on the bed again, he pats his right side so you can move your left leg there and have you hover over him properly again.

“How’s that look?” He asks cheekily as his hands go to touch your legs again, the skin up to your mid thighs showing because your dress slit allows it to open and rise up in the position you’re in.

“Amazing.” You breathlessly compliment, making him raise an eyebrow at you.

The shutter goes off again and, as you roll the film, he tests the waters, “Do you want to see them all?”

“Sure.” The word comes out so soft it could’ve gone with the wind, his hands leave your thighs for a second to grab the bottom of his shirt.

“Top’s coming off next then, is that alright?” He asks for confirmation first and you nod eagerly, your pupils dilating in anticipation.

He sheds himself off his shirt in the constricted space he had, you’re so spaced out that you don’t move but it isn’t a problem for George. If anything, his smirk grows at your inability to act and it gets bigger when he throws his shirt somewhere across the room and you’re left shamelessly gawking at his naked top half.

After a minute of your eyes wandering everywhere, George brings your back to reality by letting his hands come over your thighs again. You tremble at the same time as the drummer says, “Y/N/N?”

“Yeah?” You ask, slowly coming back to reality. Your brain has been completely taken over by the view of the taut muscles of his arms littered by colorful ink, a pair of symmetric ‘broken’ tattoos on both sides of his collarbones and his torso beautifully chiseled with a defined six pack.

“When are you taking the picture?” He reminds you, trying not to smirk too hard as to not put you off.

“Shit, sorry.” You say under your breath and, after quickly focusing the shot, finally take a picture of him like that.

There was a heavy silence that hung over you two, the trail of his fingers making your skin grow hot and your throat going dry at the growing need for anything at all. So you find yourself surprised when he breaks the silence to ask you, “Can I take your picture?”

“Mine?” You repeated like you’d heard wrong.

George nods and lets you know, “You look really pretty from here.”

In a feeble attempt not to have him do that, you remind him, “You don’t know how to.”

“Matty had a film camera a few years ago, I know how to.” George surprises you even further when he explains and just to try a bit harder, he pouts at you and says, almost begging, “Please?”

“Okay.” You let yourself accept, your mind too distracted by the view beneath you to even fight.

Once you hand him the camera, he lifts it up to his eyes and lets out a chipper, “Smile.” as an instruction, which you follow only just a bit shyly.

You’re about to get the device back from him when he pulls it away from your grasp and pleads, “Another one please?”

You sigh at the drummer’s exaggerated pout until it turns into a giggle and that’s when the shutter goes off. Your cheeks burn again when he compliments as he rolls the film, “Stunning.”

Letting the camera rest beside him, George tries his luck and lets his hands rub on the skin of your thighs a bit further up. You don’t refuse it, he can clearly see the growing hunger in your eyes as you look down at him so he continues, letting his gaze trail down your body to drink in all of your but when he reaches down to your legs is when he catches a slight glimpse of red ink on your left thigh that makes him ask, “Do you have more tattoos?”

He doesn’t remember your mentioning any other tattoos than the ones you’d shown him at the restaurant. So when you nod, he can’t help but ask, “Where?”

“One, right here.” You grab his right hand so he can touch over the fabric of your dress where the one on your rib is. Your eyes looking right into his and his lips opening further when you continue, “And this one here.” lifting the fabric up to show the ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

George lets his right hand fall until it reaches the one on your thigh, you’re still clutching the satin in your first so he can fully see it. He rubs on the red ink on your skin as he stares at it, eliciting goosebumps to break on your entire body.

He looks up and asks with a low voice about the only one he hasn’t seen yet but you had just let him touch over your dress, “What’s the other one?”

“A word.” You vaguely say, as if encouraging him to continue asking about it.

“Which word?” His fingers trail further up, making your knees go completely weak. They had been hurting from hovering over him for so long but his touch is the thing to finally have you finally sit on his lap.

And that’s when you feel him growing hard in his jeans.

His fingers had already been making your every thought go straight down to your core so you’re entirely driven by lust when you fully lift the satin up and shed the dress off your body, leaving you only in your underwear and in full show for George.

It’s involuntary, his hips jerking forward and pressing on your center, his mouth agape at the sight and he grows even more breathless when you roll your center against his hardening cock.

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath, taking one quick look at the strange word on your rib before perching himself up on his left forearm to wrap his right hand around your neck and pull you in for a hungry kiss.

You lean further into him, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and digging into his hair to pull on it as your lips move with each other. Your fingers tugging on his hair made him groan into your mouth and, as payback, he tightens his fingers around your neck, earning a loud moan out of you.

George pushes himself up with his left hand until he’s sitting on the bed, his right arm wrapping around your waist to keep you flush against him. Your tongues taste each other and your breaths grow heavy when you start rolling your hips in sync, meeting in the middle and creating a delicious friction that soon enough forces you to break the kiss only to gasp in pleasure into each other's mouths.

His fingers come to graze the ink on your left rib, your desperate side having you sink your hips down to roll against him and turn his, “What does it mean?” into a gorgeous moan.

Your lips brush as he moans and you respond to his sound with a mewl of your own and when that reaches his ears, George forgets ever asking anything for he can’t wait any longer to feel your lips on his again.

The kiss grows needy then. His hand goes from your ribs down to knead the flesh of your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and encouraging you to move against him. Your clit was getting so stimulated from only being covered by the thin material of your lace thong against his jeans which means you can’t kiss him any longer.

A string of moans falls from you as you quicken your pace, getting louder as you go but your actions are interrupted when George clutches you tightly by your middle and swiftly flips the two of you around so it you’re resting on your back on the bed with him hovering right over you.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden change of positions, your hand flying to cup his face and bring his lips back on yours and wrapping your legs around his waist to pull his hips into your core in a desperate attempt to have the friction back.

The feeling of his hard on coming down to rub harshly against you every time he bucks his hips forward makes your head spin. He starts off by teasing you with the friction and leaving you hanging for a few seconds before going back in but when you start gasping into his mouth, he keeps himself close to you and relentlessly rolls his hips on yours, hard cock pressing deliciously against your throbbing clit.

The pace grows faster, making it impossible for you to continue moving your lips with his so he takes it as a sign to continue on with what he wants to do first. Unfortunately, that means his hips stop moving and leave you throbbing and clenching around nothing but he makes it up to you with his lips all over your skin.

Wet kisses trail down your neck, his lips taking their time to give every bit of your skin attention on the way down. Kissing, sucking, licking. His fingers run down your sides until they clutch tightly on your hips, fingers pressing hard on the skin there and making your cry out in pleasure even louder.

Your breath is heavy by the time he stops sucking bruises all over your chest and abdomen, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging on it so he can come back up but instead his tongue runs flat from just above your belly button agonizingly slowly up until his nose bumps against the hem of your bra.

George looks up at you through his lashes, teeth coming to bite on the fabric and tugging them the slightest bit down so you know what he wants to do and you desperately nod.

Without much of a proper attempt to take the piece of clothing off, he just tugs down the lace cups on it and lets your tits spill out freely for him. He groans from the pits of his chest at the sight, hips bucking forwards into the mattress harshly in search of some relief for himself.

But not letting any more seconds go by, George dives to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. Groaning around it, the vibrations of the noise causing white heat to run straight down to your throbbing wet cunt.

He switches the sucking for flicking it with his tongue, blowing cold air and smirking as your nipple hardens at his actions, ending with a soft bite and tug that have you loudly saying his name in call for mercy.

You needed something, anything. You can feel yourself clenching around nothing and it’s almost torturous. But your cries fall on deaf ears for he moves onto your other nipple and repeats his process. You’re only ruining your underwear further, so wet you feel uncomfortably sticky with your thong still on.

“George, baby, please–” You plead in anguish when he starts sucking bruises on your tits, biting them until you whimper loudly under him.

“What do you need Y/N/N?” He asks sweetly, a stark contrast to his vicious attack on your chest.

“Anything. Just–” You try to say, your words catching up in your throat as your desperation for release clouds your logic and makes you sound stupid.

So you rely on grabbing one of his hands from your hips and guiding it down to where you’re aching. The simple graze of one of his fingertips on your swollen clit eliciting a pathetic mewl out of you.

“Oh sweetheart,” George tuts “Made quite a mess, haven’t you?” His pointer finger runs up and down your clothed core slowly and so faintly you don’t even know if you are imagining it.

Applying a bit more pressure assures him to hear every one of your needy sounds and feeling like you had waited enough, he leaves a light feather kiss over your center.

“Need help cleaning up this mess, yeah?” His words are sweet, like he’s finally taking pity on you. The thought of him doing absolutely anything at that moment sounds so fucking good your hum in agreement sounds more like a whine, barely able to make eye contact with him in your hazy mind.

His long tongue runs flat over your underwear, wetting even more than it already is and he moans at the taste of your slick soaking through it. His fingers tug the fabric down your legs and throw it somewhere behind him in record time. He finds himself almost drooling at the sight of you completely exposed to him.

If you had any hint of inhibitions left in you, you would’ve tried to close your legs under his attentive gaze but he’s entranced and you’d had it with waiting any longer so you prop your legs wide open and squirm in your place.

“George, please.”

Your pleading is so sweet, so desperate, he can’t deny you any longer. So he dips his head in between your legs and starts lapping at you like a starved man. At the first proper taste he has of you, he moans loudly, tongue running up and down your slit to gather as much of you as he can and enjoying every drop of your arousal on his tongue.

“Are you not gonna continue taking my picture?” George interrupts his task to tauntingly ask, going back to using his tongue on you, this time flicking it up and down quickly on your clit and making you shiver.

Your words are caught in your throat when he doesn’t relent his actions but still looks at you expectantly through his lashes, “Right– F-fuck! Right now?”

He only allows himself to stop for the amount of seconds it takes him to nod and say, “Yes baby, be a good girl and take my picture.”

That ‘good girl’ makes you roll your eyes in utter pleasure, and all you can think of is doing as he’s telling you to earn his praise; because you want more, you need more.

Your head turns quickly to see where he’s left the camera, and you bring it to your eyes to take a picture as fast as you can. Your thoughts are already becoming clouded by the tightening coil in your lower belly.

His disheveled dirty blonde hair in between your legs, his arms underneath your legs and hands clutching your thighs in place is all that you captured in that frame. The shutter goes off letting George know you have done as he’d said and he congratulates you by praising you with a proud, “Such a good fucking girl.” and a few kisses to your clit which make you jolt.

He goes back down, trying to clean up the mess of slick and saliva that’s dripping down your inner thighs and onto the duvet, but you’re so desperate so you start rocking your hips against his face, trying to steer him back to where you wanted him to be and, to your satisfaction, he follows the silent instruction by going back to your center and this time pointing his tongue and dipping it inside your sopping hole.

Your legs instinctively close around his head, eliciting a breathy laugh from him that hits your core as he continues tongue fucking you. His hands come to spread your legs open again, holding your limbs down on the bed strongly, not allowing you to move any longer.

The feeling of his wet tongue dipping in and out of you has you growing increasingly louder, begging and pleading with him not to stop, your orgasm so close you can feel it.

But despite your words, he stops.

At that very moment, you swear you can cry, knowing you had just been about to come undone on his tongue. But just before you can pathetically let your frustrated tears roll down your cheeks, his lips wrap around your throbbing clit and he sucks on it. The perfect amount of pressure for you to thrash around beneath him as your pleasure resumes and hits you with an incredible force, making you let out a string of moans of his name and then a bunch of “Yes! Fuck yes!”, hands flying down to tangle your fingers in his hair and keep him in his place.

“I’m gonna cum!” You yell out loud, eyes shutting tightly since the pleasure impedes you from keeping them open, and when George starts humming as he sucks your clit, you are done for.

Your legs tremble under his hold, toes curling and your fingers tugging his hair tighter than you had been before. You black out as your orgasm hits you hard, the oxygen in your lungs leaving you entirely as your back arches off the bed and you only come back from your high when his incessant sucking becomes too much for your oversensitive self so you pull him away from you.

He giggles, completely entranced by your fucked out state. Watching you cum had been an experience but god don’t you look beautiful with your chest heaving, bruises looming on your skin, a flush to your face and chest, a thin coat of sweat making your body and face shine.

But before he can give you any more attention, his gaze falls back to your cunt and it’s glistening with arousal. You taste so fucking good to him that he wastes no more time to lick you clean. Your legs tremble at the resumed contact of his tongue on your sensitive core, whimpers stubbornly leaving you as he goes.

Your fingers leave his hair alone but your left hand cradles his head as he laps up at everything you have given him, and after a whole minute of him meticulously licking clean every inch of skin that had been wet with your arousal, he starts a trail of kisses from your mound until he reaches your belly button.

Flashing a smile up at you, George rests his chin on your lower stomach and you can’t hold yourself back from brushing his messy hair back almost adoringly, post orgasm haze making you extra appreciative of him and his skilled tongue work.

His fingers rub circles on the top of your thighs, “Feel good?” He asks before leaving more soft kisses on your lower stomach.

“Very.” You answered with a smile, fingers brushing through his hair.

He hums at the feeling of your touch, “Good to know, gorgeous.”

Turning to see where you’d left it, you reach out to grab your discarded camera. Melting into the duvet under George’s gentle touch and his lips pressing on your skin leisurely, you really make an effort as you lean on your forearms so that you can get a better look at him to take a picture. He looks up at you with a dizzying smirk that you manage to capture, and you know that you’ll adore that picture no matter the outcome of this day.

His lips tickle the skin of your lower stomach when he points out, “Didn’t even have to tell you this time.”

Putting the device back down on the bed, you shrug with a grin sneaking onto your lips, “You look good.”

“Do I, now?” He teases, dropping his hands from your thighs and pressing them on the mattress so he can slowly push himself up and crawl his way up to hover over you again.

“You always do.” Your words come laced with lust, his eyes darkening as he gets closer and you just can’t wait any longer to have him in more ways. “Come here.” You instruct by wrapping a hand around his neck, fingers pressing on the sides of it until he groans loudly in pleasure and when he lets the sound leave his lips, you smirk and warn, “My turn.”

Pulling him in by his neck means that your tongues meet instantly when you start the kiss, and when you taste yourself on his tongue, you moan so loudly George growls just as loud in response.

The kiss is all teeth clashing, spit dribbling down to your chins, noses bumping, deep exhales sounding loudly and trying to overpower the sounds of your swollen lips moving together.

It’s George the one to grow louder when your hand drops from his neck, down his naked torso to the button of his jeans, which you undo with quick fingers and pull the zip down before you can palm him over the fabric of his boxers.

“F-fuck…” He lets out when your nimble fingers squeeze him and stroke him up and down. He’s so hard that your touch makes him shiver.

You can feel him so swollen and heavy under your hand, your mind already spinning about how big he is but you want to have him unravel under you so badly, you push any worries about his size to the back of your head.

His hips move slowly, helping with your movements, clearly wanting to reach his high but you want to taste him and you want it now. So you leave his cock alone to instruct him, “Lay down, baby.”

You switch positions, George laying on his back and you’re kneeling between his legs. He pants as he watches you shamelessly gawk at him, your mouth going dry at the clear outline of his cock.

“Fucking hell, George.” You curse as you tug on the top of his jeans so he can lift his hips up for you to take them off him.

He does as instructed and you’re just too impatient to wait any more, you want to feel him heavy on your tongue already. His boxers come off quickly after his jeans, his hard cock springing up to touch right by his navel.

You gulp. He’s thick, angry red tip already leaking from how aroused he is. Intimidating but so inviting.

Dipping your head down, you start kissing his hips. Leaving kisses that go from sweet to wet and messy the more he squirmed under you.

“You…” George pleads, hand coming down to cradle your head. Not to push it towards where he wanted you but to have you look up at him and see just how fucking desperate he is for you.

You feel that look go down straight to your core, clenching your legs together at the feeling. “I know baby, I know.” You say in a coo.

Your fingers wrap around him, the pressure of them making George huff in pleasure with his lips pressed together. He feels so heavy in your hand, veins popping for you to see how pained he is.

“You’re so big.” You trail off, a bit of wander in your voice. You have no idea how he’s going to fit in your mouth, he’s by far the biggest cock you have ever come across but you like a challenge.

Your tongue licks a bold strip from base to tip, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you taste the salty arousal that has already been leaking from him. He curses under his breath at the feeling of your wet tongue on his cock, but the breathy words turn into a loud moan when you wrap your lips around him and sink your mouth down onto him.

Barely able to fit half of him in your mouth until he hits the back of your throat, you pull back to catch a breath, your hand taking over for a few seconds as you inhale deeply and go back in. You gag around him when you manage to get him deeper, George moans loudly as you do so, trying his hardest not to buck his hips upwards into your tight throat.

His hand goes back to hold your head but this time, his fingers tangle in your hair, only to pull you up so you can breathe. But you don’t want to have it easy, you want to see how much of him you can take and hear every one of his pretty moans.

So you go against his hold, sinking your mouth further down and gagging around him again. Your hand stays at the base of his cock, stroking the rest you can’t get to, as you continue bobbing your head up and down on him.

George is a mess of groans and moans, whimpering whenever you gag and moan around him, your throat tightening around him driving him insane.

He lifts his head up slightly to look down at you, pulling on your hair so you come off him and meet his eyes. George is met with you panting, pink wet swollen lips, saliva dripping down your chin and neck, tears falling out of the corner of your eyes, hair disheveled but pupils dilated and a satisfied smirk at it all.

Your hand keep stroking him up and down, fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure and he moans at the combination of your touch and the glorious view of you like this, “Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.”

The praise only encourages you more, so you lean back down and lick a strip up his cock again, this time looking up at him through your lashes. An innocent look in your eyes as you lap at the tip of his cock eagerly.

He exhales in awe, “Look at you– Shit!” He curses loudly when you sink slowly back down until again he reaches your throat, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily and making you gag loudly.

You gasp out for air for a mere second before you do it again, until you manage to control your gagging a bit better and encourage George to fuck your mouth with a simple squeeze to his hip.

“Oh fuck– Such a pretty filthy girl.” He praises as he obeys the silent instructions and rocks his hips forwards slowly and ever so slightly. “You like it when I fuck your throat?” His question is thrown out into the air in between groans.

You answer with a hum that vibrates around him and that’s when George starts feeling like he’s losing control. His hips grow erratic and you notice so you hum and moan around him even more, causing him to get closer to his high.

“Y/N/N m’gonna cum!” He warns you loudly, the wet squelching sounds of him going in and out of your mouth and your moans bouncing off the walls in a pornographic symphony that makes the scene even better.

And when your hand drops from around the base of his cock to play with his balls, he’s sent over the edge. He pushes his hips forwards and stills then as he comes, cock twitching in your mouth and his cum coating the walls of your throat with a warmth you appreciated with another low moan.

His hips fall back on the bed but you don’t relent just yet, sucking him off for a little longer to take everything you can. But he has to pull you off him by your hair when he can't take it anymore, cursing and calling out your name like he was scolding you.

“Fucking hell.” He mumbles, still dizzy from his orgasm but completely entranced by the way you come off him with a whimper and a satisfied smirk.

You wipe the drool off your chin with the back of your hand and slowly crawl up until you are laying on your side right beside him, staring right into his eyes with hunger still darkening yours.

“Feel good?” You ask, just what he’d asked you after he made you cum but in a mocking manner.

It gets you a chuckle in response before one of his big hands comes to cup your jaw and crashes your lips together.

Kissing George has you dazed. His lips are soft but firm when moving along with yours, they’re wet and swollen, warm exhales leaving his parted lips for your to swallow, tongue peeking through them to meet yours. He whimpers so loud when he tastes himself on your tongue, fingers digging into your cheek and making you mewl in response.

Your skin grows hot the more you kiss. He doesn’t even let you get a proper breath whenever he pulls back for a brief second, because he’s back on your mouth with desperation—lips smacking and tongues licking at each other.

Your hands go on a path from his face to his head, the back of his neck, his shoulders, and eventually to his back, nails digging into it when he starts nipping at your bottom lip, at the same time as his right hand drops from your jaw down to pinch your nipples, eliciting gasps out of you.

“George…” You let out in a gasp when he has your nipple pinched and twisted between his thumb and index finger.

He’s smirking right over your parted lips, amused at the way you shiver every time he goes from one nipple to the other. Your nails claw at his back when you feel the electric shocks that his touch gives you travel all the way down to your center, feeling yourself growing wetter and that familiar knot in your lower stomach forming.

His lips slot between yours again, distracting you from his touch going from your tits down to tease your cunt.

With his thumb, George starts rubbing circles on your clit, making you pull back from the kiss with a loud gasp that turns into a cry of pleasure. You could feel yourself throbbing already, and it gets worse when he picks up his pace.

He isn’t going too fast but not slow either, the speed in which his thumb rubs at your clit has you writhing your hips in response, subconsciously trying your best to get closer and closer to your high.

“George! Fuck!” You yell when he slides a finger inside you. It’s thick and long, curling inside you and making you see stars already, half lidded eyes catching him smirking at you and his breaths growing shallow when taking in your reactions.

“You like that?” He asks you teasingly, pecking your lips as your face scrunches up in pleasure.

You manage to hum in response, but he finds that not good enough, so he adds another finger, stretching you out easily and making your back arch as you moan loudly. “Yes! Yes!” You encourage, and when he curls his fingers again, knuckle deep inside your cunt, you felt yourself be completely overcome by pleasure and your words slip past your lips without even thinking of them first, “Oh my– Fuck! George, your fingers feel so fucking good.”

His fingers are slipping in and out of you with ease from how wet you are, your hips erratically moving as he thrusts them inside you to meet him in the middle. “That’s it, cum on them baby.”

The dirty talk has you completely fucked over, “George, I’m so– Fuckkkk!” You can’t help but scream out when he pushes a third finger inside you, feeling completely stuffed with him.

It feels so good how much he’s opening you up, and he’s loving the way whenever he pulls his fingers back your walls push him off so he has to slowly sink his fingers deep inside your cunt again. “I know, I can feel you clenching hard around them.” You’re squeezing his fingers so tight, his throat goes dry just thinking about how good you’re gonna feel milking his cock, “Can’t wait to fill you up and feel how tight you’re around my cock baby.”

You agree, so drunk in pleasure you just want to feel even more of him, “I need you. George, I need–”

But he tuts before you can complete your mumbled sentence, “You’re cumming on my fingers first.” You’re about to cry out like a brat, about to beg for him to stuff you up with his big cock but his words beat yours, “Come on baby, give it to me like the good girl you are.”

His voice is low in your ear, so sultry and inviting you feel it deep in your core and you just can’t say no. Not when you’re gonna earn his praise, those words he says that have you wrapped around his little finger.

So you let go. Your toes curl as his fingers keep pumping in and out of you, hitting that spot perfectly for your to see stars as you come, white heat enveloping you and taking ahold of your entire body as you cum, “Fuck, fuck! Oh– George!”

“That’s it, baby. So fucking stunning.” He encourages, watching his fingers continue to disappear inside your tightening cunt, your legs shaking and your hips moving clumsily to meet his hand. He gets impossibly hard at the sight of it all, biting his bottom lip as he moans.

You gush all over him, slick drenching his hand and dripping down your cunt onto the duvet. He can’t let it go to waste, so he pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean, moaning around them when he tastes you again.

So fucking sweet. He needed more.

You feel his fingers gathering your mess and you manage to peel your eyes open to watch as he sucks it all off his fingers again.

Shamelessly, you just watch as he dips down time and time again until he deems his work of cleaning you up done, the last one being offered out to you and you obey enthusiastically, wrapping your lips around his fingers and sinking your mouth on them to suck them clean the best you can. Your eyes stay on his as you do so, moaning loudly around them while you batted your lashes at him, just fully putting a show on for him.

The view makes George’s cock twitch, a bead of precum leaking from his head. He reaches out behind you for the forgotten camera and when you’re trying to catch your breath, eyes closed in bliss, he takes a picture of you.

Your eyes snap open at the sound of the shutter going off and you look at him all startled like you need an explanation.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” He quickly justifies, lifting the device back up to his eyes and adjusting the focus to take another one as he adds, “All fucked out. Fucking gorgeous.”

“Stop.” You whine when the shutter goes off again, hand coming up to grab at the lenses and forcing him to put it down, “I must look a mess.”

His head shakes in disagreement, tongue swiping at his bottom lip with his eyes drinking you in all over again, “You don’t. You look hot.” Skin glowing due to the thin layer of sweat your activities have caused, lips swollen and wet, your chest heaving and flushed, the gorgeous pattern of every bruise he’s sucked on your skin which are darkening more and more, hair disheveled and splayed over the pillows.

“I’m confiscating this.” It’s the brief ultimatum you give him, grabbing the camera and turning the action on him instead.

You take just one picture of him and he allows it, only to then complain by saying, “You have enough of me.” and taking the camera back.

Rolling your eyes, you fake being annoyed and kiss him quickly before pushing yourself up and off the bed, telling him, “Gonna go to the bathroom.” making a beeline for your wardrobe and getting yourself a new pair of underwear first, adjusting the cups of your bra so they hold your breasts again.

It isn’t longer than five minutes that you take, coming back to him wearing his boxers again and laying over the bedsheets—he’s discarded the duvet and left it a big crumpled knot on the floor by the foot of the bed—, a hand behind his head whilst the other is scrolling on his phone.

His position looks inviting, so you crawl on the bed and sit on his lap with a mischievous smile on your face. You reach out to get the camera he has placed on the bedside table at the same time as he drops his phone there and his hands go up to hold your hips.

“Put your hands behind your head again.” You instruct him softly, almost a mutter that sounds so shy, the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

You take a picture of him like that and another when he runs a hand through his hair but you stop when his hands come back to grab at your skin, going from your waist until they softly come down to rest at your hips.

With a soft squeeze on your sides, he tilts his head to ask, “Am I allowed to smoke?” to which you nod and get off him to open the windows and get him a cigarette and a lighter.

Getting back on top of him, you place the cigarette between his lips but before you can give him the lighter, you grab the camera again just so you can capture the moment he ignites it alive.

George looks so fucking hot lighting it up: cheeks hollowing ever so slightly, brows furrowing, long fingers that make the lighter look minuscule in his hand, lips pursed around the stick.

You snap away and capture the moment he blows out the smoke upwards, before taking another drag and then blowing it in your direction.

The familiar scent of the tobacco and just how arousing you’re finding it all, impulses you to start moving your hips slowly on him. The sudden movement makes his breath hitch in his throat, causing him to erupt in coughs when the smoke goes up the wrong hole. He had been half hard beneath you when you sat on his lap, so you can’t really hold back from wanting to have him in a new way now.

That’s when you guide his hand to your mouth so he can place the cigarette in between your lips for you to take a drag. His mouth opens agape as you do so, the rolling of your hips only growing more intent and he starts twitching and getting harder in his boxers.

He can feel your heat, the way you’re wetting your underwear and starting to wet his own, the pulsing of your swollen clit. He can see how your nipples grow hard through the lace of your bra, and the way goosebumps rise in your skin as you go. Soft gasps that turn into hush whimpers that he wants so badly to turn into those loud moans of yours that he’s quite enjoying getting drunk on.

“Have you brought a condom?” You ask breathlessly, camera being once again forgotten somewhere on the bed for you to be able to rest your hands on his chest as leverage.

A flip switches inside George, the simple hint of him finally being able to sink himself deep inside you making his blood rush down to his cock.

“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and it’s a relief when you quickly get off him so he can rush to get it, not without going up to your dresser so he can put out the cigarette on the ashtray that’s laid there by your jewelry.

He had thought it was foolish of him to pocket a couple condoms before he left his flat earlier today, fully scorning himself for being so ridiculous as to assume you would want to shag after your date but oh was he glad he had still done it right then.

Condom in hand, George goes back to the bed but not without shedding himself off his boxers first. You bite your bottom lip as you get your bra off to throw it on the floor behind you, seeing him wrap his hand around his length and pump it slowly as he watches you almost naked figure. Your hands go down to your hips so you can quickly tug down your underwear, eagerly taking it off and throwing it on the same spot on the floor you had dropped your bra.

Crawling up to the edge of the bed, you hum as you watch him stroke himself up and down, your mouth watering for another taste of him. So when you get right in front of him, you dip your head down until your mouth is right before his hardening cock and sticking your tongue out, you lick at his head slowly.

He grows heavier on your tongue as you go, twitching in your mouth when you wrap your lips around him again, his head thrown back at the feeling of your wet mouth enclosed around him and sucking him off patiently.

But he has to use an incredible amount of self restraint to pull you off him, a hand delicately coming around your neck to have you let go off his cock with a pop and pull you up to face him.

“I’m fucking you now.”

George isn’t asking, he’s simply informing you and that makes you squirm under his gaze in anticipation. Thighs pressing together and eyes drinking in the way lust makes his behavior change. But you want a bit of control, even if it’s just for him to ruin you.

“Can I ride you?” You ask innocently, puppy eyes that you pray will get your a yes.

You take the way he pulls you in for a messy kiss as one.

In no time he’s laying on his back with his head resting on the pillows, teeth ripping the condom wrapper open while your hand wraps around him, waiting for him to put the latex on. The anticipation grows and hangs in the air like a heavy cloud as George rolls it down his length, sighing at the feeling of it around him.

You catch a glimpse of your camera through the corner of your eye and you can’t help but think there won’t be a better thing than capturing his pure ecstasy in a picture so you grab it before you straddle him again.

You lift the camera up to your eyes with one hand while the other gets ahold of his cock to line him up, rubbing his head on your clit and making yourself gasp at the feeling. You clench around nothing as you do so, and you can already feel yourself drenched.

Even after he’s stretched you out with his fingers, it’s slightly challenging for you to take him when you start sinking onto him.

Your jaw drops in a silent gasp when every inch of him starts stretching you out, eyes watering at the initial sting. Your eyes want to flutter closed at the feeling but you do your best to not let them close entirely so you can capture the way he groans loudly with his head thrown back as you let your cunt swallow him whole.

Breath hitching in your throat, you sink down completely until you can feel him so deep a pathetic cry of pleasure slips past your lips.

You draw your hips up and back down on him slowly, testing the waters on his size and what angle is good for you to feel the best. You’re both a mess of loud moans at the feeling. He’s so big, he’s filling you up in a way you’ve never felt before so your walls are clenching hard around him which has his head spinning.

“You–” George breathes out, hands flying to your hips and clutching them so tightly just to show how bad he’s holding himself back from just thrusting up into you, or better yet just flipping you around and fucking you into the mattress.

“Fuck–, I know. I know.” You say in a high pitch tone. One of your hands falls to rest flat on his chest and use as support, “I– oh, fuck…” You curse as you roll your hips forwards and then backwards this time, making you completely still at the insane sensory overdrive you’re getting from it.

George knows you need a second or two but you stay frozen for longer than he can hold so he pleads, “Baby– Fuck, baby, I need you to move, you’re so tight.”

“Just–” You try to say, rolling your hips again and mewling loudly. George moans back in response, his hands sliding down to your thighs as your head hangs in pleasure.

You establish a slow place, George’s fingers digging into the flesh of your upper thighs grounding you into the moment and allowing you to take another picture. A picture that captures your legs on each sides of his toned chest, his fingers digging into your skin, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps back a moan, the box tattoo on his thumb right next to the red ink of your ‘Divine Feminine’ tattoo on your thigh.

But after you press the shutter on that one, barely being able to clumsily roll the film, you just toss the camera to the side mindlessly and use your new free hand to rest on his chest as well, and the second hand of support helps you start moving your hips faster.

It’s fucking delicious the way he keeps hitting your g-spot from that angle, and when he starts bucking his hips upwards, meeting your in the middle, you can’t hold back the noises you let out. “George, fuck baby! Oh fuckkkk.” You cry out, clit feeling a bit of pressure every time you roll down and hit your pelvis, so you’re fully drunk on pleasure.

His hands run up from your thighs to mercilessly grab your ass, fingers harshly digging into your skin and stinging just in the best way. “Just like that baby. You feel so fucking good.” He praises you with a groan, helping you actually lift your hips up and down on him.

“You’re so– Oh fuck–” You’re so cock drunk, your thoughts are all stupid and leaving you without even being able to finish a sentence.

“Tight little cunt, can barely fit inside you.” George can feel himself meeting the hilt inside you every time, your cries growing in volume the faster the pace gets. “You love it huh, being filled to the brim?”

“Yes, fuck! Yes, I love it, love your cock!” You’re dripping all over him, the noise of the wetness and your skin slapping every time you meet bouncing off the walls and, combined with your moans, makes for a pornographic scene you wish you were recording.

“I know you can go faster. Can you do that for me, baby?” George genuinely can feel himself not lasting any longer with how tight you’re squeezing him.

“I can, I can.” You promise desperately, wanting to be good for him. So you pick up your pace, your hands moving ever so slightly so you can straighten up a bit and when you do so you curse out loud at the new angle, “Ah fuck!”

Your hips grow erratic, your knees helping now when you bounce up and down his cock ever so more intently, enough for you to incessantly gasp in a high pitch every time he hits that spot.

“Such a good girl for me.” His hands stop groping your ass to spank you, making you jolt forward with a loud gasp that turns into a mewl and a whine that tries to pass as a ‘yes’. His cock twitches inside you at that reaction so he does it again and again, feeling your walls flutter around him with every hit, “You're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby. Gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Yeah, yes…” You gasp, and if you hadn’t been so adamant on chasing your high, you would’ve noticed George quickly getting the camera and snapping a picture of you riding him. Hair a mess covering up your face but your mouth wide open in a moan, tits bouncing as you ride him, hands on his chest as support.

He’s just about managed to put the camera back down when he feels you squeezing him the tightest and that’s when you finally cum. “George! George! Ge–” You cry out his name like a prayer until it breaks down into a loud moan that tips him over the edge along with your cunt milking him dry into the condom as you sloppily continue to ride him.

“Fuck! Y/N!” George moans loudly, his hands going to your ass again to help you continue as he cums, his cock twitching the more he spurts into the condom, sweet relief making him see stars.

Unable to uphold yourself any longer, you collapse over him, chests heaving in sync as you both come down from your highs. It’s hard catching your breaths when your skin burns from the heat and sticks from the sweat. And George knows you’re rather uncomfortable from the way you groan into him, your fingers lazily trying to brush the hair out of your face but huffing as it sticks to your sweaty forehead.

He brushes your hair back, fingers delicately grazing your face and earning a soft smile and a sigh from you. But then his hold goes down to your hips so he can lift you up and off himself to set you beside him. You whine and pout at the loss of him, feeling so empty after he’s stuffed you to the brim.

You don’t even try to open your eyes, completely spent from your activities and snuggling into the pillows to find some comfort in your post orgasm haze.

George sits up on the edge of your bed and sheds himself off the condom, tying it so he can throw it away, and groaning as he pushes himself off the bed to make his way to the bathroom.

He takes about five minutes there and when he comes back into the room, he smiles, finding a sleepy you struggling to keep your eyes open and smirking at him. He giggles as he walks up to bed and after taking your camera and placing it on one of the bedside tables, he carries your bridal style to take you to the bathroom.

Yes you’re still on cloud nine after that orgasm but you still have a bit of sense in you then so, after thanking him with a kiss, you tell George you’re alright from there and he can wait for you in bed.

You only realize what you’d said as you wash your hands after peeing and you’re cringing just thinking about him being gone once you go back into the room. But you find that he hasn’t left and instead, he’s gone under the bedsheets and is waiting for you to cuddle up to him so you can get some rest.

You giggle like a fool when you get under the sheets and he hooks his arm around your waist to push you flush against him, your back pressed to his chest and he nuzzles into your neck from behind. Your legs tangle together and your breaths sync and slow down as the minutes go by until you succumb to their slumber.

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It’s bright outside when you wake up with the horrendous need to go to the bathroom, one that you’d been sleepily ignoring for a while but that had become too unbearable to endure anymore.

George has his hand around your waist and his leg thrown over yours, effectively keeping you trapped in his hold in bed, so you try to very slowly peel yourself away from him to escape to the toilet.

You’re careful so that you don’t wake him up just yet, but when you manage to get your legs untangled from his, he stirs and grumbles, “Where are you trying to go?” throwing his leg over yours again, his arm wrapping tighter around your waist making you chuckle.

“Bathroom.” You mumble as you try to get away again but he’s stubbornly holding you even tighter to him.

You feel him shake his head as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, a soft “No.” falling in your ears that makes you sigh.

“George.” You say softly to not disrupt the silence in the room, but he doesn’t reply so you try again a little louder this time, “George.” Once again, no response, so you end up whining, “Babyyyy.”

To the nickname he does listen, but his response is just a muttered, “Mhm?”

You turn around in his arms with a bit of struggle, cupping his face and pecking his lips a handful of times so he takes it as enough bribery to listen to you, “Please let me go. I’ll just be a minute.”

George steals one last long peck from you before smiling loopily and nodding, “Okay.”

He lazily retracts his limbs to let you get up freely from the bed, and though he’s fighting his sleep, he manages to peel his eyes open for long enough to watch your naked figure walk away from the bed and into your ensuite.

Keeping track of time is impossible to him when his eyes close again after you leave his line of sight, and he only opens his eyes again when he hears you giggle softly at the sight of him in your bed as you walk back to bed.

“You took longer than a minute.” He points out with his eyes still closed.

You snort and half heartedly apologize, “Sorry, I’m sore.”

His hand comes up to rub at his eyes, and when he does so, he sees the state in which you’ve come back so he frowns and tells you to, “Stop right there.” He sounds so serious, an amused smirk shows on your face because you have no idea what he’s about to say. An accusing finger waves in the air in your direction and he calls you out, “Why are you wearing a robe?”

“Shut up.” You say instantly when hearing that’s what is making him frown, your eyes rolling playfully at him.

“Get that off now.” He instructs but you take another step towards the bed with no intention of taking it off and he grumbles, “Y/N/N…” with a more stern tone that makes you too flustered for this time of day.

“You’re annoying.” You complain with a roll of your eyes, still listening to him and slowly undoing the knot that kept your robe closed, making it a little show as you open it up and let it fall off your body and pool at your feet on the floor.

Of course, George smirks at the sight and he has no shame in looking you up and down with hunger now shining on his sleepy eyes, his cock twitches just by seeing you naked in front of him again. Fuck, you’re stunning.

“Come here gorgeous.” The drummer invites you back into his arms and you don't have to be told twice for you to go back to bed and be the little spoon for him. You’d had such good sleep being completely enveloped in him, heavy limbs acting like a weighted blanket on you and it was utter bliss.

But after seeing you naked again, skin littered with love bites he had left all over your, hair messy and tits perky and bouncing as you walked, George feels the need to show you a bit more of the appreciation he had shown you the day before.

His hand brushes your hair to the side so he can have access to the skin on the back of your neck. Goosebumps breaking on the skin there when he starts pressing open mouthed kisses on it, fingers ghostly running down your back and stopping right on your lower back that had your back arching into him. Your ass grazed his cock every time, making it twitch and start to harden.

In search of friction, he pushes his hips forward and you reciprocate by pressing your ass against him. He keeps his actions going and sets a pace that the two of you keep up, mewling out loud when his hardening cock comes in contact with your cunt, “Hmm, George.”

“Yes, baby?” His lips brush against your skin, a shiver running down your spine and making you shudder, “You’re so fucking beautiful, please let me make you feel good.”

“Yeah…” You nod quickly, it’s a no-brainer. Your breath gets caught in your throat when he pushes his hips forwards again at the same time as you do and the tip of his cock presses on your clit.

“Yes?” He moans in your ear, hand coming around your front to play with your tits, “Can I make you cum again, sweetheart?”

You eagerly nod, swallowing a moan as he pinches your nipple and when he cup your whole tit with one hand, kneading it harshly, your “Please.” came out in the form of a whine.

“Good girl. M’gonna make you feel so good baby, I promise.” His hand continues playing with your tits as you keep grinding on each other. When his cock is hard enough, you feel it come up to rest heavily between his lower stomach and your lower back, and it’s then that he lets his fingers trail down until they hover over your mound and he breathlessly asks, “D’you trust me?”

“Yeah, George…” You’re basically pleading with him to continue, hand coming to clutch his and guide his fingers down to your soaked cunt and when he feels just how wet you are, he groans and pulls away.

“Wait.” George instructs you, leaving you alone on the bed to get a condom. You hear the wrapper rip and him moaning as he puts the condom on, stroking himself up and down a few times before he tugs the sheets off you and turns you from your side to your front so you’re face down and he can hover over you from behind.

His knees are on either side of your hips, forearms pressed on the mattress next to your shoulders and he kisses and sucks all over your back as he praises you for how gorgeous you are over and over.

He keeps bruising you up until you push your ass up and beg him to do something, the ache in your cunt too unbearable.

So George lets go of the patch of skin he’s bruising and does as you ask for, spreading your legs open as he kneels in between them and rubs his tip up and down your slit.

“Don’t tease, please.” You cry into the mattress, your cunt fluttering around nothing and it’s painful knowing just how good he felt inside you but he isn’t allowing you to feel it yet.

But then he just let himself slowly slip inside you and his jaw falls at your tightness in that angle, “Oh Y/N/N… Fuck me.” He feels like he can barely fit in, but you’re dripping with slick so it makes it a bit easier for him to slowly bottom out.

“George–” You choke out, head turning to the side to catch a glimpse of him. Your fingers clawing at the sheets beside your head for dear life.

“I know. You’re so tight.” He whimpers in pleasure, barely able to move an inch out of you because you’re so snug it feels like you’re pushing him out.

“Move baby, please.” You beg again and he starts going then, a slow pace at first that grows in speed rather quickly and has your cursing out loud, “Fuckkkkk!”

He gasps into your ear with every thrust, and it’s soon that the sound of your skin slapping drowns the room along with your moans. “Gonna miss this tight little cunt so much.” He says into your neck, sucking a bruise on the back of it before asking, “Gonna miss me too?”

“Ye– Yes! Oh shit baby!” You gasp when he hooks his left arm under your leg, pulling it upwards slowly and allowing you to stretch a bit more so you feel him even deeper, “Gonna miss you so much!”

He chuckles smugly, “I know you will.”

“Oh fuck!” You curse as he hits your g-spot perfectly from that angle, his hips hitting your ass and reminding you of how sore the skin there is from the spanking he gave you the night before. “Yes, yes! Don’t stop, please!”

“If you could only see yourself right now!” He curses under his breath when he looks down to see himself disappear into your cunt, over and over. If he keeps looking at how he keeps sliding in and out of you so easily, he will burst right then so he looks back up to your face and praises you once more, “Taking me so well, baby. You’re such a good girl.”

“Harder, please.” You ask in a whine, and he stills for just a second to get a better standing on his knees before giving it to you like you were begging to, making you instantly get even louder when he hits that sweet spot with more intensity, “Oh my– Fuck! Right there, yes!”

“Just like that, yeah?” His smirk grows on his face, feeling how it keeps getting easier to slide inside you which means you’re fucking drenched and dripping all over him, your walls fluttering around him already making him see stars.

“Yes! Yes!” You chant like a broken record, the coil in your lower stomach tightening by the second and threatening to snap at any moment, “I’m so close!”

His left arm lifts your leg even higher and then leaves it there to be able to bring his fingers down to rub at your clit and send you over the edge, “C’mon baby, cum for me sweetheart!” He encourages you as he rubs fast circles on your throbbing clit, which earns him choked out moans that turn into a throat ripping moan of, “F-fuckkkk! George!”

George feels you squeeze him so tightly as you cum, making it so much harder for him to continue thrusting in and out without losing the rhythm he’s set, he can’t hold it any longer, his hips stuttering as he cums and stilling as he spills his seed in the condom, “Ah shit! Y/N!”

His thrusts become sloppy and messy as he tries to ride out your highs while you spasm around him, whimpering as the aftershocks of your orgasm have your legs trembling under him and your white knuckle grip on the sheets falters.

Letting his weight fall over you almost entirely, George sighs in complete bliss and he kisses the back of your head and your cheek multiple times to say, “Did so good for me, sweetheart.” He drops a kiss on your lips and praises you once more, “My good pretty girl.”

The way he speaks to you makes your stomach flutter, and he feels it when you clench around him. “You like that huh?” He teases with a smirk, his nose brushing up your neck until he comes up to your ear and bites your earlobe to which you mewl in response.

He pulls out, hearing you whine when you feel upsettingly empty again but he rubs circles on your hips soothingly and asks, “Shall we go take a shower? Do you want me to help you up?”

You barely manage to reply with a quiet, “Mhm…” when a loud ringing snaps the two of you out of your wonderful post orgasm bubble.

You don’t really recognize the ringing so you figure it’s George’s phone. Yet, the drummer doesn’t make an attempt to go and get it, as he flops beside you in bed for a second before pushing himself off the bed and sheds himself off the condom you just used.

He gets up to discard it in the bathroom and just as he crosses the threshold of the ensuite, he hears his phone start ringing again. He fully ignores it again, taking his time in the bathroom until he hears you call out for him to pick up the unrelenting calls.

A grunt leaves his lips when he comes back to the room and picks up the phone only to read his sister’s name on the screen so he answers with a meek, “Y’alright?” to let her know he isn’t in the mood for the constant ringing.

You hear pure silence surrounding you for a good half minute before George sighs out an annoyed, “Fucks sake.” Opening your eyes to see him, you move onto your side to watch him as he speaks. “Right now? Really?” He asks, entirely unamused. “Yeah, really busy actually.” He says sternly, looking at you naked in front of him with wide eyes. That makes you purse your lips not to laugh but what gets the giggles out of you is when he sighs loudly and mutters, “I hate you.” to whoever it is on the phone.

It’s barely another half minute that he listens to whoever is on the other side, before he ends the call with an impatient, “Yeah, yeah. Sure. See ya’.”

“What’s wrong?” You ask curiously, your fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

George rolls his eyes at the situation, “My sister needs me for something. She says it’s urgent but I doubt it.” He shrugs then, ignoring the importance of whatever it was his sister needed him for, he had only been half listening really. “I can stay though, it wouldn’t be the first time I ignore her.”

That has you snorting in laughter, “Go, you idiot.”

“But–” He tries to argue as he comes to hover over you, head dipping to steal a kiss out of you which you break after a few seconds by pushing his shoulders softly so you can reassure him it’s fine. After all, you had really enjoyed yourself so you’re genuinely considering another date with him.

“It’s okay. I had the best time with you, and that’s all I wanted.” Your hands come to the back of his head, fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck and scratching his scalp softly.

George clicks his tongue and he pouts to joke, “Knew you only wanted me for my body.”

You cackle at his antics and tell him to “Shut up.” only to do it yourself by pulling him into you so you can share one last kiss. It’s sweet but it isn’t soft, your lips moving together with intent as if to prove you need to do it again because it’s just too good.

But you have to stop it before it can turn into something more. You pull on his hair so your lips separate with a smack and, with the sweetest smile and looking at him with doe eyes, you say, “Thank you, George.”

“I had the best time Y/N/N.” He replies wholeheartedly then, agreeing with your previous point.

“Me too.” You nod softly to reiterate, your hands coming back down to cup his jaw, thumbs rubbing circles on his skin.

One last short kiss is all you get in that bed before you both stand up and get dressed. Well, George does, in the same getup as the day before, while you put your robe back on and tie it around yourself slowly as he finishes getting his shoes on.

“I’ll see you soon for a second date, yeah?” He says when you walk him to the door, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You definitely will.” You assure, knowing you’d be texting him very soon about a second date if he doesn’t text you first about it.

He winks right as he opens the door, stealing one last peck from your lips before walking away. Leaving you with a stupid smile on your face that only gets bigger when you close the door behind you and go back to your room, seeing the mess you had left the bed looking like.

Yes, you were definitely going on a second date with him.

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A/N: What did you think? Hope you lot enjoyed it! Thank you for reading, I'm so excited to see your reactions! xx

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @kennedy-brooke @drinkurkombucha @vinylandcoffeecollection @butyou-callmewhenyourebored

[siriuslychessi]

Day 20

@jilytoberfest

🎶Try to move on, it's back to you that all my roads keep leading 🎶 - Before I Fall Apart by Elle Coves

Claudia was a lovely Hufflepuff, she was nice, polite, and absolutely boring. James thought it might have been cruel of him to think this, but the date with Claudia was as fun as watching paint dry. It wasn’t that she was dumb, or that she lacked any interest, but she was just the dull perfect version of a girl should be. 

James couldn’t hold it against her, most people liked those types of women, who seemed to never fight, and always say exactly the right thing. And that was exactly what James found extremely boring. 

She agreed to everything, she pursed her lips when she found something a bit unsettling, but turned it out and agreed with you all the same. Like principles were less important than a boyfriend, and that was a deal breaker. 

They were having tea at Madam Puddifoot's, the pink was making James’ head hurt. He thought he could excuse himself and let Claudia down easily, and still catch his friends at the Three Broomsticks, and he was right. Claudia seemed as relieved to be off the date as he was and they went their separate ways. 

“Did I just see you leaving Puddifoot’s?” he heard a teasing voice behind him, he didn’t need to turn to know exactly who it was.

“Jealous, Evans?” he said in the same teasing voice, turning to the redhead, a smirk on his face. 

Lily looked gorgeous under the autumn sun, James knew that he shouldn’t be thinking like that, that she had made it perfectly clear that she was not interested, but he couldn’t help to find her gorgeous. Even when she was teasing him about her choice of date spots.

Lily made a face, “I’m not sure you’d catch me dead in the middle of so much pink.” she admitted. James just laughed, because that was exactly what he would have said before that date.

“I didn’t choose the place.” he replied with a shrug, “She seemed to enjoy it.”

Lily looked at James, there was something behind her stare, she was sort of frowning, maybe deciding what her next tease would be.

“I didn’t leave her there, if that is what you are wondering.” his reply was more instinctive than anything else, making Lily shake her head. 

“I didn’t think you had.” she shrugged. 

James blushed a bit, he knew he was about to put his foot in his mouth, but he didn’t think it would be like that. Why couldn’t he just be his normal self around Lily? Why did he always sounded like a complete arse? He wasn’t sure. 

“Were you going back to the castle?” The redhead naked him, and he saw a chance to redeem himself, at least just a bit. 

James shook his head and pointed in the direction of the centre, “I was looking for the lads, grabbing a butterbeer or two, care to join?”

Lily looked at the street and then back at James, she was pondering something, but she didn’t mention exactly what was going through her mind. She just nodded, “I will, but you are buying.”

James chuckled, “How come?”

“Because I had a rotten date, and I need someone to make me believe chivalry is not dead.” 

“Fair enough.” he said with a smile, and moved through the street, opening the door of the Three Broomsticks, not eager to find his friends. 

[angelswing236]

"Well, that worked out great."

Fictober 24 challenge

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Fanfiction

Seething with impotent rage, Tom kicked the small pile of spare tyres stacked at the back of the garage, almost welcoming the bone-shaking jolt that reverberated through his body.

‘Well, that worked out great,’ a familiar Mancunian voice drawled and he turned to see the tall figure of Thomas Barrow at the garage door, a cigarette clamped between his fingers.

‘What do you know about it?’ Tom growled, in no mood to deal with Thomas’s smartarse remarks.

‘Your big plan to humiliate the general? I know that you cocked it up royally and that it was a stupid plan in the first place.’

‘Why? It would have made a point, wouldn’t it?’

‘What point?’

‘That he and people like him can’t just waltz around ordering people about and expecting them to just do what they say,’ Branson spat.

Thomas laughed, amused by the naivety of Branson’s statement. ‘Of course, he can. That’s exactly what people like him and his lordship have been doing all their lives.’

‘It would have humiliated the British Army!’

‘You think the British Army cares about one mad Irishman throwing oil, ink, cow pat and – what else was it?’

‘Sour milk,’ Branson muttered, mutinously.

‘Ugh. Bet that stank,’ Thomas said, wrinkling his nose.

‘It was supposed to stink.’

‘Did you really think it would make a difference? The British Army has bigger fish to fry than you, Branson. I tell you what would have happened, shall I? They’d have charged you with aggravated bodily harm or something and slung you in prison. All you’d have achieved was to piss off a few people, including the poor sods who would have had to clean his uniform, the tablecloth, the carpet and the chairs. And for what? Nothing.’

‘At least it would have made the papers!’ Branson argued, hotly.

‘Made the papers? You’re off your head if you think your antics would have made the papers. You’d have been whisked away and banged up without so much as a peep of it getting into the papers. Bad for morale, you see. Same as telling people here just how awful it is out there is. Can’t have the truth about it all getting out, can we? Can’t be spoiling the great British public’s rose-tinted view of how bloody glorious it is to sit in inches of mud and water, your bowels turning to liquid when the guns start, wondering if this is the day you finally cop it.’

Branson stared at Thomas, thrown off balance by this sudden, unexpected glimpse into the last two years of his life.

‘Do you…’

‘What?’  Thomas snapped, embarrassed that he’d shared more than he’d intended.

‘Want to talk about it?’ Branson offered, awkwardly.

‘With you?’ Thomas sneered, looking down his nose at the chauffeur. ‘What would you know about any of it? Sitting pretty here on your arse in the sticks, safe as houses. No, I don’t want to talk about it.’

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, neither man knowing quite what to say.

‘Why did you want to throw slop over him anyway? What’s he ever done to you?’ Thomas eventually asked, sucking on his fag again.

‘He’s a symbol,’ Branson said, hesitating before adding, ‘The British Army killed my cousin. In the Rising in Dublin.’

Thomas cocked his head. ‘Hmmph. Well, they’ve killed a lot of people in this war. I scraped what felt like half of them up onto my stretcher for long enough.’

‘I wish I’d done it.’

‘Then you’re a silly bugger. You should have had a much better plan. I mean, for a start, why did you write a letter saying you were going to do something? That’s just stupid.’

‘I didn’t know Anna was going to read it, did I?’ Branson said, indignantly.

‘She couldn’t have read it if you hadn’t written it, though, could she?’ Thomas pointed out. ‘And why were you writing a letter to Lady Sybil anyway? Why do you think she’d care if you got carted off to prison?’

‘I didn’t want her to think badly of me,’ Branson said, flushing pink.

‘Sweet on her, are you?’

‘None of your bloody business!’

‘No, and she’s none of yours if you know what’s good for you. Carson will give you the old heave-ho if he thinks you’re fawning over one of the young ladies.’

‘I’m not fawning over her,’ Branson said, somewhat sulkily.

‘So, just out of interest, did you think this plan of yours up in two seconds flat while you were sitting on the lavvy?’ Thomas asked, curious to know how Branson came up with such a spectacularly stupid plan to humiliate the general.

‘No. I was polishing headlamps.’

‘Christ, I hope that’s not a euphemism,’ Thomas said with feeling.

‘I suppose you would have come up with something better, would you?’ Branson said, tetchily.

‘Too right, I would have. I would definitely have come up with something that didn’t immediately end up with me losing my job and getting banged up.’

‘What would you have done?’

‘Well, off the top of my head, given him something to give him the trots. Nobody respects a man who shits his britches in their dining room,’ Thomas replied, taking another drag on his cigarette. 'So, you’re not sacked, then?’

‘No. Mr Carson doesn’t want a fuss.’

‘Course, he doesn’t. A fuss is the worst thing Mr Carson can imagine. But you’ve had to promise not to play at silly buggers again, have you?’

‘Yes. And I’m not to let on to his lordship.’

Thomas snorted. ‘No, let’s not disturb his lordship’s peace. Heaven forbid. What about Lady Sybil?’

‘What about her?’ Branson asked, suspiciously.

‘Has he asked you why you chose to confess your dastardly deeds to her?’

‘No.’

‘Well, he still might, so make sure you have a reason that won’t set him frothing at the mouth.’

‘I will. Don’t worry about that.’

‘Hmmm. She’s all right, is Lady Sybil. Don’t you go causing trouble for her.’

‘I wouldn’t!’

‘Make sure you don’t. Or it won’t just be Mr Carson you have to worry about.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning keep your mitts and your lustful thoughts to yourself, Branson. She’s one of my nurses now, so stay away.’

Tom bristled, kicking himself for writing that note to Sybil. If he’d jeopardised their fledgling relationship, he’d never forgive himself.

Thomas took a final drag of his cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot heel. ‘Right. I’m off. Try not to do anything stupid between now and breakfast.’

‘Get lost, Thomas,’ Tom said, irritably.

Thomas smirked and headed back to his small kingdom.

[my-castles-crumbling]

HIYA CAS ❤️ It’s wolfstar anon!!!!!! Remember me? Guess what? ME AND CLARA ARE DATING NOW! 

So turns out she’s had a massive crush on me for ages. Which, you know, seems obvious in hindsight. 

So imma just tell u what’s happened and then like- the adivce I need. Cool? 

SO BASICALLY I’ve been tryna keep outta my house over the summer cause my parents work from home and it’s not civilised, so I usually go out and chill with my mates. 

SO like two weeks ago (we’ve hung out a lot these are just the important ones okay?) I text Clara and ask if it’s cool for me to drop by cause it’s like 9am and she’s usually still asleep, but she texts back that she’s awake cause she’s got these awful period cramps (being a person with a uterus can fucking suck right?) so I go to her place, it’s past town so I pick up some of those like heat up pad thingys that stick to you cause she likes tho and said they were out and obviously snacks and then, because she’s in pain and i’m a sucker, watch Taylor Swift videos and the Era Tour with her (AGAIN). 

Nothing against Taylor just not my vibe. Also i’ve watched it with Clara SO MANY TIMES cause she loves it that I know like every song. 

Anyway, we’re sat in her room watching it and I realise that i’m being a fucking idiot. I always forget to consider romance just cause- idk it doesn’t occur to me 😭 BUT Clara is amazing and also, I need to chill. She’s my friend most of all, I should just TALK to her. 

ANYWAYS so last week I got my head out my arse and told her about what i’d been thinking about, and she admitted she DOES LIKE ME, and has for a while. 

Sometimes I feel like i’m not being as genuine as other people you know? Like, Clara has fancied me for a while and I didn’t even notice? And I don’t really know how I feel. I just find romance and stuff like that so hard, because it’s never been THAT important to me. 

But now it is because it’s Clara.

I didn’t ask her out until like three days ago. After we talked last week, I told her that her admitting she likes me won’t fuck with our friendship, but that I have like no idea how i’m feeling so i’d get back to her, but in the meantime she can vibe and know that we’re cool.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Like how am I supposed to know if I fancy her or not? Sure I do things for her I wouldn’t do for other people, because I care more, but maybe i’m just a dick to other people? I DONT KNOW CASSSSS. 

Look so like three days ago I decided to ask her out so that I could know. 

And we had an amazing date and it felt like nothing i’ve felt before but I felt guilty at the end cause it was like I was using her.  So I admitted I had no clue how I was feeling, and that I never get crushes on people first cause I never feel like that until I start feeling like that and I think maybe I always had a crush on her and mixed it up with friendship and how i’m a mess she should probably stay away from.

And then she told me she knows i’m a mess because she asked me out last year and we went on a whole date and she kissed my cheek and then I DIDNT REALISE IT FUCKING A DATE 😭

So… yeah. You’re now updated :)

Long story short, we’re dating and i’m hopefully not a dick ❤️

Also how the fuck do you know the difference between friendship and- not? Like, more? I feel like no one’s taught me EMOTIONS correctly 😭

Wow I am SOOOOOO SHOCKED :P

But for real as far as our question, this is a difficult one. Personally, I see more than friendship as someone who I care deeply about but also who I want deep intimacy with. Someone who I want in my future, but someone who I also crave closeness with in all ways. But some people don’t like certain types of intimacy for whatever reason and still feel romantic feelings, so people see romance differently depending on who it is.

I think honestly, you should give it a shot. If it starts to feel wrong, communicate that. Say you love her but just as a friend! Just keep the lines of communication open and be honest, that’s the best thing you can do 🥰

[hiraethblack22]

Fire and Ice

(Bucky x ofc) series.

MASTERLIST OF THE SERIES: here.

SUMMARY: Thirteen is a HYDRA pawn, a soldier, a spy and an assassin. A wraith. Chosen because of her powers and transformed into the perfect weapon. (enchanted!reader) What happens when her mission becomes locating and eliminating The Winter Soldier?

IMPORTANT: I won't use Y\n but the lead character will be given a name and will be a fully formed character. Set in a time where everyone is still alive and Bucky is free of the hydra. Warnings: violence, blood, torture, and manipulation. Vulgar language. The story will contain adult content. Probably a whole lot of Smut.

CHAPTER TWO: US AND THEM.

Peace is an abstract concept made by powerful people to install faith in the institutions of the world that claim to keep crime and danger at bay. In all the years I’d been living, I quickly realised that it was indeed a false concept, a lie, considering that the same people who claimed to protect the world were installing the danger in it. The idea of peace is nothing but a facade that is used to manipulate the masses.

Hydra was claiming to cleanse the world from evil, but how could they pretend to act for world peace when they were responsible of the death of millions? Couldn’t they see the blood tinting their white vest of morality? How could they profess goodness when they were keeping dozens of slaves under their polished boots?

The Avengers were painted as heroes. Flying around to beat up the evil—that, yes, when they weren’t busy fighting among themselves.

There had been a time when I had hoped for them to come and rescue us, me, from Hydra. But, it soon faded; hope was dangerous, it only led to disappointment and despair. Instead, I focused on survival. I had waited, spending days laying facedown on the filthy floor of the cells and weeks silently witnessing the deaths of my cellmates one after the other. The years I had passed, fed with injections of syringes, and pumped up with synthetic drugs to accomplish assignments that were impossible for anybody else, had helped me to give up all hope, not just in the Avengers but also in the rest of the world.

I ingenuously thought they weren't saving us because they were fighting each moment to defend their values, as we fought every day for a cup of water or a bit of sleep, but no; here they were, drinking champagne in fancy dresses, dancing, as the world outside cried their names.

The fair of peace for the future was another clown show created by the government to show the citizens that the future was safe. The secretary of state had delivered a very long sermon on heroes and peace, licking the avengers' arses every two sentences, and delivering sexist remarks about the heroines of the team—that made my fingers tickle the trigger of my rifle more eagerly than I should have—but in between inaugurations and philosophical peace speeches, the secretary of state made sure he got an exclusive on the prostitution trade every single month, and on the remaining days he accepted bribes from Hydra. So, he would end up murdered, one way or another, but killing him wasn't allowed in my future.

I guessed I couldn’t even proclaim myself as a white knight of peace, not when I was currently waiting to bomb the shit out of it.

“I have eyes on the target.” I murmured into the radio, lowering the binoculars to eye the building where the fair was taking place.

My body moved without me telling it what to do. It checked the ammo, fastened a couple of guns to my legs, secured the daggers around the belt, and lowered the rifle behind my back.

"I hope you mean this horrible building," Marya's voice said in reply. The radio cracked with her voice.

The building was indeed quite horrible—a white oval with an awful lot of windows. It was not a safe place, not even with the dozens of security guards standing outside the building. The others had by now removed the guards and placed the explosives.

The orders had been made clear that it had to be set to trap everyone inside, and us inside with them. The roof was the way out. A soldier had infiltrated the rooftop guards to take control of the chopper when the time was right.

I lowered my hand, and as I willed it, a light flared beneath the skin, producing a flame on the palm of my hand. It swirled on itself, hissing like a wild animal. I allowed it to dance around my fingers with a smile. “It will burn down with the lot of them.”

Marya had been with us for what I imagined was a couple of weeks; sharing a wall of bars had quite made us close. It wasn’t friendship; I didn’t even remember what friendship was supposed to feel like, but we were accompanying each other on long missions and on the dark, cold nights at the headquarters—holding my hand in hers like a loving mother and whispering funny stories of her childhood, telling me how her family had always been loving and caring for her and the rest of her siblings. She often cried, remembering them, thinking about what they thought when they remembered her—I cried with her most of the time, thinking about my brother and the life we had lost.

I knotted the rope to my body, crawling down the side of the building in the silent shadows of the night.

As the other soldiers would trap them all inside, and I would be focused on The Winter Soldier.

The programme they implanted in his head was nearly perfect, certainly better than the one in my head; ours was injected with syringes and would fade away after some weeks, leaving us begging for more. I didn't know why these people wanted the soldier, but I was in charge of bringing his body back with me to the base. I wasn't in a position to care about the reason; the only thing I needed was for my brother to be safe.

I nodded to the other soldiers when I crossed the doors. As soon as I was inside, they all disappeared.

The people were all gathered in the big hall on the second floor, watching the performance. And I was going to give them the most beautiful spectacle—the one they were going to pay with their lives to watch. I distantly heard the noise of the bombs going off behind me.

I smirked.

The game was finally on.

The door of the big hall flew open. The people inside began rushing out, scarfs and clothes over their mouths, to block the smoke from entering their lungs.

I rolled my eyes—people really didn’t know how to save themselves. Running straight into the arms of danger.

I grabbed my rifle and fired shots against the walls. They all dropped in an instant, moving out of the way, and clearing the way for us.

He was in the back of the room. Beautifully swinging punches and kicks at the soldiers surrounding him, ducking out of the flashes of knives. I walked to him, taking my sweet time to extract my favourite dagger from the belt.

The soldiers didn’t waste any time, shooting and punching their way to the Avengers. I recognised a couple of them—I saw the widow jump straight for one of us, leaving him at her feet an instant later. The Captain was, as usual, throwing his shield at the enemies and shouting orders. An arrow flashed past me, grazing my cheek, but I paid no mind; somebody else would take care of that. I saw out of the corner of my eye the soldiers shooting in the direction of the Hawke without breaking the protective circle they had me in—if I didn’t grab a hold of the Winter Soldier, none of us would go unpunished. And then, finally, I saw him

One of the soldiers, S-32 was his number, was attacking too roughly, advancing too closely. He swung a powerful punch at the Winter Soldier, making his head shoot sideways. I saw his blood spraying the floor. Another soldier came, locking his arms behind him. S-32 raised a knife, arching down straight for the Winter Soldier’s throat. The knife flashed closer and closer and brushed the skin of his neck before it stopped.

S-32 stared at me in shock, his eyes wide. His mouth opened, but only a pained groan escaped his trembling lips. He shot his eyes where my hand was closed around his wrist, my skin glowing and his flesh fuming away through my fingers.

“He is mine.”

I kicked him in the chest, watching his body tumble to the ground amid the fight.

I nodded to the other to release him, and his hands couldn’t have dropped faster.

I stared at the Winter Soldier, bending my head to the side to study him better. He was panting in pain, but I couldn't feel any remorse. The power coursing through my veins was too intoxicating to resist. The first thing I noticed were his blue and intense eyes. They reminded me of the ocean, but with a dangerous edge that made me shiver.

I threw another knife from my holster, imbedding it on the floor between the Winter Soldier's feet. He stared at it, then at me.

I winked. "I'd hate for this to be boring."

The Winter Soldier's eyes narrowed, sizing me up and trying to figure out if it was a scam or not. I took a step forward, keeping my eyes locked on his.

"You know," I said, "I've heard a lot about you. The things you've done... they're pretty impressive." He didn't react, remaining frozen in the little bubble that had formed around us. I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Recognition? Regret? It was hard to tell.

"I don't do that anymore."

"It's cute you think you can escape this," I mocked him.

I quickly turned around to face him, my heart racing as I braced myself for his next move. He lunged at me with the knife. I bent sideways, avoiding that flash of silver.

I didn't wait any longer and lashed out in attack. As I lunged forward, I felt a rush of adrenaline. My foot collided with his stomach, making him stumble backward. He doubled over, escaping from my attack like intangible smoke. He rolled out of the way, rising on his feet behind me, knife in hand and ready.

"Let's dance, doll."

In a flash, the Winter Soldier was on his feet, behind my back, immobilising my arms against my torso with his metal arm. He pressed me against his hard chest. The knife angled beneath my chin, and his breath caressed my ear as he bent down and whispered, "It's cute you think you can beat me."

I took a step back, my eyes locked on his, searching for any sign of weakness. He was quick and agile. Hydra had definitely wasted their time training this man, but they had done it with me too. With a sudden burst of energy, he charged at me again, his knife glinting in the light. I sidestepped his attack and landed a swift kick to his side. He stumbled backward.

The Winter soldier grabbed his side, slightly hunched on his side. I dove forward, sending my knife to slice the air towards his forehead. But the bastard grabbed my wrist, like I had done with S-32 minutes prior. His metal hand crushed it so hard that I felt my bones' wishes to snap. He twisted my wrist until my fingers spasmed open, and the blade clattered awkwardly to the floor. If any of my trainers had been watching, they would have whipped me into unconsciousness.

There was something in his voice that made my blood roar violently in my veins. I involuntarily licked my lips.

"If you're done flirting with me, soldat,” I hardly recognised my own voice, and that mocking smile that could be heard in it. “I'd like to kill you now."

I concentrated on my back, making the skin flare up with fire. He hissed. At first, he tried to hold on to me, but he stumbled back, surrendering to the pain. The knife fell, and I kicked it to let it disappear in the crowd.

As soon as there was space between us, I elbowed him in the groin. I laughed as he groaned in pain, finally rolling away, free from his hold.

With a quick movement, he lunged at me again, his metal arm glinting in the dim light. I dodged his attack and countered with a swift kick to his side. He grunted in pain but didn't back down.

We continued to exchange blows, each one more powerful than the last. As the fight dragged on, I could feel my energy waning, but I refused to give up.

The winter soldier's punch came straight for my mouth. The hit almost knocked me to the ground, but I managed to stay on my feet. I could feel the blood trickling down from my lip. The winter soldier smirked at me, his intense eyes now filled with a hint of amusement.

I knew that this fight was far from over.

I wiped the blood off with the back of my hand. My lips curled in a small smirk of their own.

"I hoped I didn't have to use this," I told him, showing him my hand, the fire rolling on my fingers, "Hydra won't be happy if I burn you to fucking ashes, but hey!" I shot a wave of fire, making it more solid than hot, sending him backward. I shrugged. "Accidents do happen."

I knocked him down twice, sending him further and further into the back of the room, right where I saw Marya keeping the door open for me. She was leaning against the door, using a small knife to clean the underside of her nails, unbothered by the chaos and destruction that was going on around us.

The Winter Soldier stumbled on his feet again, and finally, sending a last blast of power against his chest, he stumbled out of the room.

I nodded to Marya, and she moved to grab her two guns, diving into the room and locking the door behind her.

I took my rifle from my back, and pointed it straight for his heart. “It’s just you and me now, soldat.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he spoke, holding up his hands to show submission.

“Don’t I?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended. “Are you going to appeal to my sense of pity? Because I have none.”

None I could feel; not at the moment. Not when whatever they shot in my veins was making my heart hammer so loud in my ears that my head felt like it was about to explode; not when I knew what would happen to me and the others if I failed.

“I can help you.”

His eyes were kind, almost sweet, but it was pointless. I didn't know how long I could resist the urge to give in to the voice screaming at me to complete my mission.

“Help me?” I laughed bitterly. “It is a bit late for that.”

I pressed my finger on the trigger. I didn’t know why I was entertaining his idiotic desire to speak with me. I didn’t know why I yet had to shoot a bullet in his heart—heart, not head—because, for whatever reason, my orders prevented me from performing my regular schedule.

“I know they control your mind. I can help you get out of their control. Let me help you. I have connections," he said, "people who can protect you and your loved ones.”

I shook my head.

I opened my mouth to speak again, to scream at him to shut up, to stop messing with my time.

“Nobody can save us,” I said. I heard the sound of the chopper igniting and taking off and the noise of screaming in the distance. The sinister whispers of the serum in my ears and the roaring of the fire.

“The building is on fire. You will die one way," I raised my rifle to aim at his heart, "or the other. Goodbye, soldat. Hydra sends its regards.”

Then everything exploded.

I felt my body flying, smashing against the wall. Then everything turned black.

“Thirt-” a voice broke the surface of the fog clouding my mind. “Thirteen…are you—”

My throat felt like sandpaper, it was aching, and it burned. I brought a hand to my head, as if to find out if I could feel something other than the loud ringing in my ears.

The hand came away stained with blood. I coughed, groaning in pain.

I couldn't understand where I was, couldn't understand why I was in pain. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, making the tears that had been stuck in my eyes fall, and tried to bring my surroundings into focus.

Everything was tinted in red, smoke was filling the room. The flames were slowly consuming the area around me, but my powers had squeezed me into the familiar protective shield, allowing me to breathe. The fire would not burn me, would not kill me—the scientists had tested it in any way they could think; they burned every part of my body, shoved burning iron on my body, in my eyes, in my throat, but nothing; the smoke would kill me, with time, and those damn powers didn't even give me the joy of an unexpected death.

My throat felt like sandpaper; it was aching, and it burned.

I lifted myself onto my knees, bracing myself with my hands when the world wobbled violently.

The screams in the distance were now drowned out by the crackling of the fire. I knew I had to get out of there, but my mind was still reeling from what had just happened. The sinister whispers of the serum echoed in my head, getting quieter and quieter. And for the first time since I had woken up, my head wasn’t heavy and my mind wasn’t blank.

"What the fuck is going on?"

For the first time in years, I was out of the base, and I didn't feel the black mask of the drug pushing me down. There was no constant pain that clutched my heart and mind, no voice in my head making me do things I hated. The world around me seemed brighter and more vibrant than ever, as if I were seeing it for the first time.

Tears rolled out of my eyes. I stared at the door, and I gathered myself to run out of it. Maybe I'd reach those mountains I had seen on the mission to Norway a few years back. I could finally escape and hide. I would be free. Free.

But then I saw him—the sergeant, the soldat, the Winter Soldier slumped on the ground, eyes closed and still as a corpse.

And I remembered the mission. The headquarters. The other soldiers. The fucking microchip they had implanted in my body, prevented me, even in my clearest moments, from escaping.

The rifle was lying somewhere in the room, but retrieving it was the least of my thoughts. I remembered all those words the scientists had shouted in my face, as they beat, whipped, and carved my body according to their pleasure. Michael. Michael would die if I disappeared like that.

I sobbed, mourning for the life I didn't get to live, for the things I wasn't allowed to feel. I took a deep breath and wiped away my tears. I couldn't let my emotions consume me, not now. Michael would be safe, and I would need to sacrifice my life for him. It was a small price to pay for the life of my only family. I had to get up and go back, no matter how hard it was.

But I had a choice to change things. To make them better.

I crawled to the soldier as blood began to trickle from my nose. I groaned with pain as I rolled him onto his back, placing my fingers on his neck. He was alive.

His words echoed in my head.

I can help you. I can help you.

I eyed the exit; it was engulfed in fire, and an escape through the windows was unlikely. "Soldat." I shook him from his shoulders roughly, but nothing. "Soldat. Wake up! Come on."

His eyes stayed closed. Shit.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. I had to think fast.

"Thirteen! Thirteen! Report now." I nearly ripped my belt off in my haste to grab the radio. Marya's voice came through, screaming at me to inform her whether the mission had been successful. "Is the target dead?" I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down.

And I could make no other decision.

My heart was pounding as I took a deep breath and replied, "Affirmative, target eliminated."

"Meet us at the rendezvous point in ten minutes.”

I knew what her words actually meant, if I was not there in time, a squad would track down my microchip—whatever that thing was—and execute me for desertion. Mission accomplished or not. I had to move fast.

"Copy that."

I took another moment to stare at the man before me, looking so peaceful despite everything. He was strong enough to have survived that long in the smoke, in that moment, I had to be strong and pull us both out of this hell. "I hope you're worth it."

I wrapped my arms around the soldier and began to pull, nearly screaming from the pain in my muscles, but I had no time to find an alternative. I couldn't do anything else.

"Damn it, you're heavy." I yanked him with me, stretching the shield around both of us. “If we both die because you want to pull a Sleeping Beauty on me, my ghost will torture yours for eternity.”

The crossing was excruciating.

I dragged him through the big chamber, and then, kicking open the doors, I hauled him up the fire escape to the roof.

I collapsed on the floor beside him, desperately gasping for air. The soldier was still unconscious and unmoving, but he was breathing, and his pulse was steady. And that was enough. Enough to hope.

I lifted the sleeve of his jacket, exposing his arm. And being the only thing at my disposal, I began to write on his arm with my blood.

"You said you could help us." I gave him one last look. "Please do it."

I jumped down the stairs again, submerging into the fire and disappearing.

For the first time in years, the familiar bite of hope came back to haunt me, I only hoped not to be absolutely devastated by the consequences of my actions.

Please, Let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged in later parts!

Disclaimer: all of my chapters will have a title with the name of a song. This chapter has the title 'Us and them', a song by Pink Floyd. It has no correlation with the story, but I thought it was nice to let you all know.

@mori1b2bpad @lady-bellyn  @thefandomplace @bonkyandsteebluver @billihill - let me know if you still wish to be tagged to the next parts or deleted from the tag list.

[princessanneftw]

Sorry, Charles, but the answer to everything is Princess Anne

By Deborah Ross for The Times

This week, a royal quiz because, come on, you thought you’d get away without one? This week of all weeks? And if you actually did think you’d get away without one, and I don’t mean this spitefully, aren’t you somewhat dense?

However, in the light of the no-fluff, no-nonsense interview Princess Anne recently gave to Canadian television and all the admiration that unleashed, and in my belief that you don’t like to be overstretched on a Thursday morning, particularly as some of you are still recovering from the news that Jacob Rees-Mogg finds broad beans “loathsome” — it isn’t yet known what broad beans make of him; I will ask next time I push one to the side of my plate* — I have decided to make this easy for you.

The answer, in every instance, is “Princess Anne”. Again, I don’t mean this spitefully, but if you get one wrong you will have no one to blame but yourself.

● Who is the best king we’ll never have, would have been known as “King Anne I”, and would have told those Repair Shop people to “just get on with it” and stop blubbing all over the place and let me know when you’re finished as I have to go kick ass and am behind with kicking ass as it is? (“I get up at 4.30am to kick ass but the day runs away with me all the same, Jay.”)

● Who was not their mother’s favourite child, which, to quote Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, proved “a big mistake. BIG! HUGE!”?

● Who sits somewhere between Kate being marvellous (and “dazzling”) for just wearing a dress and Meghan being an evil bitch and the new Stalin simply for adopting a different hairstyle?

● Who has never, ever suddenly adopted a different hairstyle and therefore can’t be either an evil bitch or the new Stalin?

● If someone attempted to kidnap you on The Mall and you thought, “What would a royal do in this instance?” which royal would most spring to mind? Particularly if you wished to tell the kidnapper, “Not bloody likely.”

● Ranking them in order, which royal do you suspect rolls their eyes at Fergie the most?

● If you had to bet on one royal retaking America, who would it be?

● Which royal was never dubbed “Randy Annie” or “Air Miles Annie” because they never adopted the kind of freeloading, entitled, licentious lifestyle that would one day bite them on the arse and have them running to Mummy?

● Who, of all the family, do you suspect most often swears like a sailor under their breath and would smoke Woodbines, if they smoked?

● Which royal would be most likely to run over Paddington in their Range Rover and not look back?

● Who demanded that titles weren’t conferred on their children, saying they’d have to earn their own money, and also, chances are, campaigned, albeit unsuccessfully, for Princess Eugenie and Princess Beatrice to get married at Hackney Town Hall followed by Nando’s?

● If a royal were to meet Greg Davies in a post-performance line-up, who would be most able to think up a brutal snub along the lines of, “A lot of ex-teachers become comedians. I can’t see why”?

● Which royal most probably inherited their mother’s Tupperware and will keep it going for future generations, thereby ensuring no royal cornflakes ever go soft?

● Which royal could probably get a potato to peel itself and leap into hot fat just by looking at it?

● Who sliced and diced Cherie Blair at Balmoral in 1997 by refusing to call her “Cherie”, as requested, and instead said, “Let’s not go that way. Let’s stick to Mrs Blair, shall we?”?

● Which royal taught their mother to use Zoom during Covid — “you should have six people on your screen . . . you don’t need to see me. You know what I look like” — but probably gave up on teaching her to text, like we all do, so no judgment there?

● Which royal probably couldn’t be bothered to even get their mother started with online banking?

● Who has inherited a look that amounts to wearing a headscarf tied under the chin like an old Greek lady guiding a donkey down a lane with a stick?

● Who has a look that, for some reason, never sells out everywhere the next day?

● Which royal did The Crown reveal to have been an absolute goer in their youth?

● Which royal did, in fact, have different hair as a young child and looked the spit of Harpo Marx?

● Which royal once reportedly said of Princess Diana, “I will not be pushed around by that brainless woman”?

● If you had all their numbers, which royal would you call if you needed a chicken’s neck wringing?

● If you had to come up with a royal who once appeared on Wogan while looking for all the world as if they’d prefer to have had their head on the chopping block like that other Anne, the Boleyn one, who would that be?

● Which royal do you most imagine would give you a horsewhipping** if you didn’t close the Tupperware properly, thus failing to maintain its airtight seal and letting the cornflakes go soft?

● Which royal has best withstood all the scandals as well as their own divorce and has provided so little grist for the newspapers we might as well all just go home?

● Which royal kind of reminds you of Willa from Succession, who sees everything that goes on in this family but knows if you get too involved you’ll be torn apart and fed to the wolves?

● Lastly, of all the royals, who would you name as the one who actually gets what being a royal is all about?

(*Funnily enough, I did push a broad bean to the side of my plate just now and it said: “The feeling is mutual”)

(**Or a savaging from her dog Dotty)

[hyalithium]

Newest chapter of Reflection Once Removed, up now!

Snippet (feat. Harry & Hermione bonding <3):

Her voice trembled a bit, “It’s not fair. And I’m sorry that you have such a heavy burden. But you, just by existing, are a permanent reminder of everything they fear most. Not only that, but you’re a symbol of hope. Of freedom.”

Green eyes peeked up at her. Head tilting to peer over his boney arm pillow. “I still don’t understand how that somehow means that my every move carries some unimaginable weight.”

Hermione shrugged, “Feelings are complicated. Rarely rational.”

“What a pain in the arse.” She barked out a surprised laugh, hands slapping over her mouth to quiet the loud noise.

Once she reigned in her giggles, she shot him a sweet smile. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

Hermione stood up. Calmly, she made her way around the table to his side of the table.

He stiffened in anticipation. But feeling the warmth of another person at his side, something in his chest loosened. A knot he hadn’t been conscious of unwound, and he relaxed into her side. “I’m not saying that it’s fair, or that it should be your burden to carry. I just want to make sure that you’re aware. That you understand people are watching. Maybe you can make things a bit easier on yourself. And everyone.” The last bit came out quietly, he wouldn’t have heard her had she not been sitting so close. 

Turning to look at her - anger replaced with a tired sort of resignation - he whispered back, “I don’t want them to watch my every move, Hermione. I don’t want their hope. It’s too much.” His tone hesitant, “I just want to exist. Like everyone else does. Is that really too much to ask?”

“Oh, Harry.” To his continued surprise - Granger seemed intent on baffling him that afternoon - she pulled him into a soft hug. The kind one might give to a friend. Certainly not one for a boy who ignores you more often than not. “I’m sorry, but it is.”

[allwaswell16]

—Fics by allwaswell16—

[ Rare Pairs ]

but tonight (you're on my mind) [E, 36k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw, fic post]

Nick's friendship with the lead singer of Seventy Eight has come with a new circle of people including an entrancing, blue eyed drummer. But what brings them together can also tear them apart.

Need (part 2 of Until series) [E, 21k, Niall/Shawn Mendes, fic post]

Niall Horan loved his job. Who wouldn’t? He was the biggest pop star in the world, and he’d found his kindred spirit in songwriting and friendship, Louis Tomlinson. The sky was the limit now. He had the perfect place they could hide themselves away from the world and write his next album...his uncle’s horse ranch in Colorado. What he didn’t expect was the cowboy next door.

Do You Smile To Tempt a Lover [E, 18k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw, fic post]

Nick Grimshaw is entranced by Louis, his very beautiful, very cheeky new coworker at The National Portrait Gallery. He watches him day after day, wondering what he’s furiously typing on his laptop over lunch. With a little help from the very bored barista in the gallery cafe, Nick finds himself growing closer to Louis than he ever dreamed possible.

Interview with the vampire [E, 4k, Louis/Rob Pattinson, fic post]

Working at an alpha magazine wasn't always easy for an omega like Louis, but he's just landed his biggest interview yet with an A list actor who has asked for Louis especially. Unfortunately, the interview is with Rob Pattinson, the biggest pain in the arse alpha on the planet.

Inspired by Rob’s interview in GQ Magazine and not actually about vampires

One [E, 4k, Louis/Tommy Shelby (Peaky Blinders), fic post]

When omega Louis Tomlinson becomes pregnant after an unexpected encounter, he decides his only option is to flee his pack. But Tommy Shelby, pack alpha of the Peaky Blinders, might not be willing to let him go so easily.

Hesitate [E, 3k, Louis/Liam, fic post]

He’d always been in love with Louis.

From the time he was old enough to understand attraction, he’d been attracted to Louis, not that he’d been ready to do anything about it at the time. Instead, he’d just supported him like a best friend should. He was there for Louis when he came out to his mom. He was there for Louis when he landed the leading role in the school play. He was there for him when Louis didn’t have a date for the prom. He was there when Louis got his heart broken.

 And he waited. He’d waited until he couldn’t stand to wait any more.

A college au where Liam and Louis went from childhood friends to lovers to exes and back again.

Daydream [T, 2k, Louis/Zayn, fic post]

Every Thursday, Louis nods hello to her fellow regulars at Horan’s Cafe, one of whom is the woman of her dreams.

Should Have Known [NR, 2k, Louis/Liam, fic post]

Liam returns from his internship abroad ready to tell his best friend that he wants to be more than friends. But when Louis starts avoiding him, he's no longer sure the timing is right.

Next Door [NR, 2k, Louis/Rob Pattinson, fic post]

When a stray cat starts coming round Louis' garden and bothering his dog, Louis and his best friend set out to capture it.

Or a famous/famous fic where Louis and Oli embarrass themselves in front of Batman.

It's You [T, 2k, Louis/Louis, fic post]

Five times alpha Louis talks to omega Lou and one time he admits he wants more from his omega clone

Crush [T, 1k, Louis/Niall, fic post]

When Niall stops smiling around the office, his co-worker Louis sets out to lift his mood with the help of their office mates.

The Tiniest Moves [T, 1k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw, fic post]

Coffee shop owner Nick Grimshaw may or may not have come to work on his day off in the hopes that fresh-off-his-world-tour Louis Tomlinson might stop by.

[Back to masterpost]

[tutuandscoot]

I wanna preface this by saying I mean no offence to the skaters and people I’m about to mention, just the programs, costumes, overall spectacle..

So.

What a freaking mood kill it must’ve been watching the 2010 FD event live (there in person but on tv as well) to watch VM deliver THAT performance, in their home country with the crowd going nuts, then to follow with the two programs by BA and DS..

It’s like stepping back in time 10 years in a matter of moments. The contrast between the future and the past in just.. 15 minutes or so. Now it’s not as though the atmosphere in the arena totally dies in tha arse.. being two top teams there was a fair amount of applause, it’s just the artistic mood kill it must’ve been. Like going from watching a performance of Swan Lake, to… some low budget horror movie. I watch it and just think what the hell were you people (these more dated style teams and their costumers/choreographers) thinking?? Was it not embarrassing to come out after VM- a boy and girl dressed so simply in a blouse and trousers and a white dress wearing…. What they were wearing?? For DS: a trash bag looking cape thing??, BA: him in that all white… elvis-esk get up. THE WHITE SKATE COVERS 🫣🫣🫣. (Also the first two teams in the final group-DW and FS were dressed more simply/appropriately to the sport and character of the program.. not to just say VM are the only ones who get it- but they ARE the best example).

I was watching 2002 worlds the other day- the one after the Salt Lake olys and Rod and Tracey are talking about the “costumes” and how something needs to be done about it (Rod asking ‘wasn’t something done about’ it and Tracey responding ‘yes’ but clearly no one listened) and/or teams should be penalised for excessive costumes. Part of me thinks, as the person skating in this stuff, just.. how do they do it?? Like isn’t it uncomfortable, restrictive, a headache to partner in?? And then the spectator in me thinks you look like idiots! I find it so difficult to watch bc you can’t make out hardly anything that’s happening. These were two (at the time) highly ranked teams with obviously good skating skills but just the visual- the first thing you see- those costumes already gives you the impression of sloppyness. I’ve said before, it’s not like these people are on stage with sets and lights and other people dressed like them so it makes sense, they are just two people in a sports arena with no prior context for what they are portraying, coming out dressed, as these two teams (and there were many more at this event, I only point out these two bc they skated after VM and were medal contenders) did… it just looked ridiculous.

VM come out just as themselves dressed stunningly and there is no distraction whatsoever to their skating and dancing, even in other programs of their’s- more specific character ones the costume is never a distraction- it always aids in it.

BA were skating to Ava Maria, now why couldn’t they dress in something like VM?? White- the angel/heavenly. There could still be some reference to wings or whatever, but not to the point where it is a complete distraction.

DS.. just.. omg. That PLUS the aboriginal dance (like guys it was so bad there were Aussie news reports with aboriginal elders talking about how offensive and not representative of their culture it was). So their music/ story was ‘the double life of Veronique’. I looked it up and apparently it’s a movie about a woman who leads a double life/has an identical twin? Idk.. Now why did they dress like a fabric shop went through a garbage disposal machine??? There were rhinestoned faces on both their costumes but you could only make those out up close. Why couldn’t they just dress her in a simple dress and him in something similar (maybe different colours) to Scott and tell the story through movement.. bc the program makes ZERO sense.

[Also: nothing says you have to use music from a movie or theatre show or ballet and skate as the character/s from said production. You can use the music just as music and create your own story, or have no story at all (VM once mentioned this about wanting to skate to R+J but we’re told they were “too old” (which is bullshit) but considered using the music and just dancing to it.. SEE WHY I YELL SO MUCH ABOUT VM GETTING IT). ]

Take something like VM’s Moulin Rouge. Their costumes are reminiscent of the film/stage show, but they weren’t confined to that story in those costumes- they could’ve worn them for a number of different stories/music selections. But they told the story through their movement and interactions together. The lifts (as I’ve detailed) tell the story. The way they touch and hold each other, look at each other. It makes complete sense yet it is also up for interpretation.

With these older programs.. this ‘style’ there is so much going on; either the program doesn’t make sense, they try so hard to make a vague theme seem literal that the skating and athleticism suffers… it’s one thing watching it in 2002, people saying this is ridiculous, but most teams were doing this sort of ‘style’, but in 2010.. I mean VM really were the most “bare”, simple team.. and did it not look the best?? To the untrained eye who can’t really tell skating details apart (me): it is soooo much more pleasant to watch Valse Triste over the majority of programs that year. Just a girl and boy dancing to beautiful music, dressed beautifully- showing off their beautiful posture, long, straight pointed legs and feet, no distractions from their musicality and connection to each other. Stripped down to the bare minimum and everything that should matter in their judged sport can be judged without distraction. Same with Umbrellas, but this time with a theme and story. Same with Pink Floyd- (worlds) themeless, all about the movement and musicality. Same with Mahler.. are we seeing a pattern here?? SAME WITH ALL THEIR PROGRAMS. Every time they came up against (top) teams wearing too much with two much going on.

I guess my gripe is; how did it take this long to realise dressing like that looked ridiculous?? It’s just crazy to watch, and getting back to the original point, it must’ve been so strange, and I wonder if people watching live could make that distinction that just visually, forget athletically, what VM were doing was stratospheres better. And STILL stands up today as one of the greatest ice dance performances of all time.

So yeah…

Here’s VM expressing my exact reaction:

[eschercaine]

Part 1

The note is written in a black pen on a brown cafe napkin.

Sorry for listening, Nyra, but I happened to be sitting nearby. And while your friend Alicent may not understand what you’re feeling, she is right. You should have somewhere to come home to, and you should move forward. Sorry for listening, again.

At first,At first, she thought it to be a sick joke. she thought that a random stranger who had the same handwriting wrote it, but she caught up with the name that was written: Nyra.

Three people call her by that name: her parents and Uncle Daemon.

But how is that possible? He’s dead for five years. How could a dead man walk into her school's coffee bar unnoticed and give her a piece of advice from beyond the grave?

Unless... he’s still alive.

But, again, how? He’s buried six feet underground.

Back at home, Rhaenyra barged into his old room, which was closed off by her father to preserve his memory, and rummages through his papers. Documents, memos, birthday cards.

She returned to her room and pasted it on her “conspiracy board,” along with the napkin she took from her pocket, finding any inconsistencies in the lettering.

They all matched.

Rhaenyra let out a sad chuckle. “‘You should move forward.’ Really, Daemon?”

Two days later, without sleep, she compiles a few clippings of newspaper articles regarding the accident and pasted them on the board. Something’s not right, Rhaenyra thought.

She remembers it too well, the day of the accident, because it is when time stopped for her. Rhaenyra was with her friends when she received the news. With Alicent’s encouragement, she reached the hospital and sees her parents were already there. Her father was weeping uncontrollably. Daemon may have been a pain in his arse, but he's still his little brother at the end of the day.

At first, she couldn’t believe it was him. Before her is a corpse beyond recognition. No silver hair, no pale skin, no anything that could discern it was him. The police said that the car exploded after the crash, resulting in the body being burned horribly. Thanks to the forensics, they confirmed that the body was, indeed, Daemon.

It is painful for them, but they had to accept the fact that he was gone.

The police quickly shut down the case after that. They did not catch the perpetrator of the crash, despite an officer informing them that they had caught the car’s plate number in their surveillance camera.

Something’s not right.

At the uni, there has been gossip about a man in a trench coat prowling the school grounds at night. Rhaenyra scoffs at that, thinking it was just an alumnus or a former staff visiting the school to pick up their things. But then she recalls the serial killer case on the news and the victims attending the same school as hers.

Rhaenyra gained access to their school’s surveillance camera with her “she needed it for her journalism” excuse. And there, she spotted a man in a trench coat. However, Rhaenyra can’t get a good look at his face because the screen started acting up.

And it always happens whenever the man is in the frame.

She should investigate it more.

• • • • • •

Club Meleys is going well. As it should always be.

Three months and no one had been looking for him since he dropped that note on her check.

Good. As long as no one has found out he’s still walking around, he’s fine. No rule has been broken.

Scanning the crowd, he spotted a black-haired man with an unkempt beard walking toward him. Daemon waved a hand at him.

“Is it alright to meet here?” asks Luthor as he sat on a stool beside him.

“Yes,” Daemon answered. “After all, this establishment is mine.”

It belonged to him once his sire, the man who killed him, relinquished the nightclub’s ownership to Daemon as a welcome gift. The place also serves as a haven for other vampires like him; they can feed or, even, kill their unsuspecting prey without anyone noticing.

They are welcome, as long as they don’t cause any trouble.

Largent slowly hands him a small USB flash drive. “Everything you need is in here.”

Daemon couldn’t help but scowl. Is he mocking him? He can’t use electronic devices the same way again. Of course, he still knows how to use them. Yet, whenever he touches one, the screen flickers before going black. When it comes to cameras, his distorted image is shown on the screen, so he had to look out for those little things. “I can’t use a laptop or computer, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbles.

“Oh. Even a mobile phone?” he asked.

Daemon hums. “Even mobile phone.” Then he took a sip from his black tumbler, containing blood. For all anyone knows, he’s just enjoying a cool, refreshing drink.

“That’s unfortunate,” says Luthor, slipping the flash drive into his pocket and rummaging through his leather bag. He produced a brown folder with several articles inside. “There. Everything you need is right there,” he declares.

Daemon took the folder and peered inside. He’s not wrong. His meticulous research always helps him a lot. Now, all he had to do is to figure out the culprit.

Daemon claps Luthor on the back. “Excellent job.” Then points to the several drinks behind the bar. “You can drink whatever you like.”

“Oh. I don’t have enough money,” Luthor says softly.

He laughs, clapping Luthor on the back again. “Don’t worry. It’s on me.”

“Well… I-I would like a martini, please.”

For a long period, the two men spent the entire night chit-chatting until Luthor, finally drunk, stood up and packed his things, bidding goodnight. Daemon requested the nearby bouncer to escort him to the exit.

Once Daemon saw him leave, his eyes darted to the dancefloor, packed with bodies gyrating to deafening techno music, with flashing red lights. Several of them were making out without any care in the world.

Music beats hard against his body. Nobody notices or if he breathes or not, and Daemon wonders if maybe this is what eternal life should mean. The freedom to dance, to party, to drink, to love all night. Forever.

And amongst the crowd, Daemon spotted familiar faces.

Alicent, Laena, Laenor, and…

Fuck.

He gulps nervously.

Rhaenyra.

What is she doing in here?

[starres-stuff]

FFXIV Writes 2023 | Day 25 | Call it a Day

The shoe is on the other foot and Dimitri shows up at Xixa's house uninvited. This entry is from Xixa's POV.

“Mom! There is some giant red-headed Elezen at our door that says he knows you.” Xixa had been relaxing in her chair, knitting needles flashing in the candlelight as she gathered the yarn into a blanket for her oldest who was about to have a few of her own. She wasn’t expecting a caller, but then he never expected her when she stepped by either. In all of her years, she had never had a student like him, and the worst part was he reminded her of herself when she was his age. Matron save her, she was coming back to haunt herself through him.

“Ask him if his name is Dimitri.” She shouted back, the old rocking chair that had seen better days creaking under her as she moved it back and forth in a constant motion. It was late, the sun was already down and this just had to happen now. She was looking forward to a nice glass of wine, a hot bath but oh no the tables had to be turned on her.

“Mom, his name is Dimitri!” Lahsih, her second oldest daughter, called from the door. Xixa couldn’t help it she felt her eyes roll upwards towards the ceiling and the huff she loosened seemed to just blow out of her nose, now all she needed was smoke and she would have looked like a vicious monster ready to attack the giant once he was in her living room which thankfully was big enough to allow him in it, however, sitting would like be on her rickety old floor since his arse was bigger than most of her chairs, and they would likely break under his weight anyways. Damned Elezen, your kind is always too big after twenty-three.

“Show him in Lahsih, and put the kettle on. Might as well offer him some tea since he walked all this way.” Fuck him for doing so. That part wasn’t said out loud, that part was reserved for her private thoughts where little pitchers with big ears couldn’t hear her say them. She was a good Mother, or at least she thought she was, except they weren’t quite little pitchers anymore, they had grown taller than her, damn that Seeker who Fathered them. He was a tall one, and couldn't keep his hands to himself either. She really did like that Seeker too bad he didn’t last a year past Volhi’s birth.

“Xixa!” Dimitri’s voice boomed out of his mouth dragging Xixa from her thoughts in a syllable. Then there he was this giant man standing in the middle of her poor living room holding out a bag towards her that looked like it was full of boxes. “Vi asked me to drop by with these for you and the kids before I called it a day.” He was in a chipper mood for someone who had walked to Bent Branch all the way from the Lavender Beds Ferry, but she wasn’t that interested in him right now she was, however, interested in the bag he was holding above her head while Lahsih and Volhi giggled from the door.

“Dimitri,” she said warily, her knitting now sitting in her lap, the baby blanket coming along well with beautiful yarns of white, teal, and purple. She was fussy about how her knitting looked, and the colors always had to complement each other. Having a visitor while she had her work out in the open was stressful for the early middle-aged Miqo’te. It was her pride and joy to make things for others but when people came calling something always went wrong. It was this that caused her to hop from her chair, and carry everything back to her knitting basket across the room where it could be stowed away carefully until the next time she took it out to work on.

“This is my daughter Lahsih if she didn’t tell you her name already. She’s my middle child, and that little one over there is Volhi. My oldest Liri should be around shortly. She works with the weaver up the road, about to give birth in a moon or so that one. She’s slow these days. I keep telling her she needs to rest but she doesn’t listen. Much like Lahsih who I asked to make a spot of tea for us.” Xixa shot a look in the girls' direction and off she darted. Volhi followed after her with a squeal leaving her alone in the room with her student and a bag of goodies.

“I would offer you a chair but I fear I don’t have anything big enough.” Xixa flashed him one of her wide-fanged grins. That was the best part of being a Keeper of the Moon, besides being the best-looking type of Miqo’te and having Menphina in their corner, the fangs that she could expose at any moment often made others instinctively rub at the side of their neck. Dimitri didn’t, however, he just stared at her for a moment before he finally just plopped down on the immaculately cleaned floor and opened the bag to peer inside.

“Vi told me to tell you there are croissants, rolanberry cheesecake, and pixie-berry tarts. I was also supposed to tell you that the surprise for Volhi’s name day is coming along, she has all the ingredients now after going to Limsa for spices last week. She wanted me to ask if you wanted it the night before or the morning of?” Dimitri paused to think if he had covered it all then he nodded his head. “She appeared at my loft just when I was about to call it a day on packing. I cannot believe how much my Mother had in that place, I still have room to go through before I can fully move out of it.”

“Hmm, morning if she can handle it.” She was now staring into the bag with Dimitri, how she had made it from the other side of the room to where he was left the Duskwight was startled as could be, in fact, he let out a little yelp when her voice was that close to him.

“How do you people do THAT” his voice booming through the small house again, and bringing giggles from the girls in the kitchen where the kettle had just started whistling. “Laurent can do it, my Sister can do it and you can do it too! How the fuck do the three of you moving so silently.” he had just started to chuckle when Xixa hit him upside of the head, and it was a hard one too his head bobbing to one side as he stared at her with eyes like a kid who had just stuck a hand in the cookie jar and gotten caught. “What did I DO!” Dimitri yelped, putting his hands up to shield his face.

“Language, there are teenagers in my house. These are my rules. This isn’t your place, one more use of that word out of you and right out in the yard you go. If you don’t like it then go swear up a storm at your own house.” her arms folded across her chest then, and she looked as stern as stern could be. She even took to tapping her foot on the floor, daring him with her eyes to do anything besides accept her house rules.

“Yes, Ma’am” Dimitri shot her a look, one that seemed to express his desire to set her on fire where she stood right now, the last thing he expected out of his mentor was being told to watch his tongue since her mouth was worse than his on most occasions. Of course, Dimitri was also a brat and he made a show out of sticking out said tongue and then trying to stare at it over his glasses. This just earned him a well-aimed flick to the tip of his ear, which brought a chorus of “Ohhhhhhh Dimitri is in trouble.” from the two girls who had arrived carrying the tea on a wooden tray.

“Hush now.” Xixa barked, she was scary when she was being a Mother and a lot less fun than she usually was. Dimitri even gave a small sniffle to represent his hurt feelings, but this soon stopped when the Miqo’te put her attention right back on the redhead on her floor. She was going to kick him if he wasn’t careful, he could see the desire in her face.

“You are going to be twenty-nine cycles old here soon. Dontcha act like you are one of my children or I will get your Sister after you.” Normally Dimitri would not flinch at threats, his adopted Mother had used them often enough to get him to do whatever she needed him to do, but threatening him with Vi the head of House Jienuex even though she had been hiding in the Shroud made him shudder. Nobles had a way of making people feel like they were two fulms tall with only a few words and their best-practiced smile.

“Yes Ma’am,” he said again, pushing the bag of treats towards where Xixa had been sitting and then placing his hands in his lap folded as a proper house guest should, even though a proper house guest would never find themselves seated on a draft floor.

“Well then let’s have tea and then you can call it a day like you had planned. Girls, why don’t you go get the laundry from the line and put it in the baskets? Then bring it into the folding room for me. I’ll tend to it while making breakfast in the morning.”

“Okay, Mom!” They yelled in unison again, both stopping to peer at Dimitri again and then giggling to each other as they ran off to the yard to collect the wash.

“Don’t mean to be too hard on you, Sonny,” Xixa said once the back door slammed, she had moved to the tray with the tea and started to make them both cups as she talked. “They are both a bundle of energy and one has a mouth on her. They aren’t like my oldest, she was a quiet teenager. All about school work and learning to weave. These two are trouble. Liri at least waited until she was done with school and had a job to get herself pregnant. Of course, she did no better than me. Don’t have an idea where the Father took off to. Had her when I was only eighteen summers old.”

Carefully Xixa lifted the teacups and padded over to set them down on a low table that she pulled close to where they would both be seated. “Their Father got in a bit of trouble not long after Volhi was born, lass never got to meet him, and was buried the same year. They are good girls and just want a better life for them. I’m sure you understand, you got that Noble blood in you and want no part of it. Well for me they have their Father’s blood and I want them to have no part of it. He wasn’t the best man and I don’t want them getting mixed up in that.”

Dimitri found himself frowning as Xixa aired a bit of her story, his brow taking on a crease that made his eyebrows almost touch. “I’m..” he started to say then shook his head. “You’ve done a wonderful job with them Xixa. They seem like very well-behaved young women but then they have you as a role model how could they not be.”

Xixa snorted lightly, carrying her own cup to her chair, and then eased her tired self into it, the runners on the old rocker starting to creak almost instantly as she used her foot to rock herself. “I do the best I can with them, Dimitri. I don’t mind you stopping by but try to be a good role model for them yerself eh? I can’t say I want to keep them young, I don’t, everything needs to grow but at the end of the day, I do want them to learn to live a disciplined life where they still have fun. This Star isn’t the same as when I was a kid nor when you were. The last thing I need is for them to join some Menphina death cult as their Father did.

Dimitri blinked hard, his mouth opening to ask questions but it slowly closed again leaving him to sit there for a moment before he finally said over the top of his cup “Something I’d like to hear about one of these days. It has been a great deal of my work thus far but for now. Tell me about your day friend”

[atlasdoe]

The Show Must Go On - Chapter Two

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Two days after Marlene was killed, the rest of the company was told.

Surprisingly, when they were told, nobody cried or looked upset at all. The room was silent as if everyone was too scared to make any noise at all.

The first noise to be made was from Dorcas, and it wasn’t a sob like Mary had originally assumed - it was a laugh.

After one of them had started, the rest found it hard not to follow.

Now, Mary didn’t have much experience when it came to death, but surely this wasn’t the right reaction, was it? Everyone was laughing. They had just found out that a part of their family had died by suicide and they were laughing . Why were they laughing? Should Mary join in? She didn’t want to laugh. Why on earth was everyone laughing?

Besides Mary, the only people who weren't laughing were Minerva and the poor policewomen who had just delivered the news, though Mary must admit: Minerva looked like she was on the edge also.

The policewomen, however, looked appalled.

“Ladies, this is no laughing matter. There has been a murder. Please behaviour in a professional matter or it may very well come to bite you in the arse!” She scolded, making Mary feel like she was back in school again.

“Oh yeah because cussing is very professional isn’t it?” One of the band members wheezed out, causing Mary’s eyes to widen for two reasons. 1) Because of the comment and 2) Because she didn’t think she had ever actually heard her talk before.

Either way, her first time talking was successful enough to make everyone laugh harder and Minerva to cover her face, though Mary couldn’t tell if it was amusement or embarrassment that she was hiding.

Mary seemed to be the only one to realise what the officer had said, and she didn’t like the sound of it at all.

“Murder?” She spoke up. “I thought it was suicide.”

Maybe she had imagined it, but she could’ve sworn that this had made the girls laugh even harder

“Oh, don’t be naive Mary,” Lily told her. “Of course it was murder. Do you really think that Marlene would kill herself?”

Mary’s heart started to race, “But why would anyone kill her?”

“Because she’s a bitch!” Dorcas blurted out.

Mary’s jaw fell open, “She’s dead Dorcas… And your girlfriend!”

Dorcas snorted, “Oh, my apologies, Marlene was a bitch. And for the record, me and Marlene broke up months ago. I couldn’t care less.”

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