#find a good home for him. There's an abbey not too far away and the nuns are kind and have other children in their care and will gladly take

[leezlelatch]

Secondo x F!Reader - first meetings, brooding, flirting, Secondo's POV. Next in the snippet series...Secondo visits Italia for unpleasant business. Could his stay be the change he needs? @writingjourney

Dark sunglasses cover his eyes, and his expression is blank as the pallbearers walk his mother’s casket down the long aisle. It had been many, many years since Secondo had been in a Catholic Church, and this, his mother’s funeral, would be the last. A procession follows, faces he’s never seen before, and he vaguely wonders if they are cousins, or even siblings. Do they wonder who he is? The long lost son of a woman left in shame after Nihil left his wicked touch on her. Secondo hopes she lived a good life. He thinks she did, quietly watching when he was old enough to handle his own affairs, a silent benefactor. He stands when the last of them leave, his eyes staring scornfully at Jesus on the cross. Where was his grace, when all was broken?

He gets back to the abbey nestled in the hills of the Italian countryside long after dark, having spent several hours wandering the small village of his youth. With a glass of wine in hand, he steps out onto the balcony of his room, looking out over the olive grove the Siblings tend to. The Italian branch of the Ministry sells their own olive oil, a lucrative business that has kept them afloat since he was a boy. It gave him a deeper appreciation for his country, and the beauty that can be grown from the ground and used in their food.

Secondo checks his phone, his thumb scrolling past updates from Sweden, a “me me” his brother sent, deleted, and of his particular interest, the latest on the restoration of a first edition of The Discoverie of Witchcraft by Reginald Scot, a book for his personal collection. He isn’t eager to get back. Tensions are high amongst the Clergy, their dissatisfaction with his younger brother apparent. They simply do not like that Terzo doesn’t bow.

Secondo’s time as Papa is well remembered, and bitterly ended. Too many parties, too many nights trying to drink his life away. Underappreciating what he had until it was gone. He gave Terzo the papacy knowing his brother carries a vision, and he is eager to see it realized. But like a true Emeritus, tragedy is never far. Secondo looks up at the sky and finds the North Star, and he wonders if Primo is in his observatory, looking at the same star. Italy may be where he was born, but Secondo isn’t home. Not when home are three men that in equal parts infuriate him, and make him fight harder every day. He tosses the wine over the edge, setting the glass on the ledge.

“Satan Christ on a stick!” A voice shouts from below. Secondo leans over the balcony railing, looking down in shock at the Sister of Sin now covered in his spilled red wine. She shakes her hands, droplets flying from her fingertips and she looks up, her brow furrowing as she spots him. “Papa,” she says. “I’m wet.”

Well, that’s not the first time he’s heard those words, but not necessarily in this context. Secondo’s mind works a mile a minute to catch up with everything that’s happened in the last few seconds, and he huffs out a small laugh. “Satan Christ?” He asks. 

“It’s a creative way to swear, but I think appropriate,” she answers, looking down at her light sweater now stained red. “I hope this was cheap.” 

Amusement is quickly replaced by regret, and Secondo glances around as if a rag would appear out of thin air. “A moment, Suora. I will be down,” he calls, hurrying into his room and wrenching open the linen closet. He pulls out a towel, grimacing at the light shade. That will be two things he will have to get a burgundy stain out of. He grunts, putting a hand on his back on his way to the front door. Far too much running around for his age, especially so late into the night. 

Secondo steps outside into the night time air, his eyes scanning the place near his balcony where the wine covered sister had been standing. “Suora?”

“Here,” she says, coming around the corner, her sweater removed and in her hands. Secondo pauses, his eyes quickly taking in the sight of her cream colored camisole. He clears his throat, offering her the towel, and he watches with a small frown as she squeezes the sweater between it. 

“Do you have something to say, Papa?” She asks, watching him with an amused quirk of her eyebrow. 

Secondo straightens, his frown deepening, and he tilts his head in atonement. “Forgive me, Suora. I should not be so careless in disposing of my beverages.” He glances away, an uncomfortable itch climbing up his spine. Today has not improved, and here he is, middle-aged man, and her superior, making a fool of himself. 

“I didn’t mean that, although the apology is appreciated. You were looking at me like I was doing something wrong.” She clenches the fabric of her sweater between the edges of the towel, and he waves his hands, reaching for it. 

“You are doing something wrong,” he says gruffly. “Do not squeeze. Blot. We will have to get this under a cold tap.” She laughs, and he glances at her, blowing a breath between his teeth as he begs Lucifer for patience. 

“You seem familiar with…stains,” she says, circling around him, her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair is rustled by the evening breeze, and Secondo pauses, staring at it fluttering and catching between her lips. She blows it away, and he swallows.

“Red stains in particular,” he murmurs, returning to the task at hand.

“That’s something a murderer would say,” she responds, her lips curled at the corners, her smile mysterious. It reminds him of the Mona Lisa.

“There are plenty of rumors about my family, Suora. Choose one,” he says with a flash of teeth. She tilts her head in response, and they stare at each other for a moment. Secondo is used to intimidating people. He doesn’t want to intimidate people. His looks, his demeanor, something somewhere went wrong, and he is paying for it. He gets to watch his brothers be treated like gold by the Siblings where he is dulled copper, dented and used. Secondo garners more fear than respect, and that is acceptable. Or so he tells himself.

“I like the one where you’re all vampires,” she says.

He laughs. A real, genuine laugh, and it makes her smile. He’s caught in that smile, so sweet and full of joy, and it makes him warm. She isn’t intimidated, she’s silly, she cusses in the strangest ways. Is it childish to think this woman is a gift from his mother? Someone real, someone who isn’t afraid.

“Come inside,” he says, holding her wrinkled sweater with a long-suffering sigh. “We shall see if we can save it. I am sorry for drenching you. And tell me about this vampire rumor, will you?”

She follows after him, passing through the open double doors into a hallway lit by old, metal chandeliers that cast a soft yellow glow. “I’ll tell you plenty if you tell me what compelled you to throw your wine off the balcony,” she says.

Secondo leads her up a flight of stairs, his hand gripping the railing, his knees aching from all the walking he did earlier that day. “It displeased me,” he says, unwilling to unload his inner turmoil on a woman he just met. 

“Remind me to stay in your good graces then,” she says, snickering a laugh. He joins her. It feels good to laugh. 

“Ah, do not worry,” he says. “My knees cannot take another trip down the stairs.”

[ramblingoak]

Could I please request a kiss goodnight with Copia dearest Oak?

A Kiss Goodnight

Copia x Reader

Warnings: little bit of dirty talk but otherwise just a sweet moment between you and Copia, nsfw just in case so 18+ only, mdni, 1100 words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers and @foxybouquet for the Italian help!)

He had fallen asleep again.

You couldn’t blame him though, he had been touring for three months straight now with two more to go.  Their tour bus was nice but it was still a bus and not the most comfortable place to sleep.  Plus add eight ghouls and well…things were cramped.  There were a lot of clashing personalities shoved into a small space and at this point in the tour nerves were frayed and everyone was on edge.  On edge and exhausted.

Copia muttered something too soft for you to hear before snorting and jerking awake.  Your view of him tumbled as he knocked his phone from its perch on the pillow next to him.  When he came back into view you had to stifle a laugh seeing the pillow creases on one side of his face.  There was still makeup tucked into the wrinkles you loved so much and his hair was wild, the salt and pepper strands sticking up aggressively.  

Your heart ached with how much love you had for this man.

“You should go to bed, Papa.  There’s another show tomorrow, yeah?”

“Si, tomorrow and the next day.”  He reached a bare hand up and rubbed at his eyes, smearing the makeup that was still there around some more.  “But I’m good, mi sento bene.  I want to hear about your day.”

It was hard to stifle your grin because you had actually told him about your day already.  He had just been so out of it he was half asleep when you’d started and snoring by the time you were done.  You decided to humor him though, clearing your throat and starting an abridged version of things.

“Well, Terzo and Secondo were summoning more ghouls but apparently they got into an argument half way through the ritual.”  Copia rolled his eyes and dropped his head back onto his pillow with a laugh.  “Next thing I know, Primo is running down the hall screaming about hell hounds.”

“Hell hounds?!  Quegli idioti, is everyone ok?”  

“Oh yes, Alpha and Omega were able to keep them contained in the summoning circle.  When Primo showed up he banished your brothers into the hall and then the hounds back to their home.”

“Lucifero, those two are going to burn the abbey down some day.” 

You were both quiet for a moment, Copia’s eyes were drooping again and you just smiled softly as you watched the lines of worry smooth out as he relaxed.  Hopefully next tour he would let you tag along.  These nightly video calls were nice but you missed seeing him in the flesh.  You missed holding him close and burying your nose against his neck to smell his cologne.  You missed his touch, the way the leather of his gloves felt on your skin.

You missed his kisses.

“Amore?”  It was your turn to startle and you gave him a sheepish smile, half hiding your face behind your blanket.  He had a look of amusement on his face, his eyes suddenly a bit brighter and more awake then they were a moment ago.  “Thinking of anything in particular?”

“You.”  He grinned as he brought his phone closer to his face while you did the same.  “It’s always you.  Idiota.”

“How cruel you are to me, I should punish you.”

“Punish?  And how will you do that from so far away, Papa?”

“Hmm, maybe tomorrow night I’ll be too tired to call.  You’ll have to go to sleep without seeing my handsome face.”

“Oh that would be cruel.”  You bit your lip before you decided to take this a bit further, letting out a little grunt as you stretched out in the bed.  “I’ll have to find something else to occupy my time in this big bed of yours.”

“Like what?”  Copia’s voice had gotten a little deeper, his eyes not leaving yours as he stared at you through the phone screen.  “Tell your Papa what you would do.”

“Hmm, I think I’ll slip into your bed naked.  These sheets feel so good against my skin.”  He groaned a little before you continued,  “If I can’t talk to you I’ll just have to pretend you're here next to me.  Touching me in all the places I like to be touched.”

“I do enjoy touching you,”  He groaned a little louder and you shushed him, not wanting him to draw the attention of the ghouls.  Copia ignored you though and you watched as his shoulder shifted, his arm no doubt moving so he could touch himself instead.  “With my hands and my mouth.”

“I enjoy that too, Papa.”  You let your hand travel down your body, your fingers dipping into your underwear so you could touch yourself.  “I love your mouth on me.”

“Fuck, yes.  I’d taste you everywhere.”  Copia’s arm began to move faster and he let out a feral sounding groan before he spoke again,  “Want to dip my tongue as far into you as I ca–”

“No phone sex on the bus!”

You and Copia both yelled out at the sound of Swiss’s voice.  Your cheeks flamed and you slammed your phone face down onto the bed.  Their voices were muffled but you could hear Swiss and Copia yelling at each other.  You didn’t move until the noise had quieted down and you heard Copia’s voice softly calling out your name.  When you grabbed your phone to look at him again he had a sheepish look on his face.

“Eh, I forgot I made this rule after the first week of the tour.  There was an incident with Cirrus you see and,”  Copia trailed off and shrugged.  “Maybe one of these nights I’ll get a hotel room so we can try this again.”

“Sounds like a plan, Papa.”  He smiled softly, his face once more showing how tired he was.  It was time to say goodnight so you both could get some sleep.  “What will we do for tonight though?”

“Tonight?  Uh, I’m not sure I can stay quiet enough…”

“Can I at least get a goodnight kiss?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

You couldn’t help yourself and reached out to gently touch your screen with your finger, the yearning to actually be able to touch him so strong you wanted to cry.  He brought his phone up to his face, waiting for you to do the same, the both of you gently pressing your lips to them at the same time.  When he started whispering something soft in Italian you pulled away, your eyes trying to trace every part of his face before you said goodnight.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Yes, Papa.  I’ll be here.”

“Naked in my bed?”  He laughed when you rolled your eyes, reaching up to get ready to flick the light switch.  “Buonanotte, amore.”

“Goodnight, Copia.”

You let a few tears fall after the call ended and you quickly buried yourself in the sheets to surround yourself with his smell.  Two more months without him was too long and you decided then and there to see about that hotel room first thing tomorrow.

And a plane ticket so you could share it with him.

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[fictionadventurer]

Fantasy retelling of Northanger Abbey:

Innocent young Catherine Morland is overjoyed to have the chance to go to the King's City, leaving her quiet country town for a more diverse and magical metropolis.

Catherine loves reading fairy tales about the dramatic deeds of long-ago fae.

Henry Tilney is a trickster fairy prince who is jaded by a lifetime of dealing with the machinations of the fae courts. He gets amusement out of living among humans and laughing at their follies.

Catherine meets Henry and is immediately awed at his backstory and (metaphorically) enchanted by his charming personality.

For reasons unknown, Henry's father encourages Henry to romantically pursue Catherine. Henry half-heartedly goes along with it, because it's not a bad idea to stay in Dad's good graces.

And then he's shocked to find himself actually falling in love--because Catherine loves him and because she's genuinely innocent and good in a world where he thought such people didn't exist.

To everyone's surprise, Catherine gets an invite to stay at Henry's father's palace.

An actual enchanted fairy palace? How could Catherine say no?

As they're traveling there, Henry plays up all the old fairy tale tropes warning Catherine how to behave. He's joking (things haven't been like that for centuries) but Catherine still takes it to heart.

Catherine hears of the dramatic tale of the life and death of Henry's mother (perhaps a human? So Henry's actually only half-fae?). With her imagination primed by the stories she knows, Catherine starts to interpret faint "evidence" as proof that his mother's actually hidden away under a fate-worse-than-death curse, perhaps just waiting for a pure-of-heart maiden to come break the spell.

Henry catches Catherine during her quest and is amused and a bit offended. Do you know what you're saying? Maybe things like that could happen long ago and far away, but the fairies are Christianized now. Enchantments like that are far too brutal to consider.

She's right that his dad's a jerk, though.

Not long after this, Henry's dad sends Catherine away in disgrace. He had heard that Catherine was the Chosen One of a prophecy and wanted her to increase the power of his kingdom. He's shocked to learn it's not true (you mean humans can lie?), and in his anger he's harsh in sending her away.

Henry refuses to abandon Catherine and gets himself banished for refusing to give her up.

He shows up at her ordinary home and declares his love and they live happily ever after.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - IV

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.1k.

Reading Time: 25min.

Warnings: blood extraction, body control, corruption kink,finger sucking, forced sexual activity,gaslighting,irrelevant character death,mentions of death by sun exposure, non-consensual sexual activity,objectification, religious disillusionment, religious trauma, sexual harassment, taking advantage of innocence, use of needles,use of the word “bitch” unkindly

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @whitepawfics @dolceterzo

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

“I feel as though thou hast drained all my blood and brought me to the brink of death.” You tried to stand but your body was too weak. “For how long hath I been in slumber?”

“Five days,” the Cardinal looked back to his book, “your recovery time is getting longer. We’re going to have to start rationing if this keeps up. Or get another angel. Say, do you think we could use you as bait?”

“I pray thee choke and perish upon my blood.”

The Cardinal laughed. “If that happens,” the door to his bedroom knocked, then opened, “you’ll be stuck in that cage forever - ah! Brother López. Come in, please!”

The Brother opened the door wider and stepped inside, looking polite as he watched the Cardinal stand to greet him.

“Angel,” the Cardinal addressed you, “this is my new cleaner, Brother Santiago López.”

You couldn’t help the wave of disappointment and fear take over you. But as you spoke, you tried to keep your voice level and nonchalant, “Oh. What befell thy previous caretaker?”

“I found out he was trying to help a certain prisoner escape, and so he needed to be punished.”

“If thou has slain him, I swear by the Almighty I shall smite thee!” Your anger bubbled up far too quickly for someone who was supposed to remain nonchalant.

“Oh relax, you crazy bitch. We sent him to an abbey in America to shovel pig shit.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling your muscles relax knowing that he was okay. “For what reason?”

The Cardinal tapped Brother López on the shoulder and gestured for him to leave, which he did promptly, fearing what he was going to see. “You know why.” The Cardinal said, simply. His voice quieter than usual.

Your voice was less sharp, but still loud. “I can assure thee, I do not.”

“You mean to tell me that you weren’t trying to escape? That you and Brother Hayward weren’t attempting to break you out of that little cage to get you to freedom, hm? Come on now, Angel. I’m more than happy for my pets to have pets, but when they start rebelling against me, lines must be drawn.”

“Thou wast aware he visited here?”

He took in a long breath through his nose, so sharp his nostrils retracted with the inhale. “Could smell him Every time I came home and his scent was stronger than usual - knew he was here a while. And then when he was under the bed, his heartbeat was so loud.” The Cardinal walked over to the cage and rested his hands on the bars, leaning his whole body on it. “His fear would have tasted so good.”

You spat in his face, hearing some of your spittle sizzle against the metal bars. The Cardinal sighed, and wiped it away before hitting the side of the cage.

“The next time you pull something like that, Angel,” he began, his voice loud and so enraged, “I will personally make sure your little pet dies in front of you, and I’ll make it slow and painful. Do you understand?”

When you didn’t answer, he hit the cage again. “Understand?”

“I understand.”

He stood up to his full height and straightened his hair, then began fiddling with his clothes. “I don’t like getting angry with you, Angel. But sometimes you leave me no choice.” He turned to walk away, but stopped at the door. “Oh, and angel?” He said, his voice soft and sweet like butter wouldn’t melt. He looked at you, mismatched eyes piercing into your soul. “Brother Hayward may be in a different country, but one word from me and all 6 litres of his blood gets delivered to my fridge, and his corpse will be buried beneath abbey soil. I’ll be back.”

The threat of his return felt even more sinister with the tone of voice he used, and for the first time since this whole ordeal started, you felt the sharp pang of fear that had the small amount of blood inside you run cold. Your safety didn’t matter. You were just you. But now Thomas’ life was in jeopardy and it was entirely your fault. Memories of Brother Thomas’ kind eyes and gentle words flooded your thoughts, each one a painful reminder of the danger he now faced because of you. Guilt gnawed at your insides like a ravenous beast, twisting and clawing at your conscience until it threatened to consume you whole. You had thought yourself strong, resilient in the face of the Cardinal’s torment. But now, faced with the consequences of your actions, you felt nothing but fear and despair creeping in, threatening to engulf you entirely.

As the Cardinal’s footsteps faded down the hallway, leaving behind an oppressive silence, you couldn’t shake the weight of his threats echoing in your mind. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. For though you may be trapped in this gilded cage, your spirit remained unbroken. And as long as there was breath in your body, you would fight tooth and nail to protect those you held dear, no matter the cost.

Your own body continued to repair itself, slower than it usually would. The five days it took you to regain consciousness turned into twenty more of total healing time. The Cardinal kept a monitor of your levels based on how you smelled, which meant every day, his long, rodent nose would poke through the bars as he inhaled your scent, making sure his tavern was restocking perfectly well. He didn’t try and pry any information from you in that time, which you hated to admit that you were grateful for. But he had developed a habit of sitting and staring at you, taking joy in watching you squirm uncomfortably. He’d brought in a red, velvet armchair from the living space to do just that. Every evening, he’d waltz into his room with a glass of your blood, now tainted red from your essence, and sit and observe you, like an animal in a cage. You never said anything: always believing he wanted you to start a conversation, but you’d never let him win.

At first, the Cardinal’s constant scrutiny had been unbearable, like a stifling weight pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. His presence had been a constant reminder of your captivity, of just how at his mercy you truly were. But as the days stretched into weeks and the Cardinal’s routine became an unsettling rhythm in your life, something shifted within you. You found yourself growing accustomed to his gaze, almost welcoming it in a twisted sort of way. Not that you enjoyed it, by any means. Just that a routine was being established and the Cardinal became the only constant in your life. The only entertainment, too. And so, instead of shrinking away from his viewing, you began to meet his eyes head-on, a silent challenge in your gaze. You refused to cower under his oppressive stare, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. You found yourself seeing him in return, studying the lines of his face, the way his eyes glinted with a predatory gleam. There was a darkness lurking behind those mismatched orbs, a darkness that chilled you to the bone. But even as you studied him, a sense of defiance burned within you. You refused to let the Cardinal break you, refused to let him strip away your dignity and humanity. You were more than just a prisoner in a cage; you were a warrior, a survivor, and you would not be defeated so easily. Heaven couldn’t get you, neither could he.

So, you met the Cardinal’s gaze with steely determination, a silent reminder that despite his best efforts, you would not be broken. And as you stared back at him, you couldn’t help but wonder what secrets lay hidden behind those calculating eyes, what darkness lurked within the depths of his soul.

The Cardinal’s entrance into the room that night was accompanied by an air of smugness so thick you could practically taste it. His smirk was evident as he sauntered in, a book tucked under one arm and a glass of your blood held casually in the other, a smile so wide, you could see his fangs underneath the skin. You watched him with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, wondering what had put that self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. It was rare to see him so openly pleased with himself, and it set your nerves on edge.

As he approached your cage, he made no attempt to hide his triumphant grin, relishing in the power he held over you. He settled into the red velvet armchair with an air of satisfaction, taking a leisurely sip from the glass of blood as if it were the finest vintage wine, because, to him, it was. His eyes flicked over to you, and you met his gaze with a steely resolve, refusing to let him see any hint of fear or weakness. “So, Angel,” he began, his voice dripping with arrogance, but his words slurred slightly from the drink, “I’ve been doing some reading lately. Did you know there’s a whole chapter in this book dedicated to angels like you?”

Your stomach twisted uneasily at the implications of his words, but you kept your expression carefully neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“It seems there’s quite a lot I didn’t know about your kind,” he continued, his tone laced with malice. “But don’t worry, Angel. I plan on remedying that very soon.” With a chilling smile, he opened the book in his hands, his eyes gleaming with a dark intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Do you know this book?”

You shook your head.

“It was written by Lorenzo Giovanni during the Renaissance, the last time an angel knowingly fell to Earth. A vampyre, like me. Spent most of his days studying the angel, finding out what makes you tick - turns out, he got pretty far. Unfortunately, his work was unfinished. A mob found out what he was and got to him in 1492, tied him up and let the Sun do all the work. But, do you know what he did find?” He didn’t wait for you to shake your head this time. He cleared his throat, and began to read aloud. As he began to read, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something far more sinister. “‘In celestial governance, once the manner is known, it is a simple matter. The heavenly messengers utilize the dread of the Almighty to manage their subordinates. However, those angels who have questioned the supremacy of the Lord are subject to the influences of their sacred radiance, the origin of which is their halo. Thus, one who attains an angel’s halo possesses the capability to command the entity, as well as the sacred radiance enveloping it.’ This we know, correct?”

You remained silent. So, the Cardinal continued, “‘This process assumes two guises: one to govern the physical form, the other to govern the intellect. To command the physical form, one must initially acquaint themselves with the name of the angel. As is observed with infernal entities, names possess a potency beyond human comprehension. Consequently, an angel bearing a name can readily relinquish control of their physical form merely by disclosing this fragment of information. Subduing the intellect, however, presents a greater challenge.’

“Basically,” he said, closing the book shut for dramatic affect, “I know your name, your body becomes mine.” He sighed, “Giovanni then goes onto say your mind is fully intact during this process, that you’ll feel your body moving but have no control over it.” He set his glass down on the dresser and walked towards your halo in its cage.

He grasped hold of it and you notice his hand was gloved, taking note of the care he was using to touch it. Your halo was just as dangerous to him as it was to you, but for different reasons. Without your halo, you were dead. Without your halo, you were controlled. For him, his skin would burn at the touch of it, like yours did with hellfire. For him, one wrong move and he would evaporate in the holy light. There was a part of you that wanted that to happen - wanted to see him perish in one of the most painful ways you had ever known. Yet there was an overpowering guilt that ate at you when you thought about it - knowing that the Almighty wanted you to love everyone, even at the detriment to yourself.

He took a step back and looked at you, smugness oozing from every pore. “I haven’t told Sister yet,” he mumbled, sitting back down on the chair. “I wanted to find out if it worked first. Tell me your name, Angel.”

“Thou must deem me a fool to willingly disclose such information.” You retorted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your mouth was dry.

He chuckled, a dark sound that shook you to your core. He nestled into the armchair, becoming comfortable in his throne of power. All of his movement was in his hips, lifting himself off the velvet to help him slide down it a little more, legs spread wide to exude his dominance. He was disgusting. “I thought you might say that,” he commented, his grin widening, “but you forget who I have.”

Thomas.

“You’ve experienced firsthand what I can do, Angel,” he continued, “except, I’ll make sure I’m much worse with him.”

“Thou would not.” You protested, trying to quell your panic. “The constabulary would be aware. Thou would be compelled to answer to the authorities.”

“I never said he’d survive.”

A chill ran down your spine. Your mind raced with fear and uncertainty as the Cardinal’s threat hung in the air like a dark cloud. Thomas was now in grave danger, and you were faced with an impossible choice. Would you sacrifice your own identity to save him, or would you stand firm and risk his life? You did know what the Cardinal could do - you’d been subjected to it since the moment you met him however long ago that was. You knew you could survive going through that again, especially if you had nothing to lose; but you couldn’t be sure about Thomas. He definitely didn’t deserve to feel the Cardinal’s wrath any more than he already may have. And could you live with yourself knowing you’d condemned a man to death just to save yourself, even if he did belong to the Satanic Church? By robbing him of his life, he’d never get the chance to return to God, to see the light and repent. You’d never get the chance to meet him again in Heaven. You’d rob him of his salvation, but you’d save yourself from the Cardinal’s damnation. Either way, you lost.

“If I divulge,” you began, puffing your chest to sound more confident and unafraid, “can thou ensure his well-being?”

The smugness faded from the Cardinal, if only for a moment. “Of course.” He responded, genuinely. “How else would I get you to do things I wanted?” He let the second sentence slip out, but paid it no mind once it had been released. He planned on using Thomas’ safety to continue to control you. You never should have let yourself get close to him - it allowed the Cardinal to win.

“And wilt thou demonstrate that he is unharmed? Wilt thou prove that thou speakest truthfully unto me?”

“I’ll get him to video chat you every week.”

You frowned, “I comprehend naught of thy words.”

“Video chat? FaceTime? Angels have no technology up there at all?” The Cardinal sighed at your blank expression and rummaged in his pocket to pull out the device you first saw him use. “This thing lets you have conversations with people that aren’t there with you. It shows you their face and hear their voice and, boom, conversation.”

“And thou wilt employ that contrivance to contact Tho- Brother Hayward?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “___.”

“What?”

“My name. It is ___.”

“___.” The Cardinal nodded and set down the device next to his glass. He stood and unlocked your cage, before returning to his spot on the couch. He gently maneuvered your halo into the palm of his right hand, and brought it up to his mouth. “___, I command you to exit the cage.”

You laughed. You laughed at him. He lacked conviction which was why it failed, and it was so funny to watch him fumble. He cleared his throat, and now, with more confidence, repeated his order. Your body tingled in response, and despite you fighting it with great strength, your legs moved of their own accord. Your bare foot stepped out of the cage and onto the floor, barely feeling the textures beneath your feet. Your body ducked around the metal, wings tucked tightly to your body to stop any part of you from getting injured. Even under control, your body still did what it could to preserve itself. This was a new sensation to you, as you’d never been under someone else’s control before - you’d never needed to be because you were always a good soldier, even when you had your doubts. You’d never known anyone be subjected to this, either. Within seconds, you were out of the cage, standing in front of it with your wings outstretched. He hadn’t ordered you to stay still, to wait for the next instruction. But you did anyway, fearing that defiance would bring a painful end to Brother Thomas.

“___, I command you to spin on the spot.” The Cardinal ordered, a mischievous smile on his face and a glint in his eye.

When you did as he commanded, he laughed. It was a guttural laugh, hearty and jovial, clearly he was having fun with this. “Like a game of Capitan Giro. Capitan Giro dice stand on one leg.”

You did as commanded, and the Cardinal screamed in delight.

“Wait, I don’t need your name? I don’t need to be so formal? What if… put both feet to the floor.”

You did as commanded.

“Incredible. I wonder what else I could get you to do. How else I could humiliate you…” He stopped and thought for a moment, eyes darkening. “Come here.” This command was lower and deeper than the previous ones, quieter and somehow more intimate.

You fought against this command, but to no avail. Your feet, slowly, dragged you towards the Cardinal and only stopping when you were right in front of him, between his open legs. “On your knees.”

You obeyed. The whole time you made eye contact with him, staring daggers into his face and still hoping that the halo hurt him.

He held out his left hand, the one not holding the halo, and said, “Remove the glove.”

Your hands immediately sprung into action, grasping onto the hem of the leather and peeling it gently off of his hand, exposing the skin beneath.

“You know,” he grumbled as you pulled the final finger of his glove off him, “the Sister told me about you.”

He moved his hand to your face and tried to caress your cheek, but you moved away. “Come back, don’t fight me.” Slowly, you moved back to your original position, feeling your cheek meet his fingertips. His hand was large, taking up most of your face as he stroked it with such gentility, you weren’t entirely sure that this was the same man who had caused you great pain for so long. His thumb sat beside your nose, and gently stroked your skin.

“She told me about your purity,” he continued. “How you’re still the good angel Yhwh intended.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Open your mouth.”

You did. You opened it a small amount, but it was enough for him. He slotted his thumb inside and rubbed the pad over your tongue, as if he was studying your mouth. His knuckle, briefly, hit the tip of your small fangs - not enough to hurt him, but enough to have him fascinated by them.

“Suck on my finger.”

Your mouth closed around the digit in your mouth, lips stretching just a little over his skin, and you heard the Cardinal exhale a shaky breath. He watched the obscenity in front of him, how your cheeks hollowed around his thumb that he slowly began to move in and out of your mouth. His cheeks were flushed, partially because of your blood, but also because his own was rushing around his body, still pumping life into it despite his insides being almost dead. His pupils were blown, and his eyes were hooded, making him look a little crazy. His lips parted, and his breaths were laboured, chest rising and falling as though his lungs still worked - a force of habit, you thought.

You didn’t understand this - what he was doing. You’d never seen anyone do this before, but your mind was racing with possibilities. Perhaps he was testing your mouth, making sure your health was good. Or maybe it was some strange form of comfort for him, you pondered. Perhaps he found solace in this bizarre act, a fleeting moment of intimacy amidst the chaos of his life. As his thumb moved in and out of your mouth, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease mingled with curiosity.

You should bite down.

You couldn’t. Not that you weren’t trying, but you were under the influence of the halo. You just couldn’t get your teeth to clench around his thumb.

Despite your confusion, you continued to suck on his finger obediently, just as the Cardinal had ordered. You focused on the rhythm of his movements, trying to make sense of the strange sensation in your mouth.

“Cazzo.” He let out a whisper, barely audible but because of the quiet of the room, the humming of technology barely covered the sound.

As time passed, it couldn’t have been more than a minute, you couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort that gnawed at you. Yet, you dared not speak up, afraid to disrupt the fragile peace that enveloped the room. So you remained silent, your mind still racing with unanswered questions, as you obediently continued to suck on his finger.

Suddenly, the Cardinal’s eyes widened, a look of shock appearing on his face. He yanked his thumb from your mouth and physically pushed you away, grasping onto the halo a little tighter than he should have. “B-back in the cage.” He said quickly, standing up and walking over to your halo’s cage.

He didn’t need to use the halo to order you back behind bars, you were already scrambling to your feet and rushing to fit yourself in through the bars. He refused to make eye contact with you, noticing that he was feeling shame. Shame for what, you couldn’t say, but he spent most of the time staring at the floor as he locked you back inside. Your eyes wandered, too. From his face, over his body, until you saw the tent in his crotch every time he stood side-on. You weren’t completely foolish, you knew what that meant. You’d spent enough time with mortals, and saw a varying degree of sin that they would commit regularly. But you still couldn’t piece together the correlation between his finger in your mouth and the reason for his body’s reaction. He didn’t say a word, instead grabbing the glass and all but running out the door.

Perhaps you were feeling some of his shame now that you knew he’d used you to sin. He’d sinned with you before, every single time he caused you pain was sin enough, but this felt different somehow. Before, it was all the sins that were done to you; because of your implicitness due to the halo’s control, it felt like he was sinning with you. Shame, anger, and a deep sense of discomfort gnawed at your insides, making you feel vulnerable and exposed.

You had been subjected to a degrading and humiliating act, one that left you feeling powerless and violated. The Cardinal’s actions had stripped away your dignity and autonomy, reducing you to nothing more than a mere object for his pleasures.

Anger simmered within you, fueled by the injustice of being treated in such a deplorable manner. You resented the Cardinal for his blatant disregard for your dignity and for his abuse of power. How dare he manipulate and exploit you for his own perverse desires?

The deep sense of discomfort stemmed from the violation of your boundaries and the invasion of your personal space. His unwelcome advances had left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if your very essence had been laid bare for his scrutiny.

But then, the feeling dawned on you, was this not a similar way the Almighty had treated you? How He would get His subordinates to send you down to the mortal realm and commit atrocities on His behalf. In Egypt and Canaan, and even the shores of Italia, in His name you enacted awful things, bore witness to tragedies no person should ever see. While the Cardinal used you for some kind of sexual gratification, the Almighty used you for egotistical gratification, and either way, you were a pawn in someone else’s game, an object to be used at will regardless of your own opinions. You could never condone or justify the Cardinal’s behaviour towards you, but you’d also never had autonomy over your own person, so was it any different?

In some weird twist, you had come to realise that despite being trapped in a cage, your mind was freer than it ever had been in Heaven, your thoughts were your own, and your feelings went more-or-less unpunished. And in comparison, who was truly the Devil? Lucifer, or the Almighty?

The Cardinal didn’t come to visit you the next day, or the day after that, or the subsequent week that followed. He wouldn’t even come back to his chambers to rest, opting to spend his time elsewhere and avoiding you - an easy task, you were sure, given that he had kept you in the cage the whole time. You were unsure how to feel about this, whether this was something you should be grateful for, or if you should be afraid.

The longer you were around the vampyres, the more you’d begun to understand them and their ways; their thoughts and feelings, and what made them tick. Given that you’d not seen the Sister in so long, you could assume that the Cardinal hadn’t told her about his discovery. If he had, she’d have charged into his chambers, gripped hold of your halo, and practiced on you herself. Her insatiable thirst for power and control outweighed her thirst for your blood, and thus, if she knew your secret, you’d know too.

But then, why had the Cardinal kept that secret? Both he and the Sister wanted power, specifically power over you. They had been working together from the start to make sure they got what they wanted, your health and safety be damned. So why hadn’t the Cardinal told her everything? You pondered these questions in the silence of your cage, the only company being the dim glow of your halo, a sense of unease washing over you in more ways than one.

By the time you had healed completely, the Cardinal had returned with the empty bottles, but still found it difficult to look you in the eye. His gaze flickered with a mixture of guilt and apprehension, a silent acknowledgment of the unspeakable acts he had committed in his pursuit of power… or pleasure?

You watched him closely, noting the tension in his movements and the weariness etched into his features. Despite the disguise of indifference he attempted to show, you could sense the conflict raging within him, a storm of inconsistent emotions that threatened to consume him whole. He’d not rested well enough - you wondered if he’d even eaten properly. Then you wondered why you cared.

As he went about his task of arranging empty buckets around his bed, you remained silent, studying his every move with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Why buckets, this time? There was an obvious shift in the air, a tension that hung between you, heavily shrouding you both an an intense suffocation.

With each passing moment, the weight of his silence grew heavier, a burden that bore down upon you with unbearable force. You longed to break the oppressive stillness, to confront him with the questions that burned in the depths of your soul, but you held your tongue, wary of the consequences of speaking out.

In the end, it was the Cardinal who broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper as he addressed you. “I won’t bind you when I let you out… I’m trusting you to be on your best behaviour.”

You simply nodded in response.

“No funny business, no trying to escape… no attacking, got it?”

“I shall not undertake such actions today,” you told him, “yet I offer no assurances for the morrow.”

He laughed as though you were telling him a joke. His laughter echoed through the chamber, a hollow sound that reverberated off the walls. Despite the tension that lingered between you, there was a sense of relief in his amusement, a fleeting moment of levity amidst the heavy atmosphere that surrounded you. “Well, I suppose that’s better than nothing,” he replied, his tone lightening slightly. “Just remember, Angel, I’m not afraid to put you back in that cage if you step out of line.”

You met his gaze with a steady stare, your eyes alight with a quiet defiance. “I understand,” you said, your voice firm and unwavering. “But mark this, Cardinal - I shall not be imprisoned anew, not without resistance.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a spark of recognition that mirrored the fire that burned within your own soul. In that moment, you saw a glimmer of respect in his gaze, a grudging acknowledgment of your strength and determination.

“Very well,” he said, his voice tinged with resignation. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He moved towards your cage, unlocked and opened the door, and took a step back, still holding it as though he were a gentleman holding the door for his wife. With apprehension, you climbed out, wings cocooning your body again until you were completely free of the metal. You chanced a glance at your halo, which was still locked up tight in the cage, and somehow you felt relieved. You stretched your entire body out, wings included, grateful for the feeling. All the while, you still watched the Cardinal potter around the room until he invited you onto his bed again.

You hesitated until you saw the plea in his eyes. “What dost thou withhold from me, Cardinal?”

He shook his head, “If you don’t let me drain you now, things will end up worse for us both. Just do as I ask this one time, please.”

You regarded him with a mix of wariness and resignation, knowing that you had little choice but to comply with his request. With a heavy sigh, you moved towards the bed, your movements slow and deliberate as you approached him.

As you settled onto the plush mattress, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a heavy cloak. The Cardinal’s intentions were clear, his desire for your blood palpable in the air, and yet you found yourself unable to resist his command. You felt the first needle prick into the crook of your arm, and watched as your blood began to pour into the bucket. Then you saw him prick the second needle in, and the cycle repeat. Usually, the Cardinal would stand back and watch menacingly. But this time, he gently crawled onto the bed, lifted you up, and slotted you on top of him, so you were using his body as a pillow instead.

As the Cardinal cradled you in his arms, using his body as a makeshift pillow, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of discomfort wash over you. The intimacy of the gesture was unsettling, a stark contrast to the usual brutality of your interactions with him.

With each drop of blood that left your body, you felt a sense of vulnerability creep in, the realization dawning on you that you were completely at his mercy. Despite your instinctive urge to resist, you found yourself unable to muster the strength to pull away, trapped in a state of submission that left you feeling powerless and exposed.

You passed out, despite your body fighting it.

You were barely conscious when you woke, the needles still in your arms and the Cardinal still behind you. This time, you could feel his hands running up and down your biceps and stroking your hair, as if he was trying to comfort you. You wanted to recoil from his touch, to push him away and reclaim the boundaries he had violated so mercilessly more than once. And yet, a part of you couldn’t help but crave the warmth of his embrace, the fleeting sense of connection that offered a brief respite from the cold reality of your captivity.

Your body lost consciousness again, the last thing you felt were his fingertips tracing light patterns into your skin.

You roused from your uneasy slumber, disoriented and groggy, the memory of the Cardinal’s touch haunting your exposed flesh. As your senses slowly returned, you realized that the needles were no longer piercing your skin, their absence bringing a faint sense of relief amidst the lingering discomfort.

You looked around the room, heart heavy, seeking any sign of the Cardinal’s whereabouts, but all you saw was the empty space of his bed and the stifling silence that enveloped the room like a blanket. Feelings of fear and panic started to seethe at the borders of your mind as you struggled with the disconcerting realisation that you were alone in the room, and not trapped up in your cage where you’d normally be after such an extraction.

You strained to get yourself upright, your muscles protesting with each movement as you forced yourself to look around more closely. However, no matter how hard you looked, there was no sign of the Cardinal, no clue of where he had gone or what he was plotting next.

The sound of voices coming from the living room sent shivers down your spine, breaking the strange calm that had encased the Cardinal’s quarters. You strained your ears, nervously attempting to figure out who was talking and who was there.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you listened closely, the murmur of voices becoming louder and clearer with each passing instant. Their tones conveyed a sense of urgency, a palpable tension that appeared to linger in the air like a building storm.

For a tiny moment, you cherished the hope that Brother Thomas would return to liberate you from your captivity and deliver you from the Cardinal’s tyranny. But deep down, you understood that such dreams were nothing more than desperate illusions created out of your own sorrow.

One of the voices belonged to the Cardinal… the other… the Sister.

You strained to catch every word of the furious discussion between the Sister and the Cardinal, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony of wrath and frustration. From your position in the bedroom, you could feel the tension crackling in the air like electricity, heavy and stifling.

The words they exchanged formed a bleak picture, indicating a flaw in their carefully crafted relationship. It became clear that the Cardinal had acted with purposeful intent by draining you of your blood before the full moon night, undermining their plans to perform the second ritual.

Confusion blurred your mind as you tried to make sense of the Cardinal’s strange choice to sabotage the ceremony. It didn’t make sense; why would he go to such extent to foil plans that he had personally set up? You felt lost and confused, as if the puzzle pieces would not fit together in your brain.

You couldn’t shake the notion that the Cardinal’s acts were more than just what they appeared to be. His intentions remained a mystery, and you couldn’t help but wonder what underlying agenda drove his betrayal. Was he behaving in his own self-interest, or was he motivated by something else that you couldn’t figure out? Or was there a deeper, more nefarious motive at work?

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Anon commissioned artwork by @taylaedraws - I believe the full version is on their Patreon! Please be sure to check it out when you can!

[petrichorvidae]

Mushy May Day 2: Late night snacks

Rating: Teen Word count: 3,560 Pairing(s): Swiss/Dewdrop + some Phantom/Rain heavily implied on the side, as a treat. Additional: Recreational drug use, minor blood and injury, references to sex, the ever-looming threat of an earth ghoul whose weed was stolen, and the existence of cheese singles. Summary: Dewdrop and Swiss raided Mountain's personal stash, and now they raid the kitchen too! Link to it on AO3 for those who prefer!

I had to take a day off for health reasons, and then I forgot to post this last night, but now I'm back with some swissdew shenanigans!

Once again, a huge thanks to @forlorn-crows for organizing Mushy May!

~~~~~~~~~~

Dew woke up with a start when something wet touched him, hissing out into the open air and looking around wildly trying to find whatever unknown had dared to disturb his sleep. His body was still adjusting to the suddenness of being awake, and that didn’t play favourites with his eyes, so he wasn’t able to do much more than squint and swish his tail back and forth in agitation.

“Whuh…!?” Seems his brain is still too mushy from sleep to even finish getting out a single coherent word. 

He continued to swish his tail but his hiss faded away into a low growl, near-silent in volume as he was far too tired to do anything more. Dew kept blinking his eyes hoping to open them each time with a newly granted sense of sight, and if he had energy left in him he would have jumped for joy when he finally acclimated to the light. Wait, why would the light be on?

He feels stupid when he goes to pull his blanket off of him only to find that it’s not there, as a matter of fact, it’s nowhere to be found in the room, which only serves to add yet another layer to his confusion. He wouldn’t be caught dead without that thing, be it in his bunk in a tour bus, serving as a protective layer between him and whatever uncomfortable sheets the hotel they’re staying at has, or just as a source of comfort and warmth back here, home, in the abbey. Not that he needed the additional warmth though, definitely not with how things had been warming up recently combined with his Fire ghoul nature.

He looked to his side, hoping maybe he had kicked it away in his sleep after getting too hot or something, but instead, he was met with the glorious sight of none other than Swiss, sleeping like a rock, snoring louder than even Aether, and with a long and luxurious strand of drool trailing down the side of a pillow he was holding onto for dear life. And then everything clicked.

Memories flooded Dew’s head of how he and Swiss had broken into Mountain’s stash earlier that evening, getting their grubby mitts into the real good shit that he usually kept for himself, giant selfish bastard. He also remembered how they had then raided his entire Stash and left very few survivors in their wake, and how they then locked themselves in Swiss' room before participating in some stupid fucked up contest of seeing who could smoke through the most of it in a single day. Dew looked back to Swiss again, that puddle of drool had definitely grown by a few centimetres since he’d last looked. Judging by the state of him, and how Swiss was apparently dead to the world, they probably weren’t finding out who had won any time soon. Dewdrop groans and flops back down onto the bed. Of course, the one thing he couldn’t recall was both the reason for and the result of them getting into this mess.

What he hadn’t been anticipating was for his coordination to still be a little off after only being awake for a few short minutes, and thus he hadn’t been expecting his elbow to hit a sleeping Swiss right in the face. Swiss’ poor nose certainly hadn’t been expecting it, that’s for sure.

The most pathetic and hurt-sounding yelp he’s ever heard let Dew know that all those comments about his elbows being unusually bony may have some basis in truth after all. The ghoul that was dead asleep just a few seconds ago was now wide awake and hunched over himself while he clutches his nose. What Dew thinks is the slightest dribble of blood serves to sober him up a bit from his self-imposed high. He immediately starts looking around before finding what he’s looking for, locating the box of tissues on the nightstand next to Swiss’ bed and grabbing it before he can think too long about why it would be there in the first place.

“Ah shit! M’so sorry Swiss, didn’ mean to.” He blabbers out an attempt of an apology as he holds the tissues out to Swiss, who now has tears of pain threatening to spill at the corners of his eyes as he snatches the tissues from Dew, hissing at him all the while, and, yeah, he did kinda deserve that.

“Th’fuck s’wrong with you? F’ckin’ asshole.” Not even the shock of having his nose bashed by Dewdrop’s elbow could truly wake up Swiss, as it would seem. In true Swiss fashion, the larger ghoul continued to spit and hiss out more slurred insults at the smaller while he grabbed a bunch of the tissues and held them up to his bloody nose which would definitely have a pretty purple bruise on it later on that would lead to them being subjected to another of Aether’s interrogations while the Quintessence ghoul would try to figure out how two idiots like them survived for long enough in the pit to be summoned, just for them to be even bigger dumbasses.

Once Swiss had cleaned up his face and shook off his shame from being defeated by Dew’s bony as-shit elbow of all things, the Multi decided to dedicate the rest of his life to giving the Fire ghoul the dirtiest look he could muster. He wasn’t even giving him daggers now, he was giving him full-on swords. It was almost funny how mad he was trying to look, his nose all scrunched up with his ears down, fur puffed up to further set in how pissed he was with him at the moment. And yet, Dew wouldn’t forget this moment between them for Swiss' ire, which he had rightfully earned to be fair, but for how that heated silence was suddenly broken by one of the loudest growls he had ever heard come from Swiss' stomach.

They stared at each other, both looked down at Swiss' stomach, and immediately looked right back up to each other again, before simultaneously bursting out into a fit of giggles. All of Dew’s elbow’s transgressions are forgotten as they roll around on top of Swiss' bed. 

After a few minutes of giggling and another interruption, this time from Dew’s stomach, Swiss finally let out his first fully formed words since he’d been so rudely woken up. “Woah, easy there tiger, don’t gotta go roaring at me.” He put his hands up in a mock surrender “How ‘bout we go and raid the kitchen for whatever good stuff we can find? We can bring it back here and have ourselves a feast.”

Dewdrop thought about it, and he was really hungry now that they’d both been made aware by their bodies, and rather loudly at that. But, and there was always a but, Dewdrop looked over to the locked door leading out into the hallway and his thoughts stilled for a moment. The whole reason it had been locked in the first place was because they both Mountain would be out for blood once he found his stash desecrated and gone, and another memory from the evening was returned to him, this one of Mountain pounding on the door when he had finally found out what they’d done, and how the only thing stopping him from going through with his threat to kick down the door and collect retribution for his precious weed was Aether quite literally dragging him away to cool down a bit if the scuffle they had heard was anything of substance. One thing was gnawing away at his mind right now, and he made sure to voice it; “What if he’s still out there.”

Swiss understood what he meant, and looked like he was speedrunning through the exact thought process Dew had just gone through judging by the slight panic in his eyes, but apparently, he wasn’t anywhere as worried as Dew was, because he just shrugged. 

“You got any idea what time it is?”

Dewdrop chews at his lip before digging around for his phone. He manages to find it under a pillow, the very same one that now had a damp spot from Swiss drooling on it, gross. After a more than slightly judgemental look sent the taller ghoul’s way, Dewdrop turns the screen on and goes to look at the time. Swiss leans over his shoulder to take a peek for himself.

Both of them are left in silent shock at the time.

“Shit…”

“Did we really sleep for that long?”

“Must have, the phone doesn’t lie Dewbug.”

“Thought I told you to stop calling me that.” The Fire ghoul hissed, though they both knew it didn’t have any real bite to it.

“But it’s just so fun getting to see your cheeks go red like that, Dewbug.” There it was again, that toothy grin that would make a baby cry. And speaking of the devil, the Multi’s teasing paid off when he got to watch as his partner tried to hide himself amongst the pillows. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the very blush he was referring to would be found spreading its way across Dew’s cheeks at that very moment if anyone were to get a good look.

With perfect timing as always, Swiss' stomach chooses that moment to remind the two of their shared hunger, possibly saving Dewdrop from any further torment and teasing.

Getting back on track, Swiss pads his way over to the door and opens the bolt lock, but before he can even get his hand on the handle Dew is diving across the bed and towards him. “Wait!”

Swiss gives him a look that hopefully reads as ‘You really wanna starve in here?’, but goes out of his way to voice the rhetorical question anyway.

“I mean, no, but-”

“Excellent! Then let’s get-a-going and get some grub.” And with that, Swiss swings the door open, but is careful to make sure it doesn’t bang against the wall and make a noise. He may be crazy, but he doesn’t want to risk being the one to disturb anyone’s sleep. Then they’ll really be helpless when Mountain inevitably gets his claws on them. “Just, y’know, be quiet. Sneaky.” He adds in a hushed tone with a wink at the end for emphasis. And with that, the two ghouls are slowly and stealthy tiptoeing their way down the hallway, making their way to the den and by extension the kitchenette as they pass by the doors to all the rooms that the band ghouls call home. They can hope each and every one of them is occupied by sleeping ghouls, especially as they pass by the room of a certain abnormally tall Earth ghoul. Step after step, they slowly inched their way down the hall, getting closer and closer to their goal.

Finally, the narrow length of the hallway spreads out into a much wider and vastly more spacious common room, or the den as it’s come to be known. The room is near pitch black in the dark of the night, and with their minds still a little hazy from all the weed they had indulged themselves with smoking several hours ago, even with their more advanced ghoulish eyesight, they can't really make much of anything out. Swiss, showing a brief moment of rationality and even using a little logic to boot, reaches out to his side where he knew the lightswitch to be and suddenly the large space is flooded with light, though thankfully on a dimmer setting so it isn’t too much of a shock to their eyes.

What does come as a shock, is the ghoul staring at the pair from where they stand by the kitchenette, looking like a deer caught in headlights, a freshly opened pack of crackers in one hand and an entire brand new tube of Primula cheese in the other.

The atmosphere is palpable, the tension in the room so thick you could cut it, right up until a cracker falls out from the packaging and clatters when it hits the floor, that is.

“Phantom? Why the hell are you up at this time?”

That seems to make the Quintessence bristle up a did. His ears pull back when he whisper-shouts a defensive and very creative “Why are you!?”

Swiss and Dew look at each other at the exact same time, both thinking about whether they should tell him about their escapades and Mountain.

“Uhm… stuff…” Dew blurts out. Very articulated. Swiss gives him a look but he just shrugs. Well, what did the Multi want him to say?

“Hey, are those Cirrus’ crackers?” Swiss tries to deflect Phantom’s deflection, and it seems to work as Phantom is immediately right back to looking like he’d just been caught with his pants down.

Looking around and finding no way to escape from the situation, Phantom resigns and answers the question. “Yes…”

Oh, this was gonna be good. It’s nice to know they weren’t the only ones dumb enough to steal from their packmates tonight. Everyone knows how defensive Cirrus can get over her snacks, and those crackers were her favourite. The fact that they’d only just been bought and she hasn’t even gotten a chance to try them yet will just add to the drama of all this.

“Oooh~ Somebody’s gonna be in trouble~”

Phantom snaps his gaze right over to Dew, glaring at him while he utters his next words. “You don’t tell Cirrus it was me, and I don’t tell Mountain.”

Dewdrop just had to go and tease him.

“Ha, nice try kid, but the big guy already knows all about what we did.”

“Trust me, we all know.” Phantom puts it bluntly, and it doesn’t come as a surprise at all considering how loud Mountain had been earlier, and that was just what they heard through the door. “I meant I won’t tell him exactly where you guys will be tomorrow.” When raises an eyebrow at him. “I’ve been speaking to Sunny, and I’ve seen your guys’ schedules for your chores tomorrow. I’ll do it.” Oh, okay, so the new kid had finally grown some fangs it would seem. Swiss almost barks out a laugh from the shock of it all, who knew Phantom of all ghouls would be the one threatening to sic a pissed-off Mountain on them?

“Okay, okay, you win kid. Sheesh.”

And with that, they seem to slip into a truce of sorts. Phantom sets his pilfered crackers and squeezy cheese off to the side so he can find a plate, and Swiss and Dew walk past him to start rummaging through the cupboards and fridge for anything that speaks to their hunger at the moment. Swiss flipped through the cupboards whilst Dew searched through the fridge.

“All I’ve got here is a bag of chips and a half-empty box of breadsticks that may or may not be on their way to going stale already, any luck over there?” When Swiss receives no reply he looks to check on Dew, and finds his companion doing a silly victory dance as he holds up a pack of some deli meat like it’s the cub in that one lion film they’d watched a couple months back. Swiss had to bite his tongue and hold back whatever laugh or teasing comment he would have let out. It was just so pure. They were both still decently high from Mountain’s weed, raiding the kitchen in the midst of the night as quickly as possible so they could return to Swiss’ room to continue hiding from Mountain’s wrath, and Swiss couldn’t bring himself to look away from Dew. He wondered if this was what people mean when they say that it sometimes feels as if time has frozen when they look at their partners.

“Dew, you look ridiculous.” And the moment is ruined. Swiss turns to bare his fangs slightly at the younger ghoul but Phantom is unphased and just sticks his tongue out in return, the cheeky fucker. By the time Swiss turns back to Dew, he’s finished his celebration and has placed the pack of sliced meat on the nearby side, right next to where Swiss has placed his findings, before diving back on in to grab the final piece to make this meal truly perfect. 

“Boom! Cheese singles.” He smirks up at Swiss while she waves the individually packaged slices of processed cheese in his face, positively pleased at himself with his findings.

Phantom decides to pipe in again from over by where he’s now got everything he needs, the entire tube of Primula now squeezed out onto the plate with a knife carefully placed beside it, his crackers still in their pack off to the side where he’d been snacking on a few when trying to find the knife and plate. Truly a charcuterie board for kings. “You’re seriously gonna eat those? Are they even real cheese?”

Dewdrop is quick to defend himself. “First of all, yes, I am seriously gonna eat these cheese singles, and I’m gonna love every second of it. And second, I’m not gonna be judged by the ghoul who is about to eat a fuckton of crackers with squeezy cheese!” He presses an accusatory finger into Phantom’s chest. Now with being so close to him, Dewdrop takes in how the ghoul is blatantly wearing clothes that aren’t his. The shirt is obviously one of Dew’s, while not tight it was definitely on the shorter side and left a bit of Phantom’s tummy out for all to see, and if he had to take a guess on the owner of the slightly too-big boxers he had on Swiss was probably the safest bet. He didn’t miss the messy hair or how a certain bassist’s scent was clinging to him like moss to a rock right now either, and gave the ghoul a small grin and a nod of acknowledgment before deciding to tease him some more.

“I’m gonna want to wash that in the morning, aren’t I?” He refers to the shirt.

“Someone’s going to be losing their weed privileges, aren’t they?” Phantom shoots right back.

“Touché.”

“Too soon, man, too soon.” Swiss can be heard whining from off to the side of their little standoff. 

“Alright, I’m heading off now. Good luck I guess, you’ll need it.” Phantom stretched for a second before grabbing his plate and crackers and heading back towards his room, where there was no doubt a Water ghoul would be awaiting his return.

“We know.” They reply in unison and wave him off before they go grab their harvest and do the same.

Swiss is emptying all of the chips and breadsticks out into two separate bowls when they’re alerted by another door down in the hallway opening, that eerie creak causing their hackles to become raised and their ears to pull back. Dewdrop instinctively put himself between the hallway and his precious cheese singles and meat slices, ready to defend this meal with his life. “Who’s there?” Swiss calls out into the dark hallway.

Their blood runs cold when it’s none other than Mountain who emerges from the dark hallway into the dim, though still much brighter, light of the den, his imposing figure slowly approaching them with heavy steps. Swiss sidesteps over to Dew and holds the Fire ghoul’s hand in his, it was his idea to raid Mountain’s stash and if anyone’s getting their tail ripped off here, it’s going to be him. Before they know it, Mountain is stood right in front of the pair, practically snarling at them as a low rumbling growl permeates throughout the kitchenette. In what is possibly up there amongst the dumbest things he’s ever done when being growled at by a much larger ghoul he’s crossed, Dew reaches behind him blindly, grabbing around until he finds what he hopes will be their saving grace. He picks it up and, wincing as he hopes the Earth ghoul doesn’t just bite his fingers off, presents his peace offering.

“Deli meat?”

Mountain stares at the presented cuts of ham for a good long while, but his decision is finally made when his face softens, rumble dissipating as he lets out a heavy sigh. He wordlessly takes the offering and opens it up, taking a handful of sliced meat for himself before passing it over to Swiss, who only just about manages to hold onto it as he’s still stood there in shock and awe, amazed that Dew’s offering had actually worked as the Earth ghoul scarfed down the ham in record time. It does wonders to show just how hungry a ghoul can get after being mad for hours on end.

Dewdrop feels bold and a little stupid, so he decides to crack out the cheese singles too, and sidles up to Mountain before holding one out to him.

Swiss questions all of his life choices as he stands there in silence while they both watch Mountain eat the entire cheese single within seconds. He hadn’t even removed its plastic covering. Dewdrop was near tears at the horror he was witnessing. This must be their punishment for what they had done, surely.

“You two are just lucky that it wasn’t my main stash.”

[laurfilijames]

Hello my love.

Simply because I love and miss you,

I Would like you to choose five of our boys,

Then I would like you to list their love language and why.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

My love and fellow GSE wife/hooligan lover 💗💗

Thank you for sending in yet another wonderful question about our beautiful boys that I so enjoyed answering!!

I hope this is to your liking!

Words of Affirmation- Dave

Your man is the king of communication and letting you know how much he loves and appreciates you. When he's with you, he's constantly whispering sweet (and filthy) nothings in your ear and will tell you he loves you as many times in a day as he can. When he's in the air and away on a flight you can guarantee at least a dozen texts saying he's thinking of you and he hopes you're having a good day, that he misses you and can't wait to get his hands on you when he gets back home.

He loves to listen to you tell him about your day, good or bad, and will assure you that everything you're feeling is valid and that he's here for you no matter what is happening.

Expect to see love notes littered around your flat, “I love you” on the milk for when you make a cuppa, “thank you xx” on the washing machine when you go to wash the dirty laundry, and one that says “lookin’ good, gorgeous” or “nice ass” stuck to the mirror when you're in the shower.

Physical Touch- Pete

Beacuse this is mine, I'm making it his too 🤣

If there's a moment Pete can't have his hands on you, he's basically twitching. Calm finds him as soon as his fingertips make contact with your skin, like touching you brings him every sort of comfort imaginable.

It's subtle enough when out in public- a hand pressed on your lower back as you walk through a crowd, his hand resting on your thigh where he gives the occasional squeeze, a soft peck on your temple or lips as you stand in the queue at the shop.

When you're in the privacy of your home it becomes far more intense.

His hands are constantly on your ass, smacking it playfully (or not…) or grabbing a handful of it as he kisses your neck. Watching tv is pointless as it just leads to a full out make out session that is so hot and heavy and then next thing you know you're naked and he's either eating you out or fingering you.

If you don't make love at least twice a day his world might end, or he may go a little over the top when in a scrap due to how worked up he is. Sex allows him to release all of that energy he always has bounding through him and you're more than happy to help.

Even in his sleep he is all over you, his arms wrapped securely around your body, or falling asleep with your hands linked together, his legs tangled with yours or even drifting off while he's still inside you.

Receiving Gifts- Ned

Our sweet Ned. He thinks of you in everything he does and everywhere he goes. Each time he goes to the shop, he returns with not only all the most amazing groceries to make you the most amazing meals, but also a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, or a book he saw that he think you'd like, or even some lush bath salts and a candle of your favourite scent for you to soak in the tub with.

When he's doing a delivery for work and passes by that sweet shop you both love, he's sure to grab your favourite treats or will take you back later that evening before hitting the pub.

Quality Time- Ike

Ike is miserable when he hasn't seen you in too long a time. Granted, that time can be as little as an 8 hour workday, and if he hasn't seen you before he's gone off to the Abbey after work, he's more than a little grumpy when he gets there.

When he is reunited with you, he's instant smiles and attentive to every word you say, wanting to follow you room to room just to be in your presence because he's missed you so much.

You make dinner together, shower together, watch a couple of episodes of your favourite show together, and when you're laying in bed before falling asleep, he talks about how he's going to forgo the away match on the weekend to stay home with you, and is secretly scheming a getaway to the Lake District where he can have you all to himself, uninterrupted.

Acts of Service- Swill

The man knows how good he's got it and won't take a single thing for granted, wanting to make sure you feel like the Queen you are to him and know how grateful he is to have you by his side.

He’ll help you with meals but is always the one to do the washing up, will vacuum the whole flat and scrub the toilet and is absolutely appalled at the thought of you taking out the rubbish bins.

When you have a long day at work, he doesn't hesitate to rub your back for as long as you need while you sip on the brew he's fixed for you, letting you watch your reality tv shows rather than any football highlights, but he doesn't care because he's too busy watching you melt to his touch.

[townsenddecades]

1318 – Day 4

The last quarter of the year 1318 is one of many birthdays. Elsie, Amye and Malcolm all turn six years old (hardly a surprise, given that the latter two are twins) and Gregory celebrates his thirteenth birthday. Despite the hardship of the previous few years, they all enter that new stage of their lives in good health.

So much good health, in fact, that the children spent much of their time playing outside in the snow. Winter is bound to soon be at an end, so Benjamin is determined to spend as much of it having fun with his children as he can. Snow may be an encumbrance, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t fun sides to it, too.

Like snow pals, or the spirited snowball fight the twins get into with their cousin. One could assume that Amye and Malcolm would unite forces against Elsie, but instead it seems that the girls have decided to team up against Malcolm!

He, of course, finds that hugely unfair and a betrayal on the part of his sister, but the girls find it very, very funny.

Gregory still spends much of his time in the abbey and even stays the night there sometimes. On one of these visits, his painting catches the eye of a richly-dressed man, who asks him after his craft.

“You could have a future of a painter, young man”, he says, thoughtfully. “Have you ever thought about an apprenticeship? You’re the right age for it.”

“I don’t know if my family has the money, sir.”

The man – who introduces himself as Theodore Merchant and tells him he owns a trading house in Praaven – nods understandingly at that and walks away, but he looks thoughtful as he does so.

Back home, Benjamin spends a lot of his time doing his small carvings to bring in extra funds, if he can find buyers. The end of the decade is approaching, so the Earl will likely raise the land tax soon. Sharing a half-brother sadly doesn’t make Lord Petersmarch’s steward amenable to forgiving them their dues. It doesn’t leave him much time for indulging in his new hobby of lute-playing, but he still does so, much to the enjoyment of his son.

Benjamin can’t help wondering how Robert is doing now. Over the years, their contact has gotten less and less frequent. It was to be expected, he assumes – his half-brother is firmly entrenched in the Earl’s household now and has spent nearly two-thirds of his life in the castle. By comparison, Benjamin and his family may be free, but are peasants nonetheless.

Still, he likes to imagine that his mother, Watcher guard her soul, would be happy that her child has come so far.

There has been news regarding Elsie and Wilfred, too. They may have taken them in by leave of the Earl, but it was always bound to be a temporary arrangement. Officially, they are bound to the parcel of land that had been given to Edith and William, and are the Earl’s to decide over.

Spring is coming soon, and William’s brothers, Noah and Alaric, will need someone to help them with their farmwork. So, they have asked for Elsie to move back to Mahlsberg once the snow has thawed, and because Elsie doesn’t want to leave her little brother behind, Wilfred will go with her.

The Townsends can’t fault the Watmores for their wish, although Benjamin and Malika are privately very saddened by the thought of soon having to say goodbye. Since Edith’s passing, they have almost begun to think of their niece and nephew as their own children, especially because Malika still hasn’t conceived another one of her own.

They like having a full house and are sure that the children will miss each other dreadfully, but at least the adults realize that they can’t help the way things should be. And because Wilfred is meant to take over the farm in Mahlsberg one day, it’s only right that he should grow up there.

Meanwhile, Malika and Benjamin haven’t given up on their wish to have another child of their own, especially with the hope that spring will soon deliver them from their dearth of food – even if it takes a while for them to turn that hope into a reality. That only means that they have more occasion to try.

WATCHER’S NEWS:

The Countess of Petersmarch has been delivered of a healthy baby, much to her and the Earl’s relief. The little girl has been named Lady Maud Dudley.

END OF THE YEAR STATISTIC:

Births:

Lady Maud Dudley (Dudley Household)

Deaths:

None!

Marriages:

Clement Dudley & Katheryn Deane (Earl’s Household)

Prev: 1318, Day 3, Part 2/2 <--> 1319, Day 1, Part 1/2

[adoracora-elizabeth]

Music made me love you. Chapter 4

The warmth of the shower was nice on her sweaty skin. The more normal temperature outside was very welcome, she could finally go for her daily run again. She had been surprised to run into Robert. She wondered what he was doing here again. Had he been lying about his Westminster home? No, that would be weird, because John had been the first telling them he lived in Westminster. And why would they lie about something like that? It did not make any sense, what also did not make any sense, was the effect he had on her. The moment she spotted him, her heart started racing and butterflies started to flutter around. How could she have these symptoms after only meeting him twice?

She had been writing a large part of the day. This afternoon, the piano music sounded again. She had been waiting for it, the whole week. But it did not matter, what hour of the day she opened her window. There had not been any sounds of somebody playing. When the music stopped, she went out for a run, she was full of energy.

The music made her feel like she was walking in green hills. Surrounded by forest animals. It helped her to sit down and write. She struggled to write the entire week. Frustrated she had called to postpone her deadline. She was not able to finish in time. But while the music had sounded, she wrote several chapters and the words had just kept flowing. She needed to find out who was playing and where, the fact that she could write so easily while that music sounded, made her want more. It was not only her writing that went easier, but she also felt overall at ease.

The one who played was maybe busy during the week and therefore only played on the weekends? She was convinced the one playing was a real artist, and she was confused about how they did not practice more. Next time the music sounded she would go outside and find out where it was coming from.

She got startled by her doorbell. When she opened it, she looked into the smiling face of Sorcha.

“Ready?”

Cora looked at her confused. “For what should I be ready?”

Sorcha stepped inside and glanced around the room. “You promised me to go shopping this afternoon.” She looked at her desk, where the pile of papers kept growing. “You have been writing again. That is a good sign. I was getting worried your book would never finish.”

“I found new inspiration.” Cora smiled, while she worked towards the window. When she wanted to close, the music sounded again, and it stopped her in her tracks. It was again a song written by Einaudi. She loved that this person played so much of his music. It was the most calming music, she ever heard. Although the song from this morning was incredibly special too. Next time she would record and find out who the composer is. She had to fight the urge to sit down and write again. Something in this sound activated her brain and she wished she could send Sorcha away.

“Cora?” Sorcha had stepped next to her. “Are we still going?”

“Yes, yes we will.” Quickly Cora closed the window. Blocking out the wonderful sound.

Sorcha looked at her with a puzzled expression on her face, she did not say anything.

+++

“I really love that jacket that you bought.” Cora said while taking a sip of her wine.

After their shopping trip, they retreated into the garden of a small pub. Cora loved these moments with her friend. Enjoying those trivial things that made life better. She was not the biggest fan of shopping, but she was a huge fan of going to pubs. She noticed that those small locations helped her with producing storylines. Her imagination came to life.

“Now we need these temperatures to cool down again and I can wear it.” Sorcha emptied her glass. “Another one?” She asked.

Cora looked at her glass, she had only taken a couple of sips, and her glass was far from being empty. “I am fine for now.”

Sorcha got up and walked back inside. Cora pulled out her notebook. It was a weird experience having that writer’s block for weeks on end and even during this week she could not get a word on paper, and now she could not stop.

“It is quite special seeing an artist at work.”

The voice that sounded made Cora’s heart flutter; it was Robert’s. She looked up into the smiling blue eyes of Robert.

“You are stalking me.” She said semi-irritated.

Robert threw his hands up in the air. “I promise this is a coincidence, as was running into you this afternoon.”

“If you say so.” Cora was not sure what to think about it, but she also did not want to spoil her mood. She finished the sentence on her paper and closed the notebook.

“Robert? How lovely to see you again. Come join us.” Sorcha said cheerful when she returned. “Where is John?”

“John and I do not come as a pack.” He answered surprised, while he sat down. This made Cora chuckle. Robert looked at all the bags that surrounded their table. “You girls have been shopping I see.”

“Sorcha has, none of those bags are mine,” Cora answered while putting her notebook and pen away.

“I only needed a new jacket, but when you put a girl in a clothing shop, you end up with this.” Sorcha pointed at all the bags.

“It did not happen to you?” Robert said, softly to Cora.

She felt her cheeks colour and then she replied. “Are you implying I am not a girl?”

Robert backed up. “There is no question if you are a girl. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” Now Robert’s cheeks coloured bright red. “I just stated that you are not going into a shopping spree once you are put inside a clothing store.”

Cora touched his arm. “It is alright. I was joking.” She loved the compliment he just gave her, was he feeling the same thing for her, as she was for him? “I am indeed not that type of girl that loves shopping. Only when it is a bookshop.”

“I figured you would love bookshops. Where do you get your inspiration from may I ask?”

Cora contemplated telling him about the music, but she decided to keep that for herself. It felt to personal to tell him. “A bit of everywhere to be honest. Sometimes it is just things that happen around me, but sometimes I read a book and just know I want to use that in a different form.”

Robert’s phone rang, and he took it out of his pocket. “I am sorry, I have to take this one.”

“And you are telling me he is not hitting on you?” Sorcha said on a soft tone. “Girl, you need to open your eyes.”

Cora looked at Robert who had walked away from their table. His tall figure was attractive, he had a strong figure. His arms were not big muscles, but she could see he worked out. The way he stood, he exuded a certain status, which she liked. He probably knew that he was good-looking, but it did not make him arrogant. On the contrary, he had something incredibly adorable over him. Like he had no clue how handsome he was. She looked back at Sorcha. “He is just being friendly, that is all.”

“How wonderful it must be to be so clueless.”

Robert returned with an apologetic look on his face. He held his phone still in his hands, and Cora could see that the phone call was not ended. “I have to go, I am sorry. Enjoy your afternoon ladies.” He turned around and immediately started talking in his phone again. “He is dreamy.” Cora sighed. “I must admit.”

“When are you going to ask for his number, because this way, you are tempting faith. What if you are not seeing him again after today. You are not the smartest relationship wise. I would have secured his details last time. But well, you are to innocent to realise that he was hitting on you.

Cora did not like this side of Sorcha; she treated her as if she were a little girl that needed to learn how the world worked. As if she came from a small provincial town and not New York. To be honest, her father had given her a very protective life and she had not had many friends to go out with in New York. That was also one of the reason she wanted to leave. She was not out going enough to fit in, she enjoyed the more laid-back culture that she found here in London. She looked at Sorcha again and saw that she was talking with a woman behind their table. Good, her attention was not directed to her anymore. She got her notebook out, the sounds from this morning were still in her mind and now Robert also helped getting words on paper. She did not want to wait and go home first. What if she lost the words again. She started writing and before she realised it, she forgot that she was sitting in a pub garden.

[dayzedandconphused]

BASICS

Legal Name: Phoebe Dayze Robertson Known as: Phoebe Dayze Nicknames/Alias: Phee, Dayzie DOB: April 1, 1992   Gender: cis female Sexuality: herteroflexible, heteroromantic Place of Birth: hospital wing of the Robertson Property, North Berwick, Scotland. Currently: London Nationality: Scottish   Day Occupation: Executive Assistant Jabberwock Occupation: ‘Revenue Raiser’ and Debt Collector

HISTORY

Childhood/Family Life: The Robertsons built their family wealth on owning multiple sprawling properties in Scotland. They are often booked and ‘rented’ by the elites of society, the royals or saved for weddings. Phoebe was raised by her mother and a slew of nannies and assistants – most of whom were fired by her mother once she found out they were sleeping with her husband. Education: Phoebe was educated privately until she was of age to be sent to Wycombe Abbey in England to board. Once she finished high school, she took the opportunity to travel as far away from her parents to study. Adult Timeline:  2010: moves to Melbourne, Australia to study International Business and Business Administration at Monash University. 2014: graduates (with honours) and moves back to London 2015: given a trust by her parents (conditional on her finishing University with a pre-approved degree) to live off. Uses it to party, buy a flat by Hyde Park and do anything but use her degree to work. 2016: through threats of being cut off, Phoebe lands her first (and favourite) job as an executive assistant to Rafael

PERSONALITY

Positives:  +fun-loving: Phoebe is not one to turn down the opportunity to be social or be the centre of attention at a party +open: with those she trusts, she is an open book, willing the share information and swap stories +congenial: mostly on the surface, Phee knows not to rock the boat until absolutely necessary

Negatives:  -manipulative: she will take as much information from someone as possible to store in her mind should the chance arise to need to use said information against the other person -self-centred: if it’s not about her or doesn't affect her directly, Phee barely wants to know -troubled: riddled with trust issues and a rather low opinion of her family, Phee struggles to find her place in the world

Personality Type: ESFP – the performer

Archetype: The Manipulator Likes & Dislikes:  + brunch and breakfast outings filled with coffee, pastries and mimosas + long lay ins with a good book + pushing the boundaries to get what she wants + recharging at home without the incompetent public around her - feeling forced into being social - long lines at her favourite café - rain (unless it’s a long lay in day) - being condescended to because she’s a short, attractive blonde, woman - blood stains on her favourite shoes

RELATIONSHIPS

Parents: Chrisopher Robertson (strained, more useful to keep her father in her pocket than to piss him off entirely), Heather (nee Dayze) Robertson (not on speaking terms post-arrest) Siblings: None that Phoebe knows of, though with her father’s multiple indiscretions she wouldn’t be surprised if a few popped up, [open] Children: None. Is not looking for children any time soon. Spouse: [open] Current Partner: [open] Ex-Partners: [open] Boss/Employer: Rafael Co-Workers: [open] Friends: [open] Enemies: [open]

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

Build: slim, 165cm tall, almost ‘too’ skinny, little noticeable muscle mass Hair Colour: Blonde, sometimes indulging in the darker side of life by embracing a light brown root shadow. Eye Colour: Blue Distinguishing Marks: quite pronounced cupid’s bow, small inch-long scar on the side of her neck under her left ear from a glassing incident whilst clubbing

[orphanheirs]

Hope you don't mind me hopping on this!

I'm working on a novel that's a combo of dark fantasy, folk horror, and historical fiction. Think Over the Garden Wall meets Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (kinda). In it, a sickly child in regency England unleashes an ancient evil to help him run away from home. Bound to serve the entity he conjured, the amateur magician is immediately rushed headlong into supernatural mayhem. Turns out the entity he summoned wants nothing more than to tear apart the delicate fabric between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead and usher in apocalypse. Part of this scheme involves destroying a species of spirit whose duty it is to open and close the door between worlds in a controlled manner, particularly on Halloween/Samhain. And now a misfit member of said species has foolishly entered the mortal world. ||As the story unfolds, the fate of Halloween, and of every realm, is decided against a backdrop of cobblestones, gloomy moors, ruined abbeys, enchanted woods, and candlelit ballrooms, with the young sorcerer and the rebellious changeling finding themselves at the center of it all.

Other big vibe influences include the films Sleepy Hollow, The Company of Wolves, and The Witch. Themes include death, breaking the cycle of generational trauma, found family, queerness, and grappling with fate and history.

I have no WIP intro yet, but I hope to post one asap! Feel free to check out my #tag game and #ask tags for any oc info or writing snippets I've posted so far. As far as aesthetics go, my entire blog is a moodboard for the novel! (I also post a good amount of writing-related stuff too tho.)

One of my favorite things about it would have to be..that it involves so many of my favorite things! Lol. Horror, history, mythology, witchcraft..all things my very goth/nerd heart can't get enough of, so it's made researching this story an absolute delight. It's self indulgent in the best way.

it’s been AGES since i’ve done one of these so: writeblr! what are we working on?

reblog this with your elevator pitch (and aesthetics/moodboards if you feel like it), link your WIP intros or relevant excerpts you’d like boosted, and i’ll do my damnedest to reblog everybody who responds in the next few days.

(P.S. bonus points if you tell me your favourite thing about it)

[sonicstorybook]

I tend to draw my Lancelot a little older with a teenage Galahad, but!!! Young, hot Dad Lancelot and a cute little Gilly is also so cute!!! 

So, a variant design test! I’m still working out scars/other features, but he will definitely have long hair! And by that I mean his quills hang down lower and he’s got little, uh, wispy quills down the front. 

[scuttling]

Stay at Home DILF

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,863 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Insecure Hotch, Oral sex, Fingering, Unprotected sex, A little angsty by accident Summary: Aaron retires from the BAU when the new baby is born, but a year later the lack of structure, sleep, and time for himself means changes to his body he's not very proud of. When the thought of having another child is brought up, how will he and his wife work through his insecurities to make the perfectly imperfect, happy family? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Honey, I have to get going—do you need me to drop Jack off at school, or are you good?” Professor Hotchner slides her foot into a flesh-toned pump, leaning against the kitchen table for support and stealing a grape from Jack’s fruit salad. He narrows his eyes, then sticks out his tongue, and she does the same. “Do you want me to starve, Jackrabbit?”

“You won’t starve. Get your own grapes.” So full of sass, that one. Seven is such a fun age. She decides to blame the mixture of Aaron’s genes and Haley’s, and she pulls out her phone to send Haley a quick text.

Your son is a menace in the morning.

Haley: Gets that from his dad.

Aaron enters the kitchen, holding their one year old daughter Mia, and he sticks her in her highchair, puts her breakfast in front of her, and leans toward his wife.

“I’m good, I’ll take him,” he says, and kisses her lips. “Mia and I will take big brother Jack to school, won’t we?” Mia is obsessed with Jack—her first word was Jack, or rather, Ack, which was super cute—so she giggles happily, and her mother can’t help but smile. Their little family is absolutely perfect.

She leans in for another kiss from Aaron, and then another, and then maybe one more...

“You’re getting distracted,” Jack says, and she looks over at him with a raised eyebrow, then back to Aaron. He shrugs.

“It was on one of his vocabulary sheets.” Figures.

“Well, maybe I find my boys distracting. Let me give you kisses and we’ll find out!” She launches herself at him, kissing his head and his cheeks, and he laughs, and she knows she’s going to be late for work, but she can’t pass up moments like these, she just can’t.

She gives him a hug and tells him to have a good day, then she kisses Mia, and then she puts her arms around Aaron’s neck and kisses him goodbye. Before she pulls away, something comes over her—the warmth of this perfect morning, the overwhelming love for both of their sassy, silly kids, or maybe the fact that they’ve been too busy for sex lately and she’s constantly horny for him—and she looks up at him and whispers, “we should have another baby.”

Aaron grins immediately.

“Yeah we should.” They kiss a few more times, quickly, smiling against each other's lips, and he pats her hip because he knows she has to go. “We’ll talk more later, but yes. I want to. I love you.” He takes her face in his hands and kisses her deeply, and she sighs, grabs her bags, and heads out the door. Work is work; as the youngest professor in the English department, her schedule is jam packed with classes, lectures, morning office hours, but despite all that, it seems that Aaron is having the more difficult day.

They both love that he was able to retire from the BAU early to be a stay at home dad when Mia was born—he does consult for them occasionally, but has no official title, doesn’t have to travel—and he’s amazing at it, but she knows her baby can be a handful even on a good day. The texts she’s been getting all morning only solidify that knowledge.

Aaron: FYI - Mia hates bananas this week.

Aaron: What do they put in this applesauce, crack? She’s tearing around here like a bat out of hell.

Aaron: Okay, she’s your child, I officially renounce her. I put on The White Album and she started crying.

Maybe she prefers Abbey Road?

Aaron: No. Unlike her mother, she has taste.

You wound me, Hotchner.

She works through lunch, grading papers on The Call of the Wild, but when Aaron’s name lights up the display on her phone, she puts her pen down and smiles, puts it on speaker.

She’s sorry she did, because Mia is wailing in the background, and it’s very clearly her, I’m exhausted, asshole, leave me alone, cry, which makes her wonder why she’s not taking a nap. She knows she resists Aaron sometimes, doesn’t want him to leave her alone in her room, which is so sweet and also so, so annoying.

“Hi, sweetheart. Are you having a little trouble over there?” He takes a deep breath and sighs.

“She won’t go down, baby, even if I sit in the rocking chair beside her. It’s been twenty minutes.” Wow. He put up with it longer than she would have.

“Put her in her crib with Stuffy Bear and just let her cry; I know you hate that, but she’ll give up eventually.” He groans softly.

“I can’t; I feel so bad.”

She smiles. Her warm-hearted man.

“She does this because she knows you’ll give in and do whatever she wants. I promise you, she’ll be happier for it; she sounds miserable.”

“I don’t know…” he says, and she can tell he’s not going to do it. She picks up her pen and skims the paper she abandoned.

“Are you tired?” She doesn't wait for an answer, because she knows he is: Jack had a bad dream last night and woke them both up, and Aaron went to lay with him until he fell asleep because he knew she had an early morning. It was almost time for her alarm when he made it back to bed. “If you want to try to nap, she’s going to have to nap. Do it for her, yourself, me, a combination of the three of us. She won’t be mad at you; she won’t even remember.”

“What if I give her abandonment issues?” he presses, and she closes her eyes for a moment.

“Aaron, I love you so much. You’re such a great dad, and our kids are lucky to have you. But you have to loosen the reins just a little, especially if… if we are going to have another baby.” The thought makes her smile, and she can tell he’s smiling down the line, too.

“Right. Loosen the reins. Just put her in her crib,” she can hear that he does that, “and give her Stuffy Bear, and let her cry.” He blows out a breath, and she can hear the door click shut behind him as he leaves her room. She’s proud of him, but she also knows he’s going to sit in front of the video monitor and watch to make sure she falls asleep, and that he’ll probably work on laundry after that and not actually take a nap of his own.

He insists he’s doing fine when she brings it up, but the way he sacks out like a corpse when they get into bed doesn’t exactly have her convinced.

“I love you, and miss you,” he says when it’s slightly quieter, though she can faintly hear the cries through the monitor. “It made me really happy this morning when you said we should have another baby. We make perfect babies, have you noticed?” She hides her grin behind her hand, because if anyone walked by her office they’d think she’s insane with how widely she’s smiling.

“I have noticed, but since we only have the one and I can’t take any credit for Jack, I figured we should probably make another. Maybe the same way we made Mia…” They’re both convinced it was a weekend when Jack was at Haley’s and the two of them went to town on each other, true marathon sex where they only stopped for food and water and she coaxed him to hardness so many times she felt like a damn sex goddess.

“Hmm. I remember that with fondness, and would love to do that again. You know Haley said she’d take Mia on one of Jack’s weekends if we ever needed her to.”

Her life is pretty damn perfect, with her gorgeous, caring husband, and her two awesome kiddos, and a job she loves, but the most unexpectedly sweet part is that Haley is so comfortable with her, and that she and Aaron were able to get past the ugliness of their divorce to eventually become friends again. It’s not something they take for granted.

“Maybe we should take her up on it this weekend,” she says, trying to sound a little sultry. “We’ve both been so busy; it’s been a while since you pet my kitty.” For some reason, this particular phrase makes Aaron blush and get insanely horny, and she’s hoping to tease him so much the rest of the week that their weekend is one neither of them ever forget, so she’s pulling out the big guns.

“It’s been far too long, and I’m sorry. I can’t wait, baby. I’ll call her here in a few; I know you have to get to your next lecture.” She looks down at her watch, and it is about time to clean up and head over. She sighs happily down the line.

“Okay, I love and miss you; try to take a power nap. I promise, she’ll be fine.”

“I will.” He won’t. “Talk to you soon.” When she gets home, Aaron has dinner ready; she told him to hold off, that she’d help when she got there, but he has always been an overachiever.

Mia is already in her high-chair, waiting patiently for once in her little life; she kisses her forehead, breathes in her sweet baby smell, and then makes her way to her husband.

“Looks good, honey,” she says as he sets the table, and she leans up for a kiss, but when she presses her hand to his stomach like she always does, he pulls back a little. “Is everything okay? Did you have a bad afternoon?”

“No, it wasn’t bad after the nap fiasco,” he responds, but he sounds distracted. Maybe he was asked to look at a case, or something, and that’s still on his mind? She leans against his shoulder, puts a hand on his back and attempts to push up his t-shirt, to skim her hand up along his spine, which always comforts him, but again, he shifts away from her touch. She sighs and steps back.

“You're going to give me a complex, Aaron. If I did something to upset you, please tell me so I can apologize and try to make it better.” He turns to look at her face, and his formerly tense jaw softens a little; he presses his lips to hers, just a peck.

“No, you didn’t do anything. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.” He smiles softly, and she’s sure he is tired, but this seems like something more.

“You’d tell me if something else was bothering you, right? You know I’m here for you.”

“Of course I would, and of course I do. I love you,” he breathes against her mouth, and then he goes in for a longer kiss and she gets, as Jack said earlier, a little distracted. When the kiss breaks, she sighs happily.

“I love you. Missed those lips,” she murmurs, and then she runs a hand over his hair. “If the kids wake up again tonight, I’ll get them. You need to rest.” He shakes his head.

“You have another full day tomorrow,” he counters, and it’s so sweet that he keeps up with the schedule she has posted on the fridge, but still. She puts her hand on her hip.

“And you don’t? It’s my turn. Let me help.” He looks like he wants to argue, but she gives him the glare he knows means she will talk about this all night if he doesn’t agree; she’s not the sponsor of the university’s debate team for nothing, and even his prosecutorial ways have nothing on her.

“Okay,” he sighs, and she smiles and kisses him and then goes to get Jack and make sure he’s cleaned up for dinner.

That night when the two of them are getting ready for bed, she’s surprised as hell when he stops her from pulling one of his t-shirts—her typical sleepwear—over her head. She sets it down, arches her brow, and he guides her back onto the bed with a grin and puts his hands on her hips.

“What’s happening right now?” she asks, because before Mia, sure, Aaron would treat her to all manner of orgasm-inducing behavior at random, and she would do the same, but since Mia—especially in the last six months or so—their sexual encounters have been few and far between. It’s no one’s fault, and they’re both very clearly still attracted to each other; it’s just one of those things that falls by the wayside when you have a new baby and a hectic life and you don’t get enough sleep.

Needless to say, she is a little confused by this turn of events.

“I’m attempting to worship my gorgeous fucking wife,” he murmurs, and he leans up and kisses her stomach, licks a long line up from her belly button. Her breath hitches. “Gonna put another little baby in here—but it’s always beautiful.” He slowly moves his lips higher, over her ribcage, and holds her there. “You’re perfect, you know?”

“Aaron.” Her fingers come up to sweep through his hair; her heart aches with love and tenderness. He moves up, presses open-mouthed kisses to each of her breasts, then covers them with his hands and squeezes. She’s a panting, dripping mess, and more than anything she wants to strip him naked, pull him closer, get him inside her.

“I love you just as you are; I want you just as you are. Always have, always will.” He smooths his hands up over her throat, and brings her mouth to his for a deep, soulful kiss. She hadn’t even realized she’s been feeling repressed, but his touch tonight makes her feel so beautiful and special… It's incredible how close she is from only that.

“Make love to me,” she whispers, and he kisses her again, but then he slides back down her body.

“Want to taste you,” he says instead, and he gets his hands on her hips again and his mouth on her pussy, looks up at her while he licks and sucks like he’s gone without for ages—which he has, she figures, but it’s blowing her mind, her fingers scratching at the sheets, her neck arched. He massages her hips as his tongue works, as he grinds against the bed, and she comes with a whimper, because her body is so overwhelmed by how good she feels that she can’t even properly vocalize it.

Aaron comes up, just a little, rests his head on her stomach, and she smooths her hands over his hair and his shoulders, since that’s all she can reach.

“Come up and let me touch you—or you can come inside me.” She will happily take either option, but he just kisses her belly and shakes his head.

“No, I’m good. Just really tired.” She frowns, can’t recall a time in her life when they didn’t both get off during sex; he catches her expression and runs his hands up her body. “Really, I’m okay. I just wanted to do that before I passed out.” He smiles, and she doesn’t like it, but he climbs off of her and goes to the bathroom, and she pulls on the t-shirt and crawls into bed. Two days later, she’s sitting in her office grading tests when she hears a knock at the door. She looks up, and it’s Aaron, of course, looking so gorgeous in a black polo and jeans.

“Hey, what are you doing here? Where’s Mia?” she asks with a smile. He leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“She’s with her Aunt Penelope for a few hours.”

“Why? Is everything okay?” Penelope is at work, she knows, because she texted her earlier about something unrelated and she’d mentioned that she and Spencer were having coffee and that he said hello.

“Everything‘s fine,” he assures her, and he enters the room fully, closes the door behind him… and locks it. “Can’t your husband come visit you during your super secret not-really-office-hours?” She raises an eyebrow, both at his question and the fact that he locked the door. What exactly is he planning to do, she wonders?

“You can, but you don’t. I guess I’m just surprised.”

“Well today I decided to. I missed you so much.” He walks around her desk and leans over her for a couple of kisses. “Have you missed me?” She rolls her eyes, smiles.

“Of course I missed you. I miss you every second I’m away from you.” She reaches out, wants to hug him, pull him closer, but he takes a step back and crooks his finger, encouraging her to follow him.

He’s being really weird, but he’s also being really hot. She decides to play along.

She stands, walks over to him, and he carefully clears a spot on her desk, knows she has a system and doesn’t like a mess; when she’s within reach, he puts his hands on her waist and lifts her up onto it, her ass where a stack of tests had just been. Fuck.

“I want to get this dress off of you,” he says, voice low, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses her, rough and deep. “Can I take it off, baby? Can I make you come?”

Everything is happening so fast her head is spinning—it’s not like him to just show up at her office, to try to have sex with her there, especially when their dry spell has been, up until recently, like the damn Sahara.

He must sense her confusion, her apprehension, because he kisses slowly along the side of her throat, down the v-neck of her dress, making her eyelids flutter.

“The door’s locked, and no one even knows we’re in here. Can I take it off?” She pants, thinks about this for a second, but then he slides a hand over her thigh, pushing her skirt up, and she gets a little distracted. She nods, and he kisses her hard and unties the sash of her wrap dress, pushes it off her shoulders. She’s glad she wore a matching set of bra and panties, because this is like prime fantasy material and she wants to try to remember every detail.

He kisses her mouth, soft and sweet, then tugs the straps of her bra down her shoulders, pulls the cups down so her breasts fall out of them. She moans, a little startled, and he dips his head to mouth at her nipples, rests one hand on her lower back and one on her stomach—probably because she looks like she’s about to slide off the desk and onto the floor like a blob of jelly. She knows that’s how she feels.

When he’s gotten her thoroughly worked up, almost trembling with the need for more, he pushes her panties aside and presses a finger into her, and she whimpers, wraps her hand around his neck for support when he starts to pump it deeply inside.

“What has gotten into you?” she breathes, and her hips chase the pleasure he brings; the hand on her back moves to her ass, squeezes it.

“I love you and I want you. I want to make you happy, I want you to feel good.”

“Me—me too,” she gasps as he moves faster, staring right into his eyes. “I love you, want you. Want to make you happy, feel good.” She cards her fingers through his hair and stretches for a desperate, eager kiss. “I want you so badly, baby, please.”

“I’m right here. You have me,” he murmurs, but that’s not what she means and he has to know it. Just in case he doesn’t, though, she makes herself loud and clear; relationships are all about communication, after all.

“I want you to put your cock in my pussy, I want you to come in me. I want you to fucking ruin me, Aaron, I want you to shove your dick in me and keep shoving.” She sounds unhinged, but she can’t stop.

He adds a second finger—not what she wants—and roughly gropes her breast—it feels so good, but it’s not what she wants. Why won’t he give her what she wants?

“Shh, just come on my hand, it’s okay. I’ll fuck you later, in our bed, baby,” he promises. “Just come now, okay? Right here, right now for me.”

She does, because even if he’s being unnecessarily aggravating, it’s still Aaron. She’s desperate for him, always has been, always will be. She comes loud and high and she clutches him tightly and he kisses her and coos words of love and affection into her ear. She gets cleaned up, and they go for lunch, and they can’t take their eyes off each other.

Something’s very wrong, and she can’t quite put her finger on it.

That evening when she gets home, Aaron is feeling guilty. She’s not sure why, but he’s executing all of his patented guilty trademark behaviors: he offers her a glass of wine, runs her a bath, rubs her feet, even though he’s been the one home with the baby all day. She’s tempted to ask if he’s cheating on her, as a joke, but that’s never funny, especially when she knows he’s being shifty and weird about something.

When they’re laying in bed, he sets down his book and looks over at her.

“I meant to tell you, Haley isn’t able to take Mia tomorrow. Maybe the weekend after, we can have our special alone time.” She won’t say she’s not disappointed, but she doesn’t want to inconvenience Haley, when she’s already being so great. She smiles softly, covers his hand with hers.

“That’s okay. It was short notice, anyway. I’ll still enjoy my weekend, with you and Mia.” He smiles too, but it doesn’t quite touch his eyes.

The kids sleep through the night, but she doesn’t. On Friday, she picks Jack up from school and takes him to Haley’s, who sends him to wash up so she can make him a snack. When he’s gone, she smiles warmly and invites her into the kitchen for coffee; she takes a cup, and they make pleasant small talk like they always do.

“Are you sure you don’t want to bring Mia over?” Haley asks after a few minutes. It sounds like she’s double checking. “It’s really no trouble.” She frowns, sets her cup down.

“I thought you weren’t able to watch Mia this weekend. I thought… I thought that’s what Aaron said. I must have misunderstood him.” That’s the only logical conclusion, because Aaron wouldn’t lie to her. He wouldn’t.

“He was being a little weird on the phone the other day. He asked me if I would watch her, and I said yes. He told me about your plans,” she says with raised eyebrows, “and then I told him, you know. That he better treat you right, because you just had a baby not that long ago and you might be a little self-conscious about jumping back into the sack like that; not that you should be, because you look amazing.” She racks her brain for the first time he started acting strangely, pulling away from her, and it would have been after his conversation with Haley. She asks, just to confirm.

“Is that when he got weird?”

“Actually yeah. He changed his mind, said you might not need me to watch her after all, but I told him the offer stood. He was pretty quick to get off the phone after that.” She would sip her coffee, but she’s pretty sure her hands are shaking. Why would he lie about that?

“You know, I should go. I’m sure Aaron’s pulling his hair out with her, she’s been a devil today. Tell Jack I love him and I’ll talk to him tonight, will you?”

“Of course. If you change your mind about Mia, just let me know,” Haley says, and she gets into her car with tears stinging her eyes.

When she gets home, Aaron is playing with Mia on the living room floor. He looks up at her with a smile that abruptly falls when he takes in her facial expression.

“What’s wrong?” She composes herself, takes a deep breath. They vowed a long time ago not to argue in front of Jack or Mia. She tries to sound conversational.

“You lied to me. You said Haley couldn’t take Mia this weekend.” He swallows and looks properly guilty. She’s not sure how he was able to lie to her in the first place; he’s never been any good at it.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I just didn’t know how to say it.” She looks up, shakes her head, wills her eyes not to water while she’s trying to have this conversation.

“You didn’t know how to say what? What is it that’s made you distance yourself from me?” She recalls him physically pulling away, then doing a complete 180 and initiating sex, but never penetrative sex, never letting her touch him or return the favor in any way. “Haley told me about your conversation. So do you think I’m unhappy with my body, or are you unhappy with my body?” He has the nerve to look confused, gets Mia set up with some toys she can play with safely on her own and stands up, comes close to her. She’s not sure she even wants his touch right now, which is saying something; when she’s unhappy, that’s usually all she wants.

“Neither of those things. I swear to god. I love you and I love your body; you’re so beautiful. Too beautiful for me, you always have been.” He’s looking down at her so seriously, and she wants so badly to believe him, but how could she, when faced with the evidence?

“Okay. If it’s neither of those things…” Her voice is small when she says the one option that hurts her most. “Did you change your mind? Do you not want to have another baby with me?” He sighs, deflates, and she takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“No, listen to me. It’s not that I don’t want that; I want that more than anything, but it will… further complicate, things...” He trails off, and she tries to follow what he’s saying. “The problem isn’t you in any way. It’s me.” She huffs, squeezes her eyes briefly shut.

“You? How can it be you, when you’ve been the only man to catch my eye for years? From the moment you set foot on my campus looking for your bad guy, I’ve been attracted to you, aroused by you, wrapped around your finger. You’re so perfect for me: perfect husband, perfect dad, perfect lover. My best friend. Never a day has gone by where I haven’t wanted you.” He wets his lips, sighs.

“Surely you’ve noticed that since I quit my job and started staying home with Mia, I… I don’t look the same. I’ve… let myself go.” His brows are deeply furrowed, and he’s clearly struggling with this; she reaches for him, no longer angry—at least for the time being—puts a hand on his arm.

“I’ve noticed that you don’t quite look the same. Doesn’t mean you’ve ‘let yourself go,’ or that I’m not still attracted to you; you just have a dad bod now instead of an ‘FBI guy who punches people for a living’ bod.” Her other hand hovers, then comes to rest on his stomach, and she smiles. “I’m actually really into the way you look now. I’ve been fantasizing about it for ages. I wish I’d known you were feeling self-conscious.”

“I’m not used to feeling… self-conscious, vulnerable,” he breathes, but he presses into her touch, so she considers that a good thing. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“I get that baby, I do, but this is me. I would have done anything I could to make you feel better. You didn’t have to hide it from me. You didn’t have to lie. We could have talked about it.” She moves the hand on his arm to his face, guides him down for a loving kiss. “We’re equally to blame, because I know you haven’t been getting good sleep, and I know you barely have time for yourself, and I didn’t step in; but you never let me help. If roles were reversed, and it was me staying home with Mia, you would never expect me to do all the cooking and cleaning and homework and bath time without your help. So you need to let me help, Aaron, please.” She looks up at him, eyes warm and sincere, and he nods, bends to press a kiss to her lips.

“I’m sorry. I still don’t feel great about… myself, but maybe I could. If I let you help. If I took some time for me.” She nods and wraps her arms around him—finally—for a hug.

“I love you so much. Just like this. Big, cuddly papa bear, taking care of our babies, making our home a safe and happy place for them. How could I not love the body that brings me so much happiness? That makes me excited to get in my car and come home at the end of every day?”

They kiss some more, deep, healing kisses and soft, sweet kisses, but she doesn’t get distracted by them. She’s very focused, caresses him and brushes loving fingertips over his chest and arms and sides. But speaking of distractions…

“Were you doing all those sexy things to try to distract me from wanting you to get all up on me?” she asks, pulling back, and at least he has the decency to flush.

“Kind of? I figured if it was sex you wanted, you’d be happy to get off however it happened; it was great for me too, don’t get me wrong, I just didn’t really want to be touched, feeling the way I felt.” She frowns, rests her head against his chest and holds him tighter.

“That makes me sad. What I wanted was an intimate moment with my husband, and while yes, what you did for me was great, because you’re super hot and very capable,” she says, leaning back in his embrace with a soft smile, “it’s not what I’ve been wanting. I want you all naked and sweaty and heavy on top of me, going to pound town.” He presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows.

“Pound town? What are you, twelve?” She grins, shoves his chest, and he laughs.

“I’m surrounded by college kids all day, please forgive me. I think it got my message across though.” She touches his cheek, looks up into his eyes, and sighs. “Can we take Mia over to Haley’s and give it a shot? I’ll do anything to make you feel happy and comfortable, any position that makes you feel better—though what I’d really like most, if you’ll trust me, is to suck your dick, and then hop on your dick, and then later when we’re ready to go again, we do the pound town thing and make another goddamn baby.”

She’s so serious, and he looks so serious, and then he kisses her and says yes and they pack up their kid and take her to his ex-wife’s so they can get it on, which sounds so much crazier than it actually is. She gets him out of his clothes, doesn’t move slow or spend lots of time focusing on what he thinks are flaws; instead, she proves how desirable he is by practically tearing his pants off and pushing him against the bed and swallowing around his dick just so she can hear all those delicious moans she’s been missing.

After that, she rides him hard, kisses him harder, plants her hands on his chest and stomach and moans and groans against his mouth. “So fucking hot, seriously so fucking hot, Aaron—if I saw you across the room today I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing, I would still pursue you, I’d make you blush like I did back then. I’d be so forward because I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about how good this would feel.”

She’s rocking his world, no doubt about that; it’s written all over his face, in the hardness of his hands on her hips as she grinds down on his cock, in the way his chest is heaving despite not actually doing any of the work at all. He comes first, and then rubs her clit while she continues to fuck him until she finds her own orgasm; she scratches her nails down his stomach, and he leans up and grabs her face for a rough, perfect kiss.

They take a break, cuddling and kissing and enjoying the feel of bare skin, comfy bed, soft lips. Aaron touches her cheek, tells her how much he loves and appreciates her.

“I’m so sorry I’ve been keeping this inside, and not being truthful. It’s hard, when you’re as perfect as the day I met you, and I’m…” She presses a finger to his lips, shushes him, kisses him.

“You’re as perfect as the day I met you, too. More perfect, even, because every day since then you’ve chosen me, and our family. I could not ask for a better man. Simply could not, Aaron. And if you want me to come home early so you can go to the park to run, or to the gym, then that’s what I'll do, but if you look like you do right now, forever, I’ll be happy with that too. Whatever makes you happy.”

They snuggle and kiss and talk and laugh, and then laughing becomes sex in that way everything becomes sex when you’re genuinely obsessed with the person in your bed.

He gets her on her back, kisses all over, teases her—“mmm, rubbing your kitty, baby, how does it feel?”—and then puts her legs over his shoulders, plants his hands, and fucks, taking every ounce of his pent-up frustration out on her, and it’s incredible.

“Yes, Aaron, yes, baby, oh, god.” Her head is thrown back, and she’s torn between laughing, because she’s been wanting this for months and it’s exactly as awesome as she’d dreamed it would be, and crying, because she fucking loves him, so much it puts a lump in her throat.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, speeds up, sweaty and gorgeous and smiling. “You’re going to come with me—not just for me, but with me, so my come gets deep inside, so it works and we get another perfect baby who never lets us fucking sleep.” She nods frantically, presses her hips against his, and it’s not simultaneous, but it’s a near damn thing, when they both come groaning each other’s names. A little less than a year later, they have Mason. Aaron is at home in his dad bod, Mia doesn’t cry at naptime, Jack is still a menace in the mornings, and their perfect little family got a little more perfect. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul

[gyuluster]

the prince and the jackal | {f}

collab oneshot | fantasy! au | 11.8k words

“Because the prince of the earth can make you fall not only for nature, but the boy who rules over it.”

s u m m a r y : in the Kingdom of Terrae, you, a metalbender, believe in the deforestation to modernise the land. As a member of the Lumberjackals, you thrive on cutting down trees and stealing resources until you get caught by the Crown Prince, Choi Beomgyu, a lover and embodiment of the nature you wish to destroy. However, instead of imprisoning you for your crimes, Beomgyu decides to show you the beauty and wonders of nature, leaving you to doubt your beliefs, your identity, and your very feelings for the certain boy determined to change you for the better.

w a r n i n g s : prince! beomgyu, woodcutter! metalbender! reader, reader hates wildlife and all things nature, beomgyu is sunshine and flowers and everything good, shit ton of wildlife and fantasy stuff, bts kim line are part of the lumberjackals so are evil in this story i am so sorry y’all, beomgyu has a pet squirrel called jisung yes han jisung, kind of enemies to lovers not really but im pretending it is

p l a y l i s t : fairy of shampoo by txt | colours of the wind by judy kuhn | willow by taylor swift

a u t h o r ‘ s  n o t e : yes i am back from the dead to bring this fic hello!! this is a collab with @soobmint​ @juunnies​ @bffsoobin​ @honeyju​ pls do read their parts too they’re so sexc <3 do lemme know what you all think and thank you for reading!!

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“And this prayer I make,               Knowing that Nature never did betray The heart that loved her.”  — William Wordsworth, Tintern Abbey, 1798.

“ONE MORE BLOODY TREE, AND I’LL SCREAM THIS FOREST DOWN!”

You ignored the complaints of your comrades, trekking deeper into the forest. 

The sun was nearly drowned out by the towering shade of the surrounding trees, and there remained a constant buzz of the animals, either scurrying away or chirping in the skies. The cut up logs strapped on your back was a huge burden, and slowed your steps as you trudged onto the muddied pathways, staining your boots.

“_____, how much longer until we go to the markets?” one of the men asked, exhaustion clear in his voice. 

“Just a few more logs, Tae,” one of the woodcutters, Seokjin, answered, casting a side-ways glance at you. 

“But we’ve already got so many!” the former whined, pointing to the goods over their shoulders. “We can make decent money today!”

Unsheathing your sword, you cut away at the vines in your path, masking your sight ahead. It must be here somewhere, you thought, eyes darting sharply to every flower and bush. It has to be.

“Haven’t you fools understood already?” a snarl resonated from the group. Your horse trotted past you as Namjoon, sat on top, brought out his machete, brutally slicing the branches of the towering trees. “The wood we’ve got won’t last us all year!”

His eyes blazed with a certain greed as he looked over you all. “We must find the Tree of Life,” he declared, strolling past you, cutting down the path. “One strip of its bark could bring us a fortune.”

You listened to his statements with raised brows, following in his steps. In truth, none of you had ever seen the Tree of Life. No one in the kingdom had for centuries — it had become something of a myth, a legend passed down from every earthbender to child of its origins, and its significance. You didn’t know the great specifics, but the whole group knew that if they were to obtain even a twig from the great tree, it could grant them millions worth of gold. 

And that was something the Lumberjackals desired more than the wellbeing of an omnipotent tree.

Soon, the search progressed, your group cutting down a few Ebonies for its useful properties, but there was no heavenly legend welcoming you in all its finery. The sun was descending on the horizon, and although Spring was present, you were situated in the part of the forest where the gusts of the Ice Kingdom blew consistently in your direction. The cold was about to descend, and you were far from your home in the Metallum villages. 

Taehyung, the youngest of the Kim brothers, held onto a nearby oak, all strength leaving him. “I don’t know about you, but I am not travelling any further.” He glared daggers at Namjoon, who showed no signs of stopping. “I’m setting camp here, and you can do nothing to stop me.”

Seokjin joined his youngest sibling, collapsing on the patch of grass beside the gathering of flowers as he shrugged off his work of the logs. “I vote a little rest, even if Joon does not understand its meaning.”

The said-man let out a scoff at those words. “You both are just bloody lazy!” He turned to you, eyes pinning you where you stood. “You’ll keep searching with me, right?”

You agreed, but when you saw the fatigue in your leader’s gaze you grabbed the reins from his horse, stepping beside him. “You need sleep, Joon,” you said, concern in your eyes. “I’ll do another search. You three stay here.”

Namjoon held your stare for a moment before swiping his leg over the back of the horse, jumping off. He handed you the reins fully. “Come back after dawn. Us three will take over from you.”

You had a right mind to challenge the amount of time he was making you explore, but you kept your mouth shut, heaving onto the animal. Dumping your logs of wood upon the ground, you dipped your head in farewell to the Kim brothers. “I will see you in the morning, boys.”

Taehyung waving excitedly as he set up camp, Seokjin going straight to bed upon his blankets, and Namjoon’s stare cold yet understanding, you cracked the reins as the horse began to gallop away from the oaklands, and deeper into the forest.

The moon barely lit the way as you delved deeper into the trees, the sounds of nature turning sinister as the owls began to hauntingly hoot, and the wildcats began to purr. You kept your sword close, in your hand as the other steadied your horse. 

You let out a hard sigh as you commenced your searching. Sometimes, only when you were alone, you wished that Namjoon would snap out of his delusions. There was no Tree of Life, no invaluable source of fortune which would challenge the earthbenders and start their industrialisation. In truth, you only wished for a life more than just cutting down wood, but your leader’s promises could be much too enticing. 

Perhaps he was right. Maybe with the metalisation of Regna Terrae the metalbenders would be able to progress. It was not like the Kingdom cared for the likes of you, nor the nature which brought you to existence.

Stupid, damned forest. What good had it ever done you?

Suddenly, you heard the harsh snapping of the twigs which wasn’t from your horse. In an instant you halted, pulling the reins as your eyes darted to every corner of the dark forest. 

Silence.

You furrowed your brows.

The forest cannot be trusted. Even its silences were sinister and misleading.

Slowly, you got off your horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree. “Keep still, Aurum,” you whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

Patting the mane, you turned and followed in the direction of where the sound was heard, every step quiet and cautious. There was little light, you having to rely on your ears alone, and the hands which touched trunk from trunk. In moments like these, you wished you possessed a more useful power than mere metal manipulation — firebending would have been nice, but you supposed that luck had never been in your favour.

Seething, you held onto your sword tighter, sending a little rush of power from your fingers as it sharpened the steel. No one tailing you would survive in your hands.

You then heard a little sigh, and whipped your head to the direction. Gritting your teeth, you rushed to the place of the origins, anger rising. Swiping away the branches in your path, your boots were the only sound among the quiet hush of the forest, along with the slicing of your weapon. Whoever was toying with you will not leave your wrath.

Swiping away the plants, you finally found an opening of grass among the trees. Squinting, your anger surged to find a distant figure standing before you, all masked in shadows from the lack of light within your surroundings. It stood statue-still, matching your deathly quietness. 

But the figure did not seem like it offered death. Nor anything so dangerous as you promised.

“Come out!” you shouted, taking a step forward. “I know you were following me!”

No response. 

“Scared, are you?!” Another hesitant step. “As you should be!”

Still, only silence answered, and the soft crunch of the leaves underneath your boots. You took a deep breath, shining your sword from the moonlight. A scoff emitted from you, nerves disappearing. This should be easy. 

With an aggravated roar, swinging your weapon, you thundered towards the figure. 

You rushed into the moonlight pooling onto the grass, eyes intent with damage as you willed iron-like power from your veins, and into your hands, swirling around the fuller of your sword until it reached its tip, ready to burst onto the figure.

It was then the shadows moved. 

A flick of his hand. A soft glow within the darkness. 

And all of nature followed suit.

You were taken aback as the thousands of vines circulating the surrounding trees unwrapped themselves from their trunks, and snapped towards you in thundering speed. You had no time to take in their stems swirling around your feet, cutting off your run towards this certain figure. A gasp escaping, you were pulled back by the impact, and let out a further scream as you began to fall flat on your face. Then, even more shock reverberated through you as your feet were pulled upwards, shooting your body up until you were suspended from a tree branch, your one foot wrapped tightly in the vines.

Your world all upside down, you shook your head vigorously, feeling the strain of your one leg under complete control of the tree. The thrum of powerful magic of nature resonated through your body, ceasing you from moving your free leg and kicking any potential passerbys. 

Craning your head backwards, you saw with horror that your sword was clattered upon the ground, too far away to reach from the air. Straining your hand towards the grass, you willed your magnetic force, trying to lure your weapon into your hand.

The sword would have ended up in your grasp if another surge of the same natural magic did not break its path, sending it back on the earth.

Enraged, you looked out to the dark, sight distorted. “Gods, just come out already!” you screamed, swinging slightly by your sheer force. “Stop hiding in the damned shadows!”

There was a flutter of little animals coming out from the shadows. “Ha!” you spat, reaching for the dark. “Only sending a few creatures to scare me? You’re going to have to work harder than that!”

When there was another round of silence, you laughed harshly to yourself. “That’s what I thought.”

This time, however, you were not greeted by their usual, quiet answer.

More vines slithered down your frame, pushing your hands together. You gritted your teeth as the gnarly weeds tightened around your wrists, stopping yourself from using your hands.

Glaring daggers at the darkness ahead, you spat at the ground. “Show yourself!” you roared.

Your threats were answered.

Responded in an unimaginable way as the figure stepped into the moonlight.

You could not suppress your reaction.

The most enchanting boy you had ever seen revealed himself from the shadows. You could clearly see him from the light, the soft, child-like features amplified by his undoubted beauty — his mahogany locks curled around his face, cascading over his forehead. His gentle eyes promised great amusement, more so when they landed upon you, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. He was adorned in a fine green gown, few assortments strapped on his belt as leather boots, etched in ink, covered his feet. A crown of flowers and leaves settled in his curls, emitting its own, fantastical glow among the darkness.

The smile curved wider at your widened eyes. “Why so speechless now, my lady?” 

By all the gods. Even his voice sounded like the sweetest honey in all the hives. 

“I have come before you, now,” he continued, deeply amused by your bewilderment. “I have stopped hiding in those damned shadows, as you said.

“Where is your anger?”

Well, that seemed to bring your rage all back.

“It’s still here, you bastard!” you hissed, struggling in the rope-like vines as you tried to swipe your hand across his face. He merely took a step back, completely out of your range.

“Even without a weapon you are a force to be reckoned with,” the mysterious boy voiced out, raising his fingers as magic sparked from the tips. Instantly the vines encircled your arms, pinning them to your sides as the weeds wrapped around you completely. You were like a human-sized caterpillar, cocooned in vines except you would not turn into a butterfly and rush away into the forest. 

This nuisance before you would make sure of that.

A satisfied hum escaped him. “There we go,” he said. “Now you won’t be of any danger.”

“Who even are you?” you demanded, glaring daggers at the sight before you. Terrible shame that the sight was something you wouldn’t mind witnessing for the rest of your life. Even if it was upside down. 

A hint of surprise exposed upon his features. “Oh, this is amusing, indeed.”

He took a step towards you, you catching the faint scent of...flowers and trees and fruit and honey. You couldn’t really figure out a perfect essence — if nature had a scent, then this boy embodied it. “I am surprised you know not of me when you wish to destroy what I own.”

You raised a brow, at eye level with him, despite the loopy image. 

Then, the gears in your head turned, and you were struck hard with the realisation.

When you wish to destroy what I own.

“Oh gods,” you slipped out.

The boy smiled.

No, not just the boy.

The Prince of Regna Terrae — the heir to the Earth Kingdom. 

Choi Beomgyu.

Maybe this explained his otherworldly beauty. Crown princes of the earth kingdoms were known to be blessed by nature, so adorned the finest features known to man. Standing before you now, you cursed yourself for not seeing it before.

And cursed yourself again for cursing at him. Multiple times.

Beomgyu saw your eyes moving a mile a second and spluttered out a soft laugh, raising a finger so you focused on him. “I am glad you have figured out my identity. Now we both know what we are.”

His next words did not possess much hilarity. “I, a prince, and you, a Lumberjackal.”

The declaration had you gulping. There’s no escaping this.

He was not wrong in the slightest — you were a part of the Lumberjackals — a group dedicated to industrialising the Earth Kingdom, and giving it a head start from the other kingdoms who did not possess the natural resources that this land contained. You prided on deforestation, the cutting of wood and, even to a certain extent, the consumption of animals. Although you never participated in the last activity out of pure shame, you knew the Kim brothers certainly did, and enjoyed it to great extent. 

“Do you deny it?”

You tried to look away, but his gaze was a little too intense. Even if it was reversed. “I do not.”

“And what do you have to say for yourself?” he got out, and you could hear the pain in his voice. Could you even blame him? You destroyed what he held so dear.

Still. You were a metalbender. The desire for modernisation is in your very blood.

“I do what I must do, your Highness,” you grit out, struggling in your weedy cocoon. “It is the only way we survive. 

“And I will not stop.”

The boy’s eyes widened a fraction, in pure disbelief. He could not comprehend this — how could one be so against the idea of nature? How could anyone be so resolute in the decimation of what they survived on?

Prince Beomgyu cocked his head, pursing his lips. 

How could one hate a deity he considered so beautiful?

He said so himself. 

“How?”

You blinked. 

The boy continued. “How can you hate nature?”

His question took you by surprise — you did not really know the answer yourself. 

It was not like you despised the earth in all its natural form. Sure, it brought you the air you breathed, the food you ate, and the water you drank. But what else had nature given you?

You soured upon seeing the Prince’s face. You did not possess the powers other Terrae citizens were gifted with. Your branch of magic was hard, unforgiving. Simply a practicality, only useful for finding resources and making weapons.

Where were your subservient vines? Where was your natural greatness?

With this in mind, you mustered up the most brutal expression you could offer to the boy before you. 

“Because nature was not kind to the likes of me. So I shall not be kind to it either.”

This time, the Prince’s eyes widened even further, afraid they would pop right out of their sockets. 

Once again, his mind was in a twist — how had his dearest accomplice, his most cherished friend, been unforgiving to his subjects? He would never consider himself sheltered, but this was something quite unheard of in his kingdom.

“I know you do not believe me, but this is the only explanation I can offer.” You paused, accepting your fate. “Untie me already so you can send me to prison.”

You felt something swirl beneath the boy’s brown eyes, irises sparkling with wonderment. His voice was soft, if not lost within his own thoughts.

“I believe you, jackal,” he said. With a final step towards you, he left little distance between the two of you, eyes at level with yours as you hung from the tree. “But I cannot be satisfied with it.”

Another blink, taken aback by his declaration. “Well...well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

Shocking you further, he curled a little smile upon his lips. “Well,” he started, and as the smile began to widen further, he knew just what to do.

No, he was certainly not satisfied with her accepted hatred.

“We can start by changing that.”

It was your turn for your pupils to dilate. Gods above. This boy seems one chop away from a stump.

“What do you mean?” you demanded, but the boy was already turning on his heel, looking to the surroundings. He fell to his knees, feeling the ground beneath him with his hands. “Your Highness, what are you doing?!”

He did not deem to answer your question, only counter it with his own. “Do you have a horse nearby?”

You looked at him, surprised he figured it out by merely touching the grass. “Yes, but…”

It seemed that he did not need to hear any more, as he brought a hand out, fingers stretching. A tendril of green power burst from his palm, snaking through the dark air beyond your peripheral vision. The Prince was focused on his conjury, and you wondered what in Terrae he was trying to do.

Then, you heard a distant neighing, and found Aurum following the green trail of his magic, eyes glowing slightly.  

You tried to escape the tight cage of the vines. “Gods, what are you doing with my horse?!” you exclaimed. “She hates strangers!”

The magic disappeared, along with the glow in her eyes. You could tell she was confused at her surroundings, about to raise her hind legs at the boy who spelled her. “She’ll kill you!” you warned, bracing yourself to witness the death of a prince.

It was then Beomgyu stepped towards the horse, gaze sparkling with kindness. 

His hand touched Aurum’s face.

With no small amount of shock, you watched as the boy whispered to your horse, stroking her muzzle. You had never seen her be so friendly to any human she’s made contact with — by Terrae, she even deigned to show attitude to you, who had fed and groomed her since she was a mere pony. How was she sweetening up to someone she had just seen?

Maybe she’s still under a spell, you thought with malice, but then a more honest thought came to mind, and it only made you angrier. 

Or perhaps animals can be just as enchanted with him as humans can.

“What are you talking to her for?” you interrupted them, letting out an aggravated groan as the cocoon engulfed you tighter. “You’re sharing words with her as if she’d spread them!”

Beomgyu slid his eyes upward to you. “I was just asking Aurum if she’d like to have an apple.”

“No, I’ll give her one myself—” you tried to say, but then stopped short. “Wait. How do you know her name?”

He looked at you as if you had asked the most ridiculous question. “Because she just told me.”

You stopped struggling in the cocoon. “What did you just say? Aurum told you?”

Hands never ceasing his comforting upon the horse, he raised a quizzical brow. “Pardon me, jackal, but do you mean to tell me that you...you cannot talk to animals?”

Maybe you were not wrong to think the heir of the Earth Kingdom absolutely crazy. 

He gestured to the world around you both. “Can you not sense each and every creature nearby? Can you not hear their heartbeats, in sync to their purrs and murmurs?

“Can you not hear the very trees breathe around you?”

You did not know what to say. Perhaps you did not understand his words, what he really meant by a tree breathing. Was that even possible? You thought it unimaginable. 

So you offered him the only thing that remained in your mind.

“I have never felt these things.”

The hand upon Aurum’s nuzzle paused, unable to accept the statement which you offered him. 

His suspicions were confirmed. Your hatred of nature and all the beings which it birthed had rid you of your powers.

He had seen this before — lost souls who had done grave wrongdoings to the earth, and as a consequence, their very instincts were snatched, right down to the basics. There was no shortage of Lumberjackals in the palace dungeons, and upon closer inspection, he saw that these woodcutters felt no connection to their surroundings. It broke his heart seeing the lack of attachment, the lack of desire for exploration and yearning for their powers, but he knew it could not be helped. 

Whoever crosses nature would not be forgiven.

Still, when he inspected the confused, tired gaze of yours, searching him for any suspected lunacy, he just knew that he could not toss you in another old cell. This plan he had in mind could not occur through rotting in one place for the rest of your life. 

“Worry not then, jackal.” He raised his hand, magic blooming from his palm. “I am going to change that.”

Whispering to your horse, he listened for a soft neigh before heaving atop her back, hissing at the reins and other controls tying her down. You watched with slight fear. “W-wait a minute,” you started, trying to squeeze out of the vines, but with no luck. “You’re not going to just leave me here, are you?”

Patting Aurum’s mane, he voiced out calmly, “I wish with my whole heart, but then my plan will not work.” 

You pursed your lips, watching his eyes sparkle with mischief. “If you were not a prince, I would have cursed you.” 

With a flick of his hand, a rush of magic travelled to your cocoon; you felt yourself turning on your front, hovering you upright as the power gravitated you back on the ground, loosening the vines. 

“Not like that has stopped you before,” he merely countered as he observed you shrug off weeds in slight humiliation. “Now get on. We have somewhere to be.”

He waited a moment, sighing when you would not oblige. “Is something the matter?”

You wanted to say yes — gods, you wanted to scream at him to get off Aurum, leave you alone and let you cut trees in peace, but of course, that would be an impossible route to take. You still had no inkling of why the Prince of your kingdom was having mercy on you, and you would be quite the fool to exploit it foolishly.

With gritted teeth, you kept your complaints behind your tongue as you brought your foot on the stirrup, heaving upwards as you brought your leg to the other side, settling upon the horse. “Now,” Beomgyu began, looking over his shoulder. “There is no need to be shy. You may put your hands around me as the horse goes fast—”

“I shall be completely fine, thank you,” you interrupted him, brows furrowed. What was this prince even doing? You wondered whether he was a fraud. With that power you witnessed, though, you highly doubted it.

And his features. There is no way a commoner could possess such enchanting beauty.

Flustered, you soured even further. 

“Are you ready, jackal?”

You grunted out a yes, which was enough for the boy to command Aurum to start.

The horse, against your expectation, began galloping much faster, and with a yelp you were nearly sent flying out of the seat. Your hands, on instinct, wrapped around Beomgyu’s waist, and when you realised what you had done you cursed yourself for obliging him. 

You could almost hear his grin. “I told you!” he exclaimed over the noise of hooves clattering against the rocky mud. 

If only you could slap the heirs of kingdoms. “Just take me where you have in mind!” you barked back. “I need to be back to Metallum at dawn.”

“That will be just enough!” 

The horse swept past more trees, animals scurrying from your path as the moon lit the dim forest path. You held onto the prince for dear life, refusing to acknowledge the hard surface beneath his silk, his ethereal warmth radiating onto you. 

“Hey, jackal?”

A sigh. “Yes?” 

“Your horse’s name.” A pause. “Aurum.”

You looked to the trees whooshing past your vision. “What of it?”

Beomgyu whispered for the animal to slow down, scanning his surroundings for his destination. “’Gold’. A very ingenious name.” 

He glanced at your irritated face, and smiled. “My mare is called Argenti.”

Your mouth parted at the little revelation.

Argenti. Silver.

Before you could say more on the matter, the boy stopped the horse, cooing at her and praising her for helping him. Swinging his leg over, he jumped off the horse gracefully. He fixed his flower crown before turning to face you, falling rather awkwardly on the grass. 

A small laugh escaping him, you daggered him with your gaze as you stepped beside him, a hand on Aurum. Your stare lingered as he took a circle turn of the surroundings, moon almost winking at him as it journeyed in the blanket of night. After a while, Beomgyu pointed to the tree nearby you, stepping past you to palm its trunk. “Here we go.”

Fingers stretching, magic spluttered as it swirled into the thick expanse of the leaves, nearly covering the sky with their excess. The matter squeezed through, and brought out the hidden vines, tumbling down till they reached the roots. Grabbing onto the plants, the prince turned his head towards you, an offer in his eyes. 

You hated how you understood exactly what he meant. “I am not going up with you,” you retorted. 

“It’s my arms or the dungeon.”

Gulping, you swallowed down your irritation for him. Taking a step towards him, you maintained a safe distance as you made sure he was aware of your distaste. “Just get us up already.” Damn the gods for making him so aggravatingly beautiful, you thought shamelessly as you looked at him. “Your Highness.”

Perhaps he knew, for the little smile was back, wrapping his arm around your waist, and pulling you close. “That’s more like it,” he murmured out before willing his magic into motion. 

Your breathing hitched as you were pulled rapidly upward by the vines, breaking through the surface of the leaves. You closed your eyes, feeling the scraping of the branches against your clothes until you felt yourself still, listening only to the deep breaths of the prince beside you. His hand was still snaked at your side.

“Open your eyes, jackal.”

Somehow, on instinct, you obliged. 

And widened them further.

You were in another world entirely — the branches expanded beyond your vision, intertwining with the others from different trees, so intricately interlinked beneath your feet that they created a floor. Upon this branching surface there was a little room, decorated with every unusual object that one could identify. Beside the bed, interwoven by these branches, you saw an abundance of flowers and leaves, an lamp of glowing fireflies resting in the corner, and a thousand other items which needed further explanation.

Judging by the awe on your face, the boy answered you, heading to the small cabinet where everything was placed. “A collection of gadgets,” he began, using his magic to separate every object. “That I’ve bought or been gifted since my princedom.” He took out a few unrecognisable things and strolled to the wardrobe, made from the same intertwining branches, and opened the doors, rummaging through.

“What are you even looking for?” you asked, but were dutifully ignored as he kept searching. You admired the intricate scenery, the plush excess of leaves beneath your shoes, shielding you and the prince nearby.

You heard him let out a satisfied ah! as he closed the doors shut. He walked over to you, showing you the rather odd object — it was an unusually large ice cube, miniscule snowflakes etched onto its every side as it orbited slowly in Beomgyu’s hand.

Your curious gaze upon the gadget had him into explanation. “A present from the Ice Prince,” he said, admiring the cold gift in his palms. “It provides an infinite water supply, so is incredibly useful for long journeys.”

“Taehyun, is he not called?” You shivered at the thought. “I am shocked to think he is capable of such small kindnesses.”

Beomgyu slid his eyes to yours. “Taehyun is not the man that his subjects have painted him to be.” His irises swirled in an indecipherable emotion. “Sometimes, one cannot judge the character of another simply based on rumour alone. Only with having conversation can one truly have an honest opinion.”

A small part of you wondered if he truly meant that for Taehyun, or to you, another villain in the Earth Kingdom’s millennia-old tale. Whatever it may be, you looked away, wondering when you’d be able to leave the prince’s presence. 

“Right,” you heard him say, pocketing the other unknown object in his breast pocket of his gown. “Let us go on ground once more.”

The boy was about to tug on the vines again when he was interrupted by a most unusual sound. 

Well, not unusual, considering you were situated in a tree house, but the noise was so shrill you instantly looked down to its origin.

Before you was a little squirrel, cheeks puffed as its little hands perched on its sides. Its soft tail moved rapidly behind its body, indicating irritation. 

Its small, black eyes were fixated upon the boy beside you. Letting out yet another squeak, you saw Beomgyu sigh out in exasperation, as if he had just remembered an important matter.

“Oh gods, I do apologise!” He exclaimed, falling to his knees as he held his free hand out, the other holding the hovering ice cube still. “I’m afraid I cannot feed you now, but would you be able to wait?”

The squirrel let out another squeak, and this time the prince flinched. You gawked at the scene — so not only can he command the trees, but he could talk to animals?

What can this boy not do?

“Ji, I am sorry!” Fishing out an acorn from his breast pocket, he offered it before him. “I have one, if it helps! I promise to feed you properly after I am done with a certain task.”

Even so, the animal seemed much unimpressed. It then turned its little head to you, and you could have sworn that its eyes judged your very soul. 

It squeaked some more, and this time Beomgyu widened his eyes, cheeks flushing. “By Mother Nature, no!” He bellowed out, panicked eyes fleeting towards you. “No, I just met her today.”

“Are you talking about me?” You asked, raising a brow. The squirrel then made another sound, one you could not decipher but, judging from the boy’s reaction, could definitely take a wild guess. “By gods, is this creature mocking me?”

You were rewarded with further squeaking, but was instantly silenced by Beomgyu. “Ji, no! I cannot have you being sarcastic tonight. Save your grievances for tomorrow morning!”

And as the prince scooped the squirrel in his hand, he walked over to the bed, settling it on the sheets. “Stay here. I will be back.”

There was sure to be complaints, but the boy kept sending looks of apology as he stepped back to the edge of the exit, tugging on the vines. “Deeply sorry for Jisung’s behaviour,” he said, swirling the cube slowly. “He is grumpier tonight as I have not fed him this evening.”

“A pet squirrel, huh?” You interrogated, looking down to the grass below. “And one you can talk to? Is that how you could communicate with Aurum?”

Nodding, the prince held his arm out. “Are we ready?”

You hurrying my shook your head. “Not again!” You crossed your arms. “I’ll slide down myself. Without your help.”

Shrugging, the boy held on tighter to the vine. “Your wish, jackal,” he said, and jumped down. Perking up, you squatted down to see him descend smoothly down the tree, landing perfectly on the grass. 

Grabbing onto the plant, you looked back to the grumpy pet, stuffing the acorn in his mouth. 

He then stuck his tongue out, and you gasped at the audacity. “Rude!” You shouted, but we’re only answered with shrill squeaking. Ignoring the creature, you took the vine by both hands, and followed suit.

Your descent was much less graceful, landing instead on your backside. You were met with the huffed laughter of the prince, and you forced down the urge to beat him with his stupid flower crown. Or perhaps tie these vines around his neck and strangle him.

No, that would only result in him using his silly magic. Awful, attractive bastard.

“What are we doing now, Highness?” You wondered out loud, rubbing your sore backside. “Do tell me there is some use of your rather odd ice cube.”

Beomgyu, after strolling further into the woods, slowed himself for you to catch up. “There is some use, unfortunately for you.” He waved you over, stepping past the wild bushes in his path. “Follow me, jackal!” he called out to you. 

Grudgingly, you did as he asked, hugging yourself from the cold breeze of the midnight, wondering where in Terrae he was trying to take you. The trees towered over you like intimidating strangers — if the prince spoke true, then you wouldtuly be unwelcome. 

You were surrounded by this coercion until the forest opened up to an open grassland, encircled by the nature which looked down at you. Beomgyu turned to you, bringing out a few seeds from his trouser pockets and standing right in the middle of the circle. 

“There you are,” he said as you stepped beside him. He glanced at the moon, measuring the amount of time he had left. 

“What are you going to do?” you asked him, still clueless regarding the whole situation. Why has he not sent you to the dungeons already?

His eyes travelled to your face. With a half-soft scoff, he held out his hand, the seeds now in perfect view. “It is not what I’m going to do,” he began. “It is what you are going to do.”

The confusion grew within you. “What do you mean?” you tried to clarify. “What am I to do with these seeds?”

Beomgyu’s eyes promised answers. “Bring out your hand, jackal.”

You did as you were told, holding out your hand as he put the seeds in your palm, fingers barely brushing against your skin. He then descended, knees upon the grass as he patted to the space beside you. “Come, sit.”

Pursing your lips in thought, you knelt before the grass, seeds in your enclosed fist as your gaze never strayed from the boy. “Your Highness—”

Magic oozing from his fingers interrupted your demand, slipping into the earth. Slowly, but surely, a small hole was separated by the green matter, dirt being shovelled to create a dip in the grassland. 

Once he ceased his conjuring, he jerked his head towards the new opening. “Place the seeds in the hole,” he instructed. “Gently now! Treat them with the utmost care.”

Grumbling in response, you leaned forward as you gingerly put each seed at the corners of the muddy dip, noticing a small spark with each placement of the grain. It was a bizarre feeling, but assumed it normal in the ways of gardening as you inserted the dirt over them, covering them fully.

You peered at the prince then, who brought out the large ice cube. Turning it rapidly, treacle of water dripped down to the ground, moistening the earth and feeding the seeds of its necessities. Putting the gadget back in his storage belt, he then returned his hand upon the damp mound, closing his eyes in a fixated peace. More magic swirled from his hands, but this time it encircled not only the place where you had placed the seeds, but you, all of you, engulfing you in its otherworldly warmth. 

“Your Highness?” You whispered out, but he was murmuring, murmuring words you could not comprehend, words which felt like you were not meant to hear. His curls were being lifted slightly with the tendrils of his power, but he stayed rooted to his spot, carrying on with what you feared was a grotesque ritual. 

You, too, became still when you felt fingers curl around your hand. 

On instinct you looked at him, eyes widening — you should have expected his hand to radiate some form of heat, considering this boy had such an unusual glow about him, but this…

Despite the soft chaos around the two of you, the touch was oddly comforting. 

His hand, dragging you out of your thoughts, led yours to the place you sowed the little grains of life, and spread apart your fingers till they covered nearly the entire, dug up earth. More matter escaped from his fingers, shooting further warmth upon the back of your hand, and travelling up to your heart. 

“Close your eyes, jackal,” you heard him chant from his cocoon of magic. “I need you to see from within.”

“See what?!” You beseeched, but his fingers held onto you a little tighter, and, as if he commanded your very body, had your eyelids descend shut, cornering you into the chambers of your mind.

See from within.

What could you see?

Darkness. Eternal darkness, and rusted iron, spilled mercury, and all the grim faces of the people who wanted to decimate the very place you knelt in.

I cannot see! You screamed in your mind, because in the whirlwind of his power you felt alone, trapped in your own mind, trying to join in on a ritual which would cursed the likes of you.

But in reality, you were not alone.

No, not when you felt something foreign in your body.

You swore you stopped breathing. 

Your fingers felt squeezed by another, but was ignored because you could see a whole other heartbeat which was not your own.

A familiar voice entered your mind.

“Do you see it?”

The prince’s voice; the soft, almost desperate inquiry, which you could not help but answer. 

“Yes...yes, by Terrae, I do see it.”

And perhaps he said some more, but you were not listening to his words. His speech seemed a little insignificant to the little heartbeat — it was as faint as the scent of departure, delicate as a snowflake, and as real as yourself, the prince, and the neverending forest.

When you tried to lift your hand, Beomgyu’s fingers halted you still. You could not believe that you did not mind it. “Whose...whose is it, your Highness?”

You were positive that he did not hear you with the lack of volume you let slide from your tongue. However, he answered your question, almost feeling the joy radiating from his response.

“The seeds.” 

Shocked, you opened your eyes, and found the Prince of Earth staring at you with an elevated joy. He gestured to observe your creation, and when your eyes fell upon the sliver of a stem which broke through the earth, between the spaces of your fingers, you wondered whether this was all a dream.

You could not help the curse which escaped you. The boy beside you spluttered into laughter, and you turned to see his face radiating with elation. The heartbeat, the one which you thought was under your control, proved you wrong as it skipped its beat along to his laughs.

“Wh-what are you laughing at?” You demanded, but you were unable to execute it with the anger you wish you held for him. He offered you a honeypot of smiles.

“You’ve brought life to the forest, sweet jackal.”

The little plant shivered in response, along with your own hairs at the back of your neck, which stood at his announcement. Its faint heartbeat grew louder, as well as your own in your ears.

“Do you feel it now?” he whispered, leaning ever so close as he looked to the forest around you. “Do you feel the trees breathing in your presence?” 

Unfortunately, although you could sense your plant’s essence, the heartbeats of every tree in the forest were still unheard. You shook your head no, but that did not wipe the grin off his face.

“We have time,” he reassured you. “Just know that Mother Nature has hope for you still.”

He took your hand, putting another upon the back as he brought you a different kind of warmth. “I have hope for you.”

You parted your mouth, unaccustomed to the contact, the kindness...to all that he represented. 

His eyes locked with yours, and although he had spared you the wrath of his palace dungeons, you feared whether you could escape the imprisonment of his gaze. 

There was no doubt in your mind as you let yourself be arrested into his stare — the Prince of the Earth was not going to haunt just a single night.

FRATERNISING WITH THE HEIR OF REGNA TERRAE WOULD BE THE DEATH OF YOU.

Of course, that was not the last time you saw him — you had become something of a personal project to him, a sin which must be reversed. Almost every night after the fateful encounter, you snuck out from the fences of the Metallum villages, barely evading the suspicious eyes of the Kim brothers, and met with him under his treehouse.

You did not know why you endeavoured so ardently in seeing him. It was not like he had become any less irritable with his amused grins and unmatched power, but there was something about him which you could not fend off. 

In a way, he made you believe you were worth more than simple woodcutting, selling oaks in the market, the empty promises of revenge against the Natural Kingdom. 

Somehow, he made you realise that, maybe, you truly were deserving of a more memorable path.

These very thoughts accompanied you as the sun began to set, pulling your hood over your head as you swept past the familiar trees, reining in the urge to greet every woodland creature which scurried past you. The past few weeks, after many misunderstood arguments with the Prince’s pet squirrel, you learned the slight quirks which the animal possessed, his every movement and what it would signify. You had Beomgyu to thank once again, but each time you wished to do so, he would say the same, hair-rising reassurance.

“Fret not, sweet jackal. It is a pleasure to show you the wonders of nature.”

Sweet jackal. The endearment made you so flustered, and that aggravated you to the greatest extent. You had already shared your name with the boy, but he insisted on calling you this name, as if the two of you had already established an intimacy from decades before. 

The very thought had your actual heartbeat racing.

You made sure to completely dismiss this foolery as you found the special opening of the grassland in sight, the glowing figure waving you over. A small smile involuntarily curled at your lips, hurrying closer till you fully saw Prince Beomgyu’s face clearly in the setting sun.

“You have arrived much earlier this evening,” he said in a way of greeting, fixing his flower crown as his squirrel played with the petals. “I would not say I’m displeased.”

On your part, you certainly were not either — he bore more finery than usual, his normal green gown threaded with gold swirls at the hems, small vines tied around his ears as natural jewellery. His hair was sprinkled with petals, a trait Jisung adored as he settled in the nest of his locks. His hands, too, were intertwined with dark vines, swirls wrapped around his fingers like extended rings. 

By the gods, he truly was an exquisite being. 

He noticed your silence, raising a groomed brow. “Is something the matter?” he asked, but when he saw your eyes dart to anywhere but his own, he immediately understood. You just managed to catch a satisfied quirk of his lips before he turned his attention to your plant. 

Following his trail, you brightened up to see your creation in full bloom — bright red poppies, stark against the pool of grass, stood as they swayed to the evening breeze. You knelt down to observe them closer, and felt a peculiar sense of pride at sensing their clear heartbeat harmonising with yours.

“They’re my favourite flower,” the boy said behind you. “I have always adored how they stand out amongst all the others.”

Watching the poppies almost dance in the cool air, you stood upwards once again. “Then why do you not wear them?” you asked out of curiosity.

“Because my parents do not like me wearing them.” He gestured to the flower crown, at risk of being torn up by Jisung. “They say the colour is too harsh.”

He clicked his tongue in irritation. “At least they could have spared me on my birthday.”

You were about to comment on his parents when those words escaped his mouth. Your own mouth parted in surprise. “Your birthday is today?”

The prince mocked being stabbed in the chest, nearly sending the squirrel to the trees. Taking Jisung from his hair, he propped him on his shoulder. “You have truly wounded me, ____!” he whined. “All this time together, and you had no inkling?”

Although he was only jesting, it only embarrassed you further. “I truly am sorry, your Highness!” you apologised, clasping your hands together. “If I had known, I would have made you a present.”

“Oh?” He took a step towards you. His eyes danced in mirth. “And what would you have made me?”

That seemed to rob you of your speech. “Well, um…” you trailed off, searching your now useless mind of any decent idea for a gift, but he waved off your fluster, chuckling.

“It is no problem, dear jackal,” he said, looking at the red flowers once more. “Seeing your poppies in full growth is a gift to me anyway.”

You wished he had not said that; glancing at them now, you could only hear his fascination within the petals. 

There he was again — staining your every entity of his remnants. How much more till he stains your very soul?

Jisung’s irritated squeak brought you back to the forest. You tried not to murder the damned creature as you muttered out, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Beomgyu groaned out. “I shan’t have you calling me that hideous title all the time.” He put a hand to his chest. “Have we not reached first name basis?”

Despite your surprise, you offered him a scoff. “Jackal is not my first name,” you jeered. “And please. You’re the prince of our land. Anyone who catches me being informal with you will surely have my head.”

“I would never let them,” he merely said. “Not before I show you one last part of the forest.”

You quirked a quizzical brow. “I think you’ve shown me half your kingdom by now.”

“But this is...quite different.” 

The boy stepped closer to you, reaching out his hand. You found yourself warming up as he enveloped it with yours, a gesture so small yet so triggering to your nerves. 

“Follow me, ____.”

With the tug of his fingers, you were led out of the grasslands and back into the jungles of Regna Terrae, catching familiar sights of ancient mahoganies and birches, different variations of trees all grouped together.

As the moon began to ascend, your anxiety increased. His hand worked wonders for your skin, but at the back of your mind, you could not shake off the image of the Kim brothers wondering where you had gone so long.

Especially Namjoon. Seokjin and Taehyung may have been much simpler in the brain, but the leader of the trio bore his suspicions of your whereabouts. He always knew you were never enthusiastic of your occupation as a Lumberjackal, so your sudden interest to roam the woodlands for hours into the night certainly had his ears perking. Of course, you always made sure to know that you were going without being followed, but in the end, the three brothers were quite unpredictable. 

You just hoped that whatever the prince had to show you, it would be seen quick enough to leave.

The density of the forest began to increase, and you soon began to doubt whether you had been to this part of the Kingdom before. It was then Beomgyu’s hands flowed with magic, and completely changed the scenery. The ancient trees, trunks as wide and thick as horses began to move apart to make way for him and you, the squirrel holding onto his shoulder tightly as it too squeaked in surprise. Your own eyes widened as each element of nature bent to his will, creating an easier path for his boots to step onto.

It was clearly a sight for admiration. These few weeks you had begun to realise the power of the earth, and how rich and true its roots lay. You felt the faint hum of their essences as you rushed past them, hand still clasped with his, and you dipped your head in thanks to the trees, hoping that one day you would hear them sing welcomes to you.

Slowing down, the group was barred by the curtain of thick vines, hiding you from the world behind. “I have never seen this before,” you wondered out loud, but when Beomgyu let go of your hand, and stepped forward, hands stretched out, your curiosity reigned further.

Jisung quickly scurried from his shoulder, ending up on the muddied path as he watched with black eyes of the phenomenon about to occur. You made to make fun of the squirrel when the prince let out an aggravated moan, hurling your head to his direction.

His heavenly voice chanted in a millennia old language, huge power emitting from his finger tips and swirling to the tumbling vines of the entrance. You could see the sweat beading down his forehead at the sheer effort it took, but he stayed rooted, sending surges of green matter to the cold nature.

Slowly, the curtain began to withdraw. Blinding light cut through, and when the boy let out a roar, pushing the whole family of vines apart you hid your head from the white bursting through. 

There was a deathly silence for a singular moment. 

You heard his ragged breathing, lasting for ten seconds before it turned into relieved, panted chuckling. 

Bringing your hand away from your face, you looked to see beyond the curtain. 

Your very breath was snatched from your lungs. 

Before you was the most enchanting deity of nature you had ever seen in your existence — it was a glowing white tree, trunk as wide as the two of you twice over, etched with milky-coloured wrinkles that contained sparkles of ancient magic. The leaves, much like finely cut diamonds, protruded from every branch which stretched towards every corner the eye could see. The diamonds were infinite, shining from the gentle light of the moon.

Even though you had never seen it before, you knew exactly what it was. 

“The Tree of Life.”

Your gaze dared to break away to see the prince for a second, whose own breathing seemed to have halted. Sensing your stare, he looked back at you, his face half glowing from the deity’s light.

“I...I thought it did not—” you tried to say, but of course you could not when it was right there before you, as if it had been waiting to be found all its life.

“Exist?” He took a step forward. “Every myth is borne from truth after all.”

Indeed it was — you had learned of the Tree of Life when you were a mere girl, listening to fairy tales before being told to sleep. This Tree could not be seen by the common man, and legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk. Evidently, no one could prove this theory, but its mystery had what inspired so many people, metal and earthbenders alike, to find it, for opposing reasons.

You knew why Namjoon wanted to find it — for the amount of gold a singular leaf could bring him. Now, having accused him of believing in fantasies, you almost felt ashamed for having ridiculed his searches. 

“Come.”

You perked up at the Prince’s voice. 

“You must get a closer look.”

Picking up the pace of your feet, you fell into step beside him as the two of you started towards the legend come to life. The closer you approached the more enchanting it looked — the leaves glistened further, as if greeting you with their shine. 

Jisung scurried between you both, his little head never straying from the Tree. It let out an awed squeak, and Beomgyu hummed in agreement. 

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” 

You shook your head, transfixed. “Never,” you responded, feeling the very earth shift beneath your feet.

If nothing else convinced you of the power of nature, then the existence of this deity certainly did.

You stepped past the boy, the grass hushed beneath your feet as you stretched out your hand. When your fingers touched the milky bark your breath shuddered out of you. It was simply unreal. The touch was surprisingly soft, so unlike the normal trees, and with each crack of the bark there was ancient writing inscripted within. With further shock you felt a very distant heartbeat as the fingers ran along the words, faint yet powerful.

By the gods. 

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” you whispered to the Tree, tracing the aged trunk. “Your Highness, is everything about the legend true?”

There was no response — you figured he was still star-struck, and you continued to admire the most beautiful force you had ever seen.

It was not until you heard Jisung’s shrill squeak that you turned around.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Because there he was, the one man you dreaded to see. The one man who held Beomgyu’s unconscious body in his hands as he dropped him upon the grass. You noticed the little dart on the side of his neck, and all the blood in your body was drained. 

Kim Namjoon.

His answering smirk was more a flash of teeth. “Do you believe me now, ____?” 

You backed up against the Tree, eyes darting to the prince. “What did you do to him?” you asked instead, voice void of any emotion.

“That does not matter,” he dismissed. “But of course, it would matter to you now that you’ve attached yourself to him.”

He took a step forward, his ebony machete glinting in the light of the phenomenon behind you. “Stand aside, girl. It is time to make our fortunes.”

On instinct, you stretched a hand out. “I cannot.”

The man was taken aback by your hesitance. “Whatever the gods do you mean?”

Gulping, you tried to steel your will, inhaling slowly. “I cannot let you do it, Namjoon.” Your eyes glanced at the still prince before glaring at the perpetrator. “You won’t get a single branch of the Tree.”

A harsh laugh escaped him, taking a step forward. “Oh, and you’re going to stop me?”

You brought out your own sword — the one which you promised to use on Beomgyu — and raised it toward him. “Do not come any further,” you warned. 

It seemed the man was not not going to compromise.

Not when he swung his machete, well on his way to hack you to pieces. 

You quickly brought your weapon upon you to deflect his aim, sending him forward, and away from the Tree.

He can try and hurt the Tree of Life.

Easily gaining step, Namjoon mustered his power, ebony sharpening from his fingers as he clashed against you, lightening-fast strikes of his machete having you strained. You never doubted the bastard’s swordsmanship — he was skilled enough to be a general in the King’s royal army.

A shame he chose his fighting for a darker purpose. 

You tried to slice the free space of his abdomen, but the man was sharp, quickly dodging as he swerved to the side, another clash of weapons ringing around the forest. 

“You cannot beat me, ____!” He roared, one hit after the other, sending you further back. 

Taking every hit, you stumbled, gaining your step yet staggering once again with his sword. After all, you could not outsmart the master; he was the man who taught you to fight.

Even so, you refused to give up. “I can die trying!” You seethed as he brought his strength down. His weapon, screeching against your own, slowly descended, closer and closer to your neck. 

A harsh groan escaping, you mustered all your strength into sending his machete aside, barely a spare second in your name before you whirled to your left, missing the power blow.

“All this for a bloody tree!” He screeched, thundering towards you. “We would have been rich, you fool!”

Another mighty hit, and you were sent back, averting his strikes with your sword. Because you were so exhausted, your magic would not burst from your hands, adding more power to your weapon. It was your melee strength, nearly all gone, and your nimble feet.

“What is all this for?!” He demanded, slicing at your cloak, cutting through the fabric of your trousers. The clash of weapons continued, faster and faster. “What is worth more than all the riches of the Kingdom?!”

Amidst the brawl, your eyes slipped to the figure before you. Distant, yet instantly recognisable with his eyes closed, and mouth parted, flower crown scattered around his head. Jisung, too, laid injured beside him, watching your fight with fear in his little eyes. 

What is all this for?

You only had one person in mind.

But that was not enough.

No, not when that sliver of a second gave Namjoon enough time to strike you, sending his machete straight into your stomach. 

A shuddered gasp escaped you as the machete entered through — a burst of pain shot through your entire body, echoing the fatality of your situation. Tears stung your eyes as you dropped your sword, looking at your opponent in the eyes.

The Leader of the Lumberjackals showed no mercy as he yanked out his weapon. 

A moan rushed past your lips as you fell to your knees, gripping your blood-gushing stomach. Namjoon gazed down at you with no remorse at all. “Perhaps he was not enough,” he said, cold as metal.

He stepped past you, focusing on the glistening Tree of Life, its white treasures still exalted in the moonlight. Your body, completely spent, could not hold you upright, falling straight into the grass. Straining, you cried out as you stretched your hand out in vain efforts to stop him, but it was simply no use.

You had been defeated.

And now, after witnessing the most perfect element of nature you had ever seen, you were to watch it be decimated.

This is how it ended. You, fumbling for your last breath, your prince nearby and probably dead.

Namjoon raked his eyes over the Tree, grinning wildly. “Oh, you are going to make me the richest man in the Kingdom,” he declared, raising his machete till it hovered just before the bottom of the trunk.

He elevated his voice so you could hear. “Enjoy watching me destroy what you sacrificed yourself for!”

Closing your eyes, you were about to let oblivion take over. 

You awaited the sound of his weapon against the bark.

What you heard was something completely different. 

An explosion filled your ears as white light, even more blinding than the one before, had you squeezing your eyes further shut. You made out the screams of your once leader as it was drowned out by the eruption, and you tried to see what had so suddenly occurred, only to be greeted with more brazen lights. 

What...what was going on?

When the deafening noise quietened, you picked up on the soft crunch of grass, edging closer and closer to you. A compelling force was felt against your dying soul, and you wondered if the Reaper had finally come to take you.

When you felt air-light hands on your abdomen, you did not expect death to be so warm.

Slowly, dragging open your eyes, you prepared yourself to be taken to the afterlife. 

What you saw instead was something else entirely.

Something which made even the Tree of Life as a mediocre enchantment.

Looking over you was not human — not with the glowing, shimmering skin, sparkles and shine radiating off its golden, liquid body. Her eyes were white with the same light you had seen twice this evening, fluid locks of hair flowing all around her. Her lips offered a radiant smile, already bringing some life back into you, and her whole body, although similar to yours, was free of attire, exuding the light of a star. 

Perhaps you truly were dead. 

The being, however, proved you wrong with her words.

“Brave human,” she began, and her velvet voice had you clutching your stomach. “I saw what you did to defend me.”

You tried to open your mouth to tell her that you defended the Tree, but then your eyes dilated at the revelation. 

The legend foretold that there lived an otherworldly creature inside its trunk.

But this...this god-like creature was not just a mere girl.

“You sacrificed yourself for my Tree,” she stated, voice echoing across the woodlands. “For my forest, my every creation, despite being an enemy of mine in the past.

“You deserve a token of my gratitude.”

Her voice nearly put you to sleep with the way it lulled in the midnight air. You wondered in your tired mind what she could offer you now that you were breathing your last breath.

Then, you felt her hands upon your stomach.

A loud groan escaped your lips as the torn flesh began to stitch on its own accord, courtesy of the magic which poured from the sublime being. Your whole body worked to heal you, reversing the damage done by your once leader, whose whereabouts you had no inkling of. 

The pain, which once tore at every nerve within you, began to fade away, and you opened your eyes further after gaining the strength, fully taking in the earthly spirit which had restored you. 

You parted your mouth, voice parched as you rasped out, “I...Beomgyu…”

A heavenly smile curled at her lips. “The prince is fine, soldier. It would take more than a dart to eliminate the heir of the Earth.”

A relieved breath left your lips. You then looked to the being, putting your hands above hers. “I am not who I was,” you whispered.

Mother Nature smiled down at you, and you knew then and there that perhaps the world is not so cruel after all.

“I know, brave human.”

The luminous creature ascended to her feet, letting go of your hands. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, and turned on her heel. Struggling to your side, you watched as the otherworldly figure stepped up to the Tree of Life, looking at you one last time.

Raising a hand to her chin, she blew some magic towards your way, bathing you in sparkles. With a final beam, she slipped into the tree, enlivening the whole structure till it stood straight once again.

You truly could not believe what you saw.

Feeling the glimmer dancing on your skin, however, you knew this was not a figment of your imagination.

Mother Nature saved you from death.

Truly, utterly, ethereal. 

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard soft coughing nearby, and you heaved upward at the sound, your strength all present.

Beomgyu.

Upon your feet, you rushed to where he lay, stumbling from the hurrying as you fell to your knees, hands clinging onto his face. Jisung, his injuries healed from the celestial visit, scurried upon his owner’s chest, waiting for him to awaken.

“Beomgyu?” You murmured out, fingers stroking the soft planes of his cheeks. “Beomgyu, damn you, open your eyes!”

Tilting his face till it faced you, you watched as the prince’s eyes fluttered open, tired and wide and absolutely beautiful.

A trembling breath gasped out of you. “What…” he grated out, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “What just...happened?”

You willed the tears in as you caressed his face. “The legend was true.”

His confused gaze had you continuing. “Beomgyu, I saw the celestial creature when I was dying, and she saved me. It was true, Beomgyu, she healed me with her hands and—”

Your rambling ceased when the boy brought his fingers to your face. Warmth flooded your cheeks, and not because of how hot his hands were.

His smile could have easily beaten Mother Nature’s. 

“You called me Beomgyu.”

He did not let you respond as he brought your face down to his, tilting it slightly as he pressed his lips against yours, enveloping you in a sweet kiss. 

His mouth was warm, just like him, soft and plush, rendering you helpless over him. Your shock was quite prevalent, but you let the affection take over as you kissed him back, hands carding in his curls. He moved against your lips as his fingers stroked down to your jaw, savouring every feathered touch.

When he broke away, his breathing was ragged, cheeks flushed. He saw your own dishevelled gaze and chuckled to himself. 

“I think this might be the best birthday present I have ever received.”

The Prince of Regna Terrae laughed some more when you refused to meet his eyes.

You were about to counter him when you heard another, completely new voice. 

“You both could have done that without me being here.”

Your stare dove to his chest, to the direction of the sound.

Jisung the squirrel glared at you with the entire irritation of the Kingdom. “Oh what? So now you can hear me?!”

A yelp resounded from you. “How are you talking?!” You screeched. “You’re a bloody animal!”

“Oh, thank you so very much for stating the blatantly obvious!” He drawled, and you could not comprehend the sarcasm that just came from a bloody woodland creature.

You peered at Beomgyu, who was just as surprised as you were, despite his entertained features. “____,” he started, sitting up straighter. “Does this mean—”

Getting to your feet, you looked around the forest, the Tree of Life standing proudly. 

It was then you sensed the heartbeat.

Not just your own, or the poppies — but of the entirety of the Kingdom.

Faraway, yet still present, it thumped against your chest like an echo of your own heart, a harmonisation of all the trees, bushes, flowers and animals. It was almost enchanting how it slowly thudded within you, and with such welcome. 

Like greeting a friend you had not seen for a long time. 

When you caught the Prince’s gaze, his entire face lit up. 

Before you could say anymore, you were swept into the boy’s arms, engulfing you with a hug of eternal warmth. His voice rang along your soul as he declared to the whole word.

“Nature has accepted you, ____!”

You heard the clicked tongue of Jisung beneath you, and Beomgyu brought you at arm’s length before sticking out his tongue at his pet. 

He looked to you once more, and saw the very emotions you dared not let yourself believe in.

“I knew you were capable of change, sweet jackal.”

The tears, this time, refused to be held back any longer. 

The boy melted as he swept away each tumbling drop with his fingers, clutching your face. 

As you leaned in this time, kissing him breathlessly, you tasted the smile which flourished upon his lips, drinking in your every essence. 

You wondered, thinking away as your heart beat faster, whether this was still a dream, a vision which would end the moment you woke up, back in the cold village you once called your home. 

When you felt the presence of the celestial being again, looking down from the branches of the Tree of Life, you knew that this was no delusion.

Pulling away, you turned Beomgyu to the glistening, living structure, both of you catching sight of her.

Mother Nature smiled at her heirs.

The both of you knew it in your hearts, simultaneously beating. 

The heirs of Regna Terrae would not let her down. 

[see-arcane]

Dracula I think would prefer to avoid the 'heroes' of The Beetle on principle--he has a surprising record of actually leaving people who annoy him alive? for some reason? Thomas Bilder and the sailors talk shit directly to his face and live, and Marjorie and Dora aren't nearly as appealing to be around as Lucy or Mina, so, pass on putting either of them in his mouth--BUT I also believe that Sydney would Atherton at him one time too many. So Atherton dies.

Paul Lessingham is a coin toss, being a far less palatable cousin to Jonathan's character. Robert Holt...is probably chomped the moment he breaks into Carfax Abbey in a fit of desperation. Again, coin toss on survival ala vampirism or getting killed outright. Depends on the Count's mood and how worth his time Holt seems. Detective Whathisface exists. He solves nothing. Dracula probably mistakes him for a piece of decoration at some point.

Now.

The BEETLE versus the Harkers.

That would be interesting, seeing as the Beetle's whole point in being in England (if we can call it that) is to menace Paul Lessingham. First order of business after -checks notes- Beetle-braining some random guy into stripping down and playing dead for a while, followed by fighting and losing to a raccoon possibly?, is ordering the Beetle-thralled Holt into naked-robbing Lessingham of his love letters from Marjorie. For reasons.

Now, if we assume Jonathan Harker gets put in Holt's position, it has to come from a different place than Holt's introduction, i.e. the break-in. Maybe, Jonathan being Jonathan, he crosses paths with the Beetle due to trying to find a better living situation than the scamming landlady's setup. Cue him

1) Finding the Beetle and all those nice carpets a better, fairer household :) Followed immediately by

2) Jonathan getting Beetle-brained :( Coin toss on whether the BEETLE is feeling vindictive enough to have him get bare-assed pre-burglary orders, what with, you know. Getting the new digs arranged. Can't really arbitrarily declare him a thief now, huh? Bit awkward. Leads to

3) "So, thank you for the upgrade, the BEETLE will leave a good review with Hawkins. There's a gold star in it for you if you go out and burgle this statesman politician's house and steal some letters for m--"

"Got them." (Yup, those are the letters.)

"...How?"

"Adrenaline engages Victorian Spider-Man abilities. May I go home now?"

"..."

4) "What are your feelings about moving to Egypt? :)"

"I would prefer not to :("

"Could you repeat that? I think the rugs are sponging up the sound."

Beetle-brained voice: "Yes I Would Love to Move to Egypt Forever, Thank You, the Beetle."

5) Mina's Jonathan radar has long since kicked in. She beats them to the train station. Between her being present and the Beetle's hypnotic hold supposedly being influenced by how much willpower someone has, Jonathan's all-encompassing Love for Mina overrides the Beetle-braining. They reunite, the Beetle gets away on the train...

6) ...which still blows up, sacrificing itself once again to end the saga of THE BEETLE

7) Mina and Jonathan make it in time for lunch with Lucy and her new boyfriends c:

Thought experiment: the villains of The Beetle and Dracula swap. The Beetle is up against the Harkers and co. Dracula is up against…whoever the heroes in The Beetle are. What happens?

[carryonthroughtheages]

Hello everyone!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!

Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!

We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!

Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡

MONDAY:

1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr

Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.

That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.

2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow was dead.

Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.

So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.

But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.

3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr

I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.

4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr

TUESDAY:

1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr

1955. London. Young love.

Forbidden love.

A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.

But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.

(Baz has other ideas.)

2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…

Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.

But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.

3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.

4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3

I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”

He offers his hand. “Simon.”

Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”

Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”

This time, they listen.

--

Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.

Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.

WEDNESDAY

1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr

Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.

Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.

Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.

2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr

Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.

3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr

thnétos: subject to death, mortal

a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus

4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr

THURSDAY

1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr

I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.

I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.

Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.

2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr

Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.

Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.

3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr

September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.

What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.

4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr

A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.

Too bad that person is the crown prince.

FRIDAY

1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr

“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.

Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.

Right?

2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr

Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.

But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.

The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.

3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3

Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.

4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr

In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.

Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.

But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?

A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.

5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)

[outofsstyles]

KILLER QUEEN (80s!AU)

 A/N: Heyaa!! So here’s what happens when I watch Sing Street right after reading some of Olivia’s boyfriend!Harry prompts :) Also a huge thank you to Soph @canyon-moan​ for betaing this for me!! A gentle reminder that I was not, in fact, alive in the 80s so please take it easy in that aspect lol. If you like it *please reblog*, it helps a lot, also I’d love to hear your feedback!!!!

Word count: 25.3k (I have no self control!! Someone stop me!!)

Pairing: Musician!Harry + Bassist!Reader

Prompts: making it official + enemies but secretly lovers

Warnings: Our typical mentions of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll (and a lot of denim!)

Concept: You and Harry are in rival bands and you shouldn’t really get along but you can’t help it.

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

It didn’t come as a surprise to you that, from the moment you agreed to be part of the band, your agenda would become more frantic. That’s all you read on magazines or see on the television on those late nights MTV programs that love to talk about that rockstar life. The shows and the sleepless nights. The drugs and the sex between stages. It’s always what comes to the minds of anyone that thinks about following the music path.

Of course, you’re far from being The Bangles or Duran Duran, but even when it comes to playing for uninterested drunks on small crummy bars, you still found yourself barely able to catch a breather from it. 

And it also doesn’t help that on top of it all, you also try your best to balancing your studies as you go into your third year of uni. So, between being tucked behind your bass during rehearsals and going around begging for stuck up pub owners to give a spot, you still have to find time for the busy class schedule that also blends with your tutoring job on the side. Sometimes it feels like juggling those two contrasting lives is too much, and when you walk home each day too exhausted to even function, you ponder if you should just drop one of them.

You still manage to fall into a rather chaotic routine of dragging through weekdays to fall into reckless weekends. It’s not easy, but you make it work.

Today, however, seemed to be an odd one. From the moment you woke up with the sound of birds chirping and the faint conversation of your neighbors outside your window, you felt a sense of relaxation that has become a rarity to you. It’s a welcoming change from your usual rowdy roommates bantering at each other or the loud music blasting through the walls that serve as your alarm on regular days. The silence that engrosses your normally-chaotic home is calming as much as it is strange. 

The whole day went by in a lulling and lazy pace, and between your several attempts of keeping yourself occupied (that being going on a walk to the library or going through your mom’s old recipe book) you actually catch yourself realizing the quietness can be louder than your roommates.

It’s a weird concept to you. Missing them when you spend so much time together in the band, but you still can’t help it. So you just blast the radio and let Rio fill in the empty walls as you wait for one of them to come home.

By the time the night falls, wind thumping on the closed windows as the first thin drops of rain start to hit the glass, Lena is back from her shift with a low huff and a roll of her eyes, mumbling how she’s never covering weekend shifts ever again -- which you both know is not true, but neither mention it. And that’s how you find yourself at the end of your unruffled day, tucked at the end of your couch under a cozy blanket. Listening to one of MTV’s nightly programs - that Lena watches almost religiously after a day of work - as background noise. You focus on the open book settled on top of your lap, enjoying her company quietly as you flip through the pages.

It could be the perfect ending for a perfectly relaxing day, the sound of the rain almost lulling you to sleep as the words in front of you begin to shuffle, finding it harder to concentrate with your mind drifting off.

But before you can let your eyes fall close and your head snuggle back into the cushions, you’re startled awake by the burst of your front door opening. The sudden noise makes you and Lena jump, a yelp leaving your lips as you look back to the source of your fright. 

You barely have any time to feel panicked or even wrap your head around the possibilities of what could have caused the outburst as Abbey barges into the room.  She all but jumps on each step, stumbling a bit as she makes her way around the couch to stand tall in front of you. Her red hair is full and damp, droplets of water running down her body, causing her clothes to stick to her skin.

“I got us a gig!” Her breath is short as if she just ran a long way.

“Christ, Abbey, don’t do that!” You relax back into the couch once you realize there’s no real threat invading your home, closing your eyes and letting out a breath. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She scoffs, “Did you listen to a word I just said?” You notice her eyes are blown out, “I got us a gig, as in a </i> real gig.”

“A real gig?” Lena inquires, standing up to walk towards the front door that was left agape, closing it with a thump.

Abbey’s grin grows, her words come out slow but clear. “Next Saturday in the Blue Bird.”

“That’s in a week.” You state.

Her shoulders drop, “Yeah, and?”

“Blue Bird?” Lena comes in the room again, stopping by the head of the couch and crossing her arms under her chest. “How did you even get that I thought the only band that played there was--”

“You’re right Lena, was as in not anymore because we are playing there, and there’s more.” She interrupts, her voice raising an octave. “The owner, Ronnie, said if we’re good enough he can arrange for us to play every other weekend.”

“You’re insane.” You shake your head slightly. “That’s like a place where people actually go for the music, what makes you think we can pull that off?”

Abbey points a finger at you, “You’re being a pessimist, and that’s not appreciated in here.” She waves her hands around, trying to assert her point. “We can and we will pull that off and take over the permanent spot on the weekends.”

“Is that what this is about?” Lena smirks, eyebrows raising at her friend. “It’s been a hot minute since you raged about that Harry boy.”

 “It’s not just about him, Adeline.” She barks, “It’s about us! We need to find our confidence again.”

 “Again?” You speak out, making her snap her eyes back at you.

“Yes, again.” She says, “We’re doing this and it’s gonna be wicked.”

You sigh, nodding in agreement as you exchange a knowing look with Lena.

In all fairness, the prospect of playing a gig at an actual music house is as exciting as it is scary. It’s not like you think you’re not able to pull it off, but the simple thought of having people actually paying attention to your presence on stage is enough to make you want to hide under your covers and never come out. But seeing Abbey so pumped about it, there’s no way in a million years you’d ever say no.

She was the one that wanted to start a band, after all. Before she dropped out, in what seems like ages ago, she was your roommate that would drag you around every time she had those spontaneous ideas, that is going out for pancakes at three in the morning, go on weekend trips to concerts two cities away, or, well, start a band herself.  

In the beginning, it was just the three of you, Abbey as the lead, you on the bass, and a girl you met on one of the said weekend trips, who had introduced herself as Lena, on the guitar. And not even a month later, you were all living together in a tiny house near the main street. 

At first, the biggest issue, to your surprises, was that you couldn’t find a drummer if your lives depended on it. Even after putting out posters around campus, you only got two calls from men whose only interest was the “all-girls band” part of it. Things got better when you met Jaz, a smiley girl from your Phonetics class. She wasn’t a drummer, but her boyfriend was, they both played for their High School band (which is how they met, a proper movie-worthy story if they’d ask you). And just like that, you got yourselves a drummer and a keyboardist.

For the next few months that followed you played on dirty bars and house parties, getting paid with tipsy pats on your backs, or, if you were lucky, maybe a pack of cheap drinks for you all to share. It’s the frustrating part of trying to get into the music path, you found, most serious places were not interested on a band with hardly any live experience and no original songs whatsoever. So you just had to take whatever opportunity came your way. Once, you even played on the birthday party of Lena’s manager’s daughter, which was probably the most disastrous experience of them all, considering a crowd of eight-year-olds and their posh moms weren’t exactly fond of listening to loud covers of Blondie. You got to play three full songs before one of them asked you to leave. 

The first time you actually got money was when Abbey dragged you and Lena to play on the sidewalk of the National Park, where people would come and go with their busy lives and full wallets. That was the best one, you easily got three hundred within a few hours of your open cases, which was split between the three of you at the end of the day.

Afterward, you wanted to play on the streets again, but Abbey wished more than just being a street performer, she yearned for the glow of the spotlights and a place on the stage. And it’s not like you lot didn’t think of it as well, how it would be like to have an actual gig. So, you just went back to the old routine of jumping from bar to bar.  Playing for people that couldn't care less about your presence on the small stage, focusing only on their cheap beers and drunk conversations. 

For a while it seemed like that was all there was to it, the music scene getting more congested by the minute, you thought there was no way you’d ever make it out there. There were moments you even thought about giving it up, if you were honest, setting your mind into getting your English degree that at least has the guarantee of a stable paycheck by the end of it. But as Abbey always says, there’s nothing you can’t do with a twist of your hair and a bat of your lashes. And somehow, she managed to be true to her word, presenting an opportunity to actually start taking this seriously.

And it would be a lie to say there isn’t an excitement growing at the pit of your stomach the more you think about it.

                                ❁         ❁        ❁ 

You’ve heard about the Blue Bird before.

Of course you have, it’s near to impossible not to. Being in a small town, predominantly surrounded by uni students, and that being the only music pub in the area, you’ve heard about it quite often. 

It’s become quite the hot spot for people interested in listening to good music while getting lost in the bottom of their beer glasses. With the only other competitor being a good forty-minute drive away, people go in crowds on the weekends as a getaway from their textbooks. You’re not sure why you’ve never been in it, though, only going as far as walking past it on your nightly walks during the week, listening to the faint sound of whatever band’s playing at the time. 

But if there’s one thing that’s always brought up when the subject is the Blue Bird is CHASM, more specifically Harry Styles. They have the permanent spot on the weekends and have become one of the main reason people - women, mainly - come in lots to have a spot inside the packed space. 

As much as his name comes up in a dreamy sigh and followed by a string of giggles when you hear it being mentioned by a classmate or overhear it somewhere in public, inside of your bubble he’s pretty much only mentioned in annoyed huffs or with a roll of eyes. If you’re honest, you know close to nothing about him, wouldn’t even be able to point him out on the street if you ever happen to cross paths. But you do know that Abbey is not fond of him in the slightest, so for that, you try to keep your distance from anything that has to do with Harry Styles.

You’re not sure how this hatred of her came to be and to be honest, you’ve never really been bothered enough to ask. Abbey doesn’t like a lot of people, her first impression of them it’s what she keeps in her heart with zero to no chance of changing it, so you just assume this Harry guy might’ve not given her a good one. It’s never really been something you really dwelled on, the circumstances in your life allowing you to ignore his existence unless he’s being spoken of. But it feels like a whole nother story now that you’ve essentially stolen his golden spot on the saturday night. 

The moment you walk into The Blue Bird is when you start to come to the realization that this is really happening. Not even a full step in, your eyes already dart to the big stage standing tall across from the entrance door, bigger than any other one you’ve ever been in -- being used to small platforms that barely have enough space to fit a drumset. it’s hard not to let your lips part in awe at the size of it all, the outside is rather modest compared to it, the only really striking detail being the LED sign with the name of the pub. There’s a large bar standing in the middle of the place, serving almost as a divisor of the two areas of the pub. The first area is the one you walk into as you first enter the place, with tables surrounding the space -- that now have their chairs propped on top of them, and you reckon this is where people sit around as they wait for the musical act of afterward when they can barely keep themselves up on their feet. The second area, however, it’s just empty of any barrier, except from the stools lined in front of the bar, meant mainly for people to crowd in front of the stage.

The walls are what catches your attention, though. The one where the front door stands is covered with magazines and newspaper cutouts of celebrities, scandalous headlines written in big bold letters, and random articles about their personal lives. On top of this big collage, there are band posters, you assume the ones that played in here, most of them stuck once to the wall, except for one that you can see multiple different colored papers with the same name written on it. 

You stop in front of one of them, one that’s just below your eyesight but catches your attention with the big blood-red letters that read CHASM on top of it, with a smaller font on the side saying  ��live every weekend of ‘87” right below it. What you focus on, however, are the five faces staring back at you, their serious expressions looking almost haunting with the black and white filter. But it’s the one in the middle that your eyes immediately dart to. Unlike his bandmates, his lips are frozen with a slight smirk, small enough that wandering eyes could easily miss it, but still prominent enough that you can make out the shadow of a dimple on his cheek. His hair is settled in a wild nest, but not in a sloppy way, you decide, they’re a rockstar kind of messy. He’s handsome, there’s no doubt in that, just by looking at the small print of his face you can understand what the fuss is about, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. But it doesn’t keep your mind from wondering the color of his eyes and what it would be like to see them up close, as you look back at the taunting grin you think what could be the tone of his lips or--

“Lost something in there?” Lena’s voice makes you jump, turning swiftly to find her grinning at you. “You should come and start getting everything ready before Abbey finds you admiring our arch-nemesis.”

Your eyes widen, coughing in surprise as you try to regain composure after being caught. “I-- I wasn’t--”

She chuckles, turning to roam back to the stage before you can finish, throwing you one last look over her shoulder. “Sure thing, buttercup.”

You spare one last look to the poster before following her lead to the other side of the room where the rest of your friends are setting up the instruments on top of the stage. Once you locate your case tucked in the far left corner you quickly open it, finding your soft pink tinted bass resting inside of it. The Sesame Street sparkling stickers stuck to it glimmer from this angle (you got them in a favor bag from when you played at the birthday party), thanks to one of the spotlights shining directly at them. You pick the instrument up, adjusting the strap over your shoulder and giving the chords a few experimental strokes before looking up at the empty place.

There’s no denial of the anticipation that takes over every part of your body at the sight of the pub from the stage. A perfect mixture of excitement and anxiousness that lights up as you imagine how it will be like to see it filled up. It makes you gnawn at you bottom lip, jumping a bit on you feet as you move to connect your bass to the amplifier.

For a while, you just finish setting up the stage, tuning in the instruments, the sounds echoing on the empty space in a bit of a disarray, as you get used to the feeling of using proper sound equipment. You had the chance to meet the owner, Ronnie, for a brief minute as he strolled around the stage, observing you all before mumbling something about paying anything you broke and announcing he’d be in his office until opening hours. It wasn’t the warmest greeting you’ll admit, but you don’t really care, enjoying the opportunity nevertheless. 

Abbey arrives just a few minutes before the rehearsal is set to start, contemplating the view of everyone getting into a more of a harmonic arrangement before disappearing backstage for a moment without saying much of a word. When she comes back, she props herself in front of a big curved mirror cutting through one of the walls.

“Do you think you can do my makeup today, babe?” She calls back at you, gazing from over her shoulder with a slight pout on her ips.

“Sure.” You fiddle with the guitar pick between your fingers. “Do you want that rainbow look from last time?”

“Maybe something with less color this time.” She focuses back on her reflection, sighing loudly as fingers run through her locks. “I’m thinking of dying my hair black,” she tilts her head as if she’s envisioning her words. “I don’t know, just to try out something new.”

“That won’t make you look more like Joan Jett, you know.” A voice echoes in the empty space, bringing your attention to the entrance of the place.

And there he stands. The figure you had been staring at not long before, on the same poster stuck right behind where he is leaning, arms crossed and a smug look on his face. 

Harry stands there as if he just walked right out of the big screen, is the kind of beautiful you don’t see quite often outside a magazine cover. Not that it’s something that surprises you, considering you could tell from even a poorly printed image on a poster that the sharp curve of his jaw and the cut of his cheekbones could call anyone’s attention from afar. Even with what you find to be a rather plain outfit for someone like him, a simple white turtleneck tucked in his lightwash jeans, matched with a denim jacket, he still manages to stand out somehow. It’s almost compelling, really. And you can’t help but follow him with your eyes as he pushes himself off the wall, making his way towards the bar with an attitude as if he owns the place.

Abbey scoffs from her spot, arms crossing under her chest. “Unlike you, I don’t have to try to be someone else to get attention, Styles.”

He rests an elbow on top of the counter, chuckling as he points a finger at your friend. “You’re getting better at this, I’m proud.”

“What the fuck are you even doing here?” She barks, keeping a stern look pointed at him.

“Wanted to check out who stole our Saturday night spot, princess.” He spits back at her, words dancing around the room in a teasing manner. “When Ronnie said it was a bunch of newbies had to see it with my own eyes.” Unlike her, he doesn’t seem bitter at the situation in hand, but somewhat amused at the heated girl scoffing at him. From the distance you stand, you can’t make out details, but it’s still enough to notice the grin imprinted on his face, dimples marking his cheeks as he clenches his jaw, eyes wandering around the stage as he leans back fully to rest both elbows on top of the stool. “Plus, I get free booze before the House opens.”

As the words leave his lips his eyes meet yours, and you quickly realize you must’ve been staring for quite a while. You see the smirk growing on his face before you quickly look back at the forgotten bass in your hands. There’s a warmth creeping from your neck to the tip of your ears from getting caught all but gawking at him. You move your hands to the cords, beginning to tune the instrument as an attempt to cover-up. But when you take a peek at him you still find his eyes watching you, only enhancing the blush that’s now undoubtedly taking over your cheeks.

“You lot are way more organized than I expected.” He speaks up again, motioning towards Ross sitting by the side of the stage near the drumset.  “Got a roadie and everything.”

“Piss off!” Ross snarls back at him.

Harry just smiles. “Just taking a piss, mate.”

“I better not see you going around trying to get to one of my girls, Styles.” Abbey calls back from her shoulder as she jumps onto the stage, turning to face him. “Or you’re a dead man.”

“What’s that they can’t speak for themselves?” He arches his brows at her. “Where’s all that sexual freedom you love to brag about?”

“You’d love to use that as an excuse, wouldn’t you?” She toys with the mic stand. “You stay away from them.”

There’s no more banter once you begin the rehearsal. Harry grabbing a glass of a drink you can’t quite make out from the distance and moves to a spot tucked by the back of the place. Curiously, you catch yourself glimpsing in his direction every so often, but you can barely make out his silhouette due to the stage lights limiting your vision. At one point, when it dims down, you can see him scrunching over the table, focusing on a small journal sitting on top of it -- you find it odd his choice of place to do so, but don’t duel on it too much.

What keeps crawling back into your mind is Abbey’s words to Harry earlier, telling him to not try his way with any of you. She was talking about you. That much was clear, considering there’s not any other choice for him, with Jaz being very much compromised and Lena having no interest in engaging with men in any way. That leaves you as the only option that he could possibly pursue. It makes you think why she’d even consider that a possibility in the first place, but you push it to the back of your mind, concentrating on you bass lines until it’s around the opening hour and you’re getting ready backstage.

None of you are used to the concept of having a dressing room, so as undusted as it seems from a first glance, it still only helps to enhance the reality that hits you of this whole experience. The far voices from people starting to fill in the bar outside making your nerves become near overwhelming as you try to apply some eyeshadow with shaky hands. 

When you’re all ready to go, just about half an hour away from walking onstage, you try to dull your anxiety with a cup handed to you by Lena of something you’re not quite sure what it is but it tastes like oranges and tequila. You settle on a spot on the certainly old red couch prompted against the wall. Avoiding a big rip cutting through the middle of it, foam poking out of the hole, you try not to think of what could’ve caused it -- or all the other stains adorning it. 

There’s people coming and going around the space, the door not staying close for longer than a minute. Faster than you can process it, the room is suddenly crammed with people, none of which you recognize yet they greet you as if you’d been friends your whole life. Their loud voices mesh together, making it harder to even hear your own voice if you were to speak out loud. A strong scent of incense takes over the room, so intense you can feel the beginning of a headache. There are people stumbling on their feet trying to get to the stool across from you, where you catch a glimpse of a man with a messy mohawk snorting something out of a dirty bill. 

Two strangers found their sits next to you at some point - not paying the same attention you had to the rip scarring through the cushions. Both get lost in their conversation, the man’s fluffed curls poking your face occasionally when he gets too excited with the hand gestures. You catch a word or two when they try to include you in it, you offer a simple nod, not bothering to try and understand their muddled words.

It all starts to feel a bit overwhelming, the amount of strangers surrounding you along with the nervous feeling that’s already taking over your stomach -- the drink not being of any help at all. You look around trying to find a familiar face, but you can barely spot the green ends of Lena’s hair through the crowd. Gazing down at your wrist clock, you figure there’s enough time for you to find a emptier spot so you can calm yourself down.

“I think I’m gonna get some air.” You say to no one in particular, seeing the man’s head nodding from your peripheral vision as you maneuver your way between leather-clad bodies towards the door.

You’re met with a just as packed hallway. Searching for a more vacant space, you spot a sign indicating an exit door that had been pointed at you earlier as the back alleyway. Without a second thought, you make your way around the crowded space. The nest of feet makes you trip slightly, making you crash against a girl standing next to the door. You mutter a quick apology, but you’re only met with a pitched giggle in response.

Once you reach the door you all but jolt your way out of the building. The brisk night air hitting your face, bringing a sense of relief near to instantly. You close your eyes at the feeling, breathing in as the breeze dances around your face and messes with your air.

“Well, if it’s not one of Abigail’s bunnies.” A voice cuts through the air, breaking you from your moment of relief. Your eyes flutter open, meeting Harry’s irises watching you. He’s leaning back on the wall across from you, foot prompt up and jacket thrown over his shoulders. His fingers fiddle with a closed package of cigarettes, dimples shadowing on his face in amusement.

You blink at him, taking a second to process his words. “I’m not a bunny, whatever that means.”

His lips twitch up. “I’m sure you’re not, darling.”

You observe as he thumbs the package in hand open, quickly grabbing a cigarette and resting it between his lips. “Need a light for that?”

His brows shoot up. “Didn’t take you for a smoker, angel.”

“I’m not, my friends are.” You reach for the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out a tiny pink lighter and throwing it towards him.

He catches it, holding it up between his index and middle finger. “You carry that around for your friends?” He keeps his eyes trained on you as he raises the lighter, flicking it so it paints the end of the cigarette a fiery orange. You can’t help but notice the chipped black nail polish adorning his nails, a couple of rings hugging his fingers, only adding to his rockstar persona. His cheeks hollow around it, taking a slow drag exhaling smooth puffs of smoke out of his puckered lips. He points the end of the cigarette towards you. “That’s a good girl.”

You feel your breath hitch on your throat, looking down as you feel for the second time in the day a heat taking over your cheeks. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the alleyway, your gaze waves around checking a few other lone smokers not too far from you. When you peek at him again, he’s still watching you with the same smug look he had when he first walked in. From this distance you can get a better look at his face, with it’s full colors, and you make a point to figure the forest green of his eyes flickering under the dim light. 

You clear your throat, trying to fill in the silence that’s taken over the space. Keeping your eyes still trained on a random spot where the alley meets the street, you speak up,  “So, how did get a gig here?”

“Trying to get to know me now, love?” There’s a smug tone to his voice, and it makes you shoot your eyes at him.

You shake your head, scoffing softly. “Was trying to be nice, forget it.”

He lets the air fall quiet for a beat, the corner of his lips tugging up as he takes another drag of the cigarette. “My uncle owns the place.”

“Ronnie is your uncle?” You crease your eyebrows.

“Yup.” He props his foot down from the wall, kicking a small rock on the floor. “He’s a right prick, but he can be nice if you get on his soft spot.” He shrugs, eyes meeting yours. “What ‘bout you, bunny?”

 “What about me?”

“How did you get in the spotlight?”

You breathe out a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not in the spotlight,” 

“You’re stepping on that stage in a few minutes, love, that’s hardly true.”

You chew on your lip, locking your eyes on your feet as you sway back and forth gently. “But I’m, like, on the invisible side of the stage.”

“Invisible side?” 

You shrug, trying to appear unflappable. “Yeah, well, no one ever notices the bassist.”

“I do.” He says without skipping a beat, and when you search for his eyes they’re aloof as if the words just left his lips without a single implication behind them. You wonder if there is one. Or maybe you’re just reading too much into it. Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop a flock of butterflies to sweep on your stomach as he shoots you a warm smile. He motions to the door behind you with his head, “Better get going, darling, if someone spots us talking they might think we’re friends.”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

“Did you see how crazy they went when we did Call Me?” Abbey leans over the table, not paying any mind to the way it starts to tilt towards her side. You and Jaz quickly balance the weight, straightening surface before the filled cups can start sliding down and causing a mess. You give her a scolding look for not being careful, but she doesn’t even look at you, only picking a fry from the pile in the middle and dipping inside her vanilla milkshake, sitting back and elbowing Lena next to her playfully. “And to think you said it’s not a gig song.”

“I didn’t say that.” Lena shakes the cup in her hand, circling the straw as to mix the melting ice cream inside, completely unfazed by her friend’s tease. “Just said we should do something new if people wanted old songs they would tune on that good times radio station, or whatever it’s called.”

“People like listening to classics!” Abbey protests, raising her voice bit, she’s either forgotten she’s in public or is just simply too stoned to care. Either way, you try to shush her, muffling a giggle with the back of your hand as you see a group two tables down looking back at her. She only huffs, leaning back down on her seat, “What do you suggest we play, then? Duran Duran?”

“I like Duran Duran.” You pester, trying to repress a smile as she shoots you a pointed look.

“I actually think Duran Duran is a great idea.” Lena backs you up, the same taunting smile reflecting on her face as she says it looking at you. 

“You two are completely insane if you think I’m singing new wave, might as well start to fill in for a new vocalist.” She shoves her hand full of fries, dropping to her side of the table with a shrug.

“Jaz you think that girl from your choir is available? The blonde one?” Lena bites into her straw, barely containing her laugh as Abbey narrows her eyes at her.

You watch in amusement from across the table, the contrast between Lena and Abbey looking comical as they continue to banter at each other. In one side there’s Lena who’s leaning back on the wall next to her, her neon pink jumpsuit standing out from anyone else in your group, hair hardly styled, being more of a nest in her head, the sides shaved and the back falling on her shoulders in a mullet. On the other side, Abbey’s swallowed in black, the only color being the red of her hair, that’s pushed up in a high side ponytail.

It was her idea to come to the diner after the gig, declining every offer of an after party (which is new for her) and insisting you had to have this moment to decompress together as a band. What you didn’t take account of, is that a diner on a Saturday night isn’t exactly a deserted place. So after spending an hour sitting on the parking lot, waiting for a table, you finally got yourselves a booth tucked by the back. And now as the place gets clearer and quieter by the minute, after getting your round of burgers, you share a big pile of fries, not ready to leave and sleep on this experience just yet.

“You know who also seem to enjoy the show? That Harry dude.” The mention of his name calls your attention to Lena. “Caught him in the corner a couple times watching us.”

You take a sip of his drink, trying to mask any expression that exposes the fact that you’d noticed too, maybe more than just a couple times.

To your relief, everyone focuses on Abbey as she lets out an annoyed huff. “Why’d you bring him up of all people.” She picks up her nearly empty cup a bit too harshly, her voice rising again. “He called me a Joan Jett wannabe! Fucking prick.”

 “You do dress like her,” Lena raises her brows in defiance.

“It’s called an inspiration, Adeline, doesn’t mean I’m trying to be her.” She barks at her friend. “Doesn’t give that knobhead the right to be a dick about it.”

“Why don’t you like him?” The question slips out of your lips before you can stop it, and you regret it as soon as all eyes on the table set on you, Abbey’s face creasing in an incredulous look as if the answer was obvious.

 “Are you serious? Did you hear how he spoke to us?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug, looking down at your lap, fiddling with the hem of your shorts. “Just seemed like he was trying to get a rise out of you.”

“He’s got a stick up his ass, babe. A full narcissist, it’s ridiculous.” She shakes her head, scrunching her nose in aversion. “He’s also a complete womanizer, it’s disgusting if you ask me.”

“I guess,” You gaze up at her.”

“Babe, he’s a charmer, I’ve seen it before, he knows how to sweet talk someone.” She explains in a sigh. “They’re all like that.”

“They?”

“Men in bands.” She picks up another fry, poking it on her forehead as she makes her point. “Have their heads bigger than the whole stage, think they can do just about anything.”

“Suppose that’s true,” You agree, not wanting to get further in this discussion.

She smiles, biting a piece of the fry before pointing it at you. “It is, which is why we are smart girls and don’t fuck with them.”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁

You’re aware that going for a walk by yourself at night is not a very secure choice. 

Even living in what you feel like could be the most monotone town in the area (where the biggest report on the local news was when two boys got stuck on a tree thanks to a dare with their friends). But it still doesn’t stop you from being careful, only going around the busier streets, watching the movement of people - mostly students - chatting the night away on the filled pub table, enjoying the short break between studies before going back at it once the weekend’s over. 

You stroll around with not much of a purpose, really, only needing a bit of time to yourself every so often when you feel the turmoil in your home becomes to much (on those weekends when both your roommates decide to stay home). So you just go on your usual path, breathing in the night air and enjoying some alone time.

The ending of your course is marked by none other than the Blue Bird, standing in a corner of the main street.

 A small group of people is gathered in front of it, smoking their cigarettes. You stare at them for a minute as you get closer to the led lights indicating the entrance of the pub, the girls with their bright-colored outfits, hair styled and puffed up as they laugh along to whatever one of the boys has said. One of them has a leather jacket thrown over her shoulder that almost swallows her figure, and you can only assume that it belongs to the man talking to her, leaning back on a payphone, the quiff in his hair so high it makes him look like a knock-off John Travolta. The thought makes you breathe out a laugh to yourself.

Once you reach the entrance you look at it mindlessly, not being able to see much from outside except the string curtain hanged on top of the open door. You turn on your heels, ready to start making your way back, but as you pay attention to the muffled sounds coming from inside the pub you stop on your tracks. A familiar tune catching your attention, making you turn in the direction of the entry. Somebody to Love. 

It peaks your curiosity. If you’re honest, you feel like covering a Queen song is probably one of the most bound for disaster decisions someone can make. But as you feel yourself approaching the entrance, the voice of whoever’s singing it all but lures you inside. It’s not the same as the original, of course, but the lower tone to it fits it just as beautifully and once you fully walk in you can almost feel your heart skip a beat to find Harry standing on stage. His eyes closed in concentration. 

It’s saturday. His saturday night. You forgot about that.

You don’t dare to try to mend amongst the crowd of people packed in front of the stage, making your way to the bar. You thankfully find an empty stool without much of a fight, allowing you a perfect vision of the stage.

Harry is playing the guitar, his voice blending perfectly with the vocals of the girls in the background, eyes closed as he feels every lyric coming out of his throat. His stage look is much different than the one he wore back when you first saw him, it’s something you reckon not many people could rock out as good as he does. A mismatched suit, light green blazer with a pink blouse underneath, along with bright blue trousers -- it’s as if he picked one piece from different colored suits (which you assume he probably did). The locks of his hair are no longer running wild on his head, instead, it’s gelled back, a single rebel strand falling charmingly against his forehead. You wonder if it’s on purpose.

It’s quite a sight to see him like this, you’re not gonna lie. All suited up with no tie, the blouse only partially buttoned so you notice a tease of some tattoos on his chest. You’d noticed his good looks before, it’s impossible not to, but there’s something about the stage glow that makes it impossible to look away from him. It’s mesmerizing.

To your surprise, the rest of his set mainly consists of originals, and unlike you’d expect for any amateur band that dares to sweep away from covers, he manages to hold the crowd’s attention as if he’s singing any other hit song you hear on the radio. Even not knowing the lyrics, people cheer along to the songs, moving to the beat as best as they can in the crowded space. And that’s a direct result of the charisma he holds while standing on stage.

It’s entrancing, really, how he holds himself as if he was born to be doing this. And you think maybe he was. 

There’s a mischievous glow to him, when he rocks out to his own songs, grinding slightly against the mic stand. A gesture that makes you flustered even from your seat a couple of meters away. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him even if you tried. And you’re sure as hell not trying.

At one point you feel a poke in your arm, turning around to be met with the barman who recognizes you from the week prior. He greets you with a shout over the noise, offering you a drink on his account. Your first instinct is to refuse, considering you weren’t even supposed to stay for long, but after a bit of insisting on his part you accept with a shy smile.

By the time he’s ending the last song, you’re at the edge of your seat, catching yourself wishing you could see more of him. The lights in the audience turn on as he wraps up the set, and just before he bows down with the rest of his band his eyes wander in your direction. It’s so quickly that you think you could’ve just imagined it, considering his eyes don’t meet yours again, only rushing his way backstage.

You blink at the empty spot where he once stood for a moment, almost feeling frozen in place as you try to take in what happened. Turning on your stool to face the bar, you gaze down at your forgotten drink. You hold it to your lips, deciding to finish it so you can ease your way out before anyone else spots you. Your attempt is frustrated, however, when you hear a voice coming from behind you.

“Reckon Abbey Road would throw a fit if she knew you’re wandering around watching my concert.” You turn to face Harry, finding him looking down at you, signature smirk making his dimples poke onto his cheeks. His hands are hidden inside the pockets of his dress pants and he’s taken off his blazer, causing the pink of his blouse to stand out even more.

You chew the inside of your lip. “I can make my own decisions, you know.”

“That’s good to hear, bunny.” His smile grows, hand leaving the pocket to motion at the empty spot next to you. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Be my guest.”

He sits on the empty stool, turning to the bartender that’s handing a drink to a man standing behind you. “Can you give the lady another one of what she was drinking? On my tab.”

“Oh you don’t have to, I was about to--” You begin, but the man behind the counter doesn’t care to listen, only picking up your empty glass and moving away to fill it up. “leave.”

“Already?” Harry arches his eyebrows, resting his arm on top of the counter and leaning towards you. His voice comes out a bit softer, dropping the playful tone, “let me buy you a drink, angel.”

You ignore the way the hairs on your neck rise at the petname. “You really don’t have to--”

“I want to.”

“Okay.” You breathe out, not being able to hold back your smile once his own grows on his face.

As if on cue, the bartender comes back with two glasses, setting them in front of the two of you. You don’t fail to note the fact that he gives Harry his drink without being asked to.

He picks up his glass, holding it up, to which you do the same, clinking your glasses slightly before taking a sip.  “So, what brings you here tonight? Measuring the competition?”

 “I was just walking around, heard a lousy cover of Somebody To Love, and decided to come in.”

He throws his head back a bit in laughter, nose scrunching adorably. You have to look away as to not find yourself staring. “A Queen fan, then?”

 “You could say so.”

“A pretty girl with a good taste in music, gonna steal m’heart if you keep going, bunny.” And just like that, it’s like he takes all the words out of your mind. You only let out a small chuckle, taking a sip of your drink as you look away to cove the blush that paints your cheeks. His eyes are still trained on you, though. “Was it any good?”

“Huh?” You blink back at him.

“The cover.” He grins. “Or was it really that lousy?”

“Oh, it was amazing.” You say truthfully, clearing your throat. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“Thank you.” He bows his head slightly, smiling at you. And unlike before, it’s not smug, but rather warm, you smile back at him. “Enjoyed the show, then?”

“I did.” You nod.

“I’m glad.” He runs his finger around the brim of his glass, tapping against it once with a click of his ring against the glass.  “What would you change about it?”

The question takes you back. “What would I change?” 

 “Yeah.” He clasps his hands over his lap, moving his feet on the floor so his stool swivels from one side to the other.

“Uhm…” You crease your brows, trying to hack your brain for an answer. Your eyes land on his blouse, still halfway unbuttoned. “Your shirt.”

“M’shirt?” He questions, brows shooting towards his hairline, clearly not expecting the answer. He gazes down at the piece on his body, fingers pitching the material as he looks back at you. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Not a big fan of pink.” You shrug.

“Now, we just can’t have that, bunny.” He clicks his tongue. “Pink is the new color of rock n roll!”

You chuckle. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, I’m sorry then, mister rockstar.”

His face lights up in a giggle, lips parting to say something but before he can let the words out a hand rests on his shoulder calling both your attentions to the man standing next to him. You recognize him from standing next to Harry on stage as the guitar player.

“We’re hopping over to Eamon’s.” He doesn’t acknowledge you until Harry’s eyes hover over in your direction. 

“That’s fine, think I’ll stay behind this time.” Harry looks back at his friend, but you see him glimpsing at you from the corner of his eyes.

You watch as his friend raises his brows, gazing between the two of you in a curious manner. You clear your throat, shifting in your seat as you look at them. “ It’s fine, I should get going anyway.”

“You don’t have to,” he says in a blink, a smirk twitching on his lips almost as if to cover up how quickly he said it. He turns back to his friend, who’s still watching the interaction with raised eyebrows.  “You can go without me, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Harry, you didn’t have to.” You subconsciously reach for his arm, retracting your touch just as fast when he glances at it. Clearing your throat, you play with “I really should get going, I was supposed to be on a walk after all.”

“Let me walk you back then,” he gets up from his stool, giving his friend a brief hug before turning back to you and extending his hand for you to take. Your lips part to protest, feeling as if you’re holding him back even though it was his decision to stay behind, but before the words can even come out of your mouth he beats you to it,  “there’s no way I’m letting you go home by yourself this late, love.”

You sigh, shoulder dropping in defeat as you hold back a smile. Taking his hand, you stand up, “okay.”

The main street hasn’t exactly quieted down since you first walked by it, in fact, it only seems like it’s gotten rowdier. Time only increasing the buzz wandering in the air around the people filling the bars, voices louder, filled glasses clinking more frequently. As you stroll through it side by side there’s a comment or to that floats in the air, but you have to all but shout it, fighting with the turmoil of noise.

As soon as you turn into the first street away from the crowds it’s as if someone had turned off the sound completely, the nest of voices getting far-off in the distance and the loudest sound being of the night breeze kissing the tree branches above you. You can feel Harry glancing up at you from the corner of your eye and it doesn’t take long until his voice echoes in the air in an attempt to make small talk.

It’s surprising to you, how easy it is to be drawn in a conversation with him. Harry’s essentially not the same offstage as he is under the spotlight, most people aren’t. There’s no need for him to bloat his charisma when talking to you, he’s quieter. Shy, almost. And it takes you back a bit, to see such contrast in a short amount of time. 

The magnetic force to him, however, still lingers even when he’s like this. You feel drawn to it, wanting to hear him speak about everything that comes to mind, just to savor the way he articulates his words, voice so calm and low it sends an electric chill down your spine. As he tells you about his music inspirations, going on the story about the time he traveled alone to crash a Fleetwood Mac concert, hands brushing against yours when he walks, you catch yourself wondering what it would feel like to link them together.

Once you reach your street, just a block away from the entrance gate of your home, you notice the front lights are yet to be turned off, indicating your roommates are still up and around -- most likely arguing about MTV’s top ten of the week. The realization makes you come to an abrupt stop, catching Harry off guard as he takes a few steps before realizing you stayed behind. 

“Wait.” You say once he turns around, brows furrowed in a silent question as to why you stopped. “Uhm… You can drop me off here… It’s fine.”

“What do you mean? Is it too far? I don’t mind walking-”

“No!” You interrupt. “It’s not that, my house is right there, see?” You point to the bricked building no too far from where you stand.

“Why do y’want me to drop you off here, then?” The crease on his face deepens.

“I-- it’s just--” you begin, not knowing how to say it. “It’s just the girls are still awake, and..”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, an amused grin expanding on his cheeks. “Don’t wanna get scolded for hanging out with the enemy.”

“Don’t say like that.” You chuckle at yourself, looking down in embarrassment. “They just will never let me hear the end of it.”

“I get it, bunny.” He takes easy steps towards you, closing the space as he stands tall in front of you. You hold your breath as you look up at him, meeting his irises glimmering in enjoyment, dimples shadowing on his cheek. His hand reaches up, moving a strand of your hair behind your ear and you swear if he gets any closer he’ll be able to hear your heart thumping in anticipation. “Had a lovely time with you.”

“Me, uhm--” you clear your throat as your voice cracks, blood flooding your cheeks. “Me too.”

The streetlight above gives his face a golden glow that almost takes your breath away, his hair glistening in the light due to the gel pushing it back, and now even more rebel strands curl against his forehead. You half expect him to lean down, you don’t know why he would, but for a moment it seems like he will. To your dismay, however, he steps back, giving you one last smile before moving out of your way on the sidewalk. “I’ll see you around, then.”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

“I have some exciting news for you.”

Abbey’s voice startles you, not realizing she’d entered the dressing room while you focused on the book on your lap. Since you’ve gotten a spot at every other weekend on the pub, your routine just seemed to get even more busy, with rehearsals almost every day. So, because of that you barely find time to do your assignments. And with a book report due just around the corner, you’d thought maybe you could sneak in some reading time after the gig when everyone’s down at the bar and not prancing and screaming around the dressing room.

 Your assumptions shows itself to be wrong, however, when your perky friend bounces her way to where you sit. She kneels next to the couch, crossing her arms on top of your legs and resting her chin on them, looking up at you expectantly, lips lifted in a side grin. 

“What is it?”

“Got us an after-party, babe.” you notice a few colored lollies in her hand when she removes the plastic protecting a red one, shoving it between your lips before you can even protest. “And you’re coming with us.”

“I’d love to but I have class tom—“ Your voice is muffled around the sweet. 

She rolls her eyes, standing to sit next to you on the arm of the couch. “You should stop wasting your life with an outdated system” 

“You mean getting a degree?” 

“Do you watch the news? We’re about to be the last generation to live fully, the world is about to break into nuclear wars all around.” She says as a matter-of-fact, turning to rest her legs on top of your lap. “Cosmo said we probably won’t even make it to the 2000s” 

“Who’s Cosmo?” 

She sighs, reaching to move a strand of your hair behind your ear. Her voice comes out soft, but calculated, “what matters is that we should enjoy our time while we have it.” 

“You’re giving a whole speech about nuclear war to convince me to go to a party with you.” You arch your brows at her. 

“Yes.” 

You sigh, shoulders falling in defeat as you let yourself be convinced. “Okay. But I’ll—” 

“Great!!” She squeals, moving her legs from your lap and leaning down to grab your face, pressing a quick kiss on top of your hair before jumping from the couch, and out of the room. 

Once you arrive at the location of the after-party, Abbey leads you and Lena to a tall gate by the side of the house, explaining that you’re walking in from the back garden, considering the front door is locked. You find it odd, and if wasn’t for the muted sound of instruments echoing inside the bricked walls of the place, you’d doubt there was even a party happening here at all. The front of it was as regular as the other surrounding suburbian homes, grass neatly trimmed and the front lights turned off, as if nobody was even home.

Which is why you’re visibly taken back when you walk by the gate into the back area, finding an old vintage bus that could be around ten or even twenty years old, sitting in the middle of the grass. The wheels of it have been taken off, and every inch of the exterior is covered by graffiti, so much you couldn’t even make out the original color of it if you tried. Some of them are unreadable scribbles tangling on top of each other. Some are colorful drawings painted over them -- two sunflowers catch your attention, marked just above where the wheel would be, growing tall along the side and above the window.

“I know, right?” Abbey nods at your astounded expression. “Legend says John Lennon signed it somewhere.”

“Really?” You look at her, not able to hold back the way your voice pitches in amazement.

“Dunno, never looked for it.” She shrugs. “C’mon I’ll show you.”

She grabs your hand, dragging you to the side of the vehicle pointing at some random drawings and explaining the rumors behind their meanings. You try to concentrate on her excited babbles, but as you see Lena walking away from the corner of your eye you look up to watch her meet with a girl you’ve never seen. Before you can focus back on your friend, something else catches your attention, sitting on a wooden bench under a large tree, no too far from where you stand.

Harry’s in a small group sat in a circle. You recognize two men from his band sitting on the grass with guitars propped on their laps, one being the same that interrupted you the night at the bar. The rest are women who seem to have come right out of Fleetwood Mac’s tour bus, their long hairs pushed back with hairbands and earthtoned flare pants. But you barely even care about the ones sitting on the grass, humming along to the strings of the guitars. What grabs your attention is the one next to harry on the bench, her arm draped over his shoulder as she dabbles flower petals playfully on his hair. 

You hardly take in his appearance, half-mindedly noticing the tattoos decorating his arms that pokes out of his tank top and the twirls on his hair as the girl winds her fingers on it. it’s hard not to remember Abbey’s words when she said he knows how to sweet talk his way around, and the thought of having fallen down on his trap only makes your heart pang on your chest. 

“-- That’s basically why they won’t let anyone paint over it anymore.” You turn back to Abbey as she points to the sunflowers you’d spotted earlier, nodding along as if you’d heard everything she said. She looks at you, “but I like this way better, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah.” You agree, not exactly knowing what to.  

She wraps her arm around yours, and you grasp the minty scent of her perfume as she pulls you close. “Let’s go inside.” 

There’s an urge inside of you to peek back over your shoulder to catch a last glimpse of Harry, but you push it to the back of your mind, allowing Abbey to guide you around the bus where the entrance door is hanging open. 

A small group of people greet you inside the bus, amongst them is the said ‘Cosmo’.  He seems like the exact kind of person you’d imagine Abbey hanging around on her weekends’ escapades. Dressed in a baby blue velvet suit with nothing underneath his blazer except a few of - what you assume - hand-painted tattoos, matching with a rainbow stripe drawn on the side of his face, starting at the bridge of his nose and going all the way to the curve of his jaw. His hair hits just around his shoulders, the sides shaved so it’s like a puffed version of a mullet, edges dyed in a bright shade of red. He toys with a lit joint between his purple lips, picking it up and offering to you with a raise of his brows.

Normally you’d decline the offer, especially coming from someone you’d just met, but there’s an annoying feeling settling itself at the pit of your stomach. One you want to ignore but can only do so much to dull it, so you accept the joint, reaching for it and placing it in your mouth. 

You’re not a regular smoker by any means, and when you inhale you can feel the smoke burning your throat as it moves down to curl inside your lungs. It makes you want to cough it out but you hold it in, trying to take in everything before huffing it out in a choked breath.

“Do you want a drink?” One of the girls asks you, already pouring you a purple drink inside a labeless plastic bottle.

“What’s in this?” You accept the cup, giving her an skeptic look.

“Pure fuel, babe.” Abbey leans on your shoulder from behind.

You hang out in the bus for a while, and, to your surprise, you don’t feel left out as they keep notice to include you in their conversations. The drink ends up being not that bad, and, even having no idea what’s in it except for the very artificial citric taste mixed with some very strong cheap alcohol, you still refill your cup after you finish it. 

It’s a nice feeling, to get a bit looser in a party and allowing yourself to have some adventurous fun. And as time goes by and your mind gets cloudier, the group starts to disperse. Two of them find a spot in the back with as much privacy as they could get in a party to swallow each others faces. Another one passes out in one of the seats behind you, hugging the empty plastic bottle as if it’d run away from them. It leaves just Abbey and Cosmo with you, discussing with each other about something that you’ve stopped paying attention a long while ago.

You just watch them silently, resting your head back on the seat and feeling the late hours weightening on your eyelids. You feel like you could doze off at any moment, but what stops you from it is a loud screeching sound of an amplifier from inside the house. It startles you, making you jump slightly on your seat as you hear a voice speaking almost like a groan, and you’re not sure if it’s your drunken mind or the inaudible words but you can’t make out a single thing that’s being said. A crease deepens between your eyebrows and you turn to question your friend about it but, before you can do so what seems like the most obnoxious cover of  We Built This City starts playing.

Abbey gasps as the chords of the song somehow get even louder, grasping her hand on the man’s arm. “Oh my god!” She squeals, exchanging a look with Cosmo as they both all but jump from their seats. She glances down at you, “We’re going in, are you coming?”

You raise your brows at her, trying to hide the scrunch on your face. “I’m good.”

She nods, making her way out of the bus, her feet stumbling on each other as she holds onto her friend’s shoulder to keep her balance. And just like that, you’re left alone on the leather seat.

You peek at the couple in the back, eyes bulging slightly as you see the girl has lost her shirt, the boy’s hands caress her chest as they keep their lips locked harshly. Deciding to give them a bit more privacy, you make your way out of the bus as well, the contrast from the compact air inside the vehicle to the crisp wind of the outdoors sending chills down your body.

Looking around, you realize most people hanging around are gone, probably gone inside the house. You can’t help but let your eyes wander to the spot you’d seen Harry earlier, and you don’t hold back the shock in your face when you find him still sitting on the bench, but this time with no one else around him. He fiddles with a lighter on his hand, flickering every so often to watch the weak flame before letting it die again. 

Your feet start to move before you can really grasp that you’re walking towards him, your head still a bit cloudy from the substances in your bloodstream. He looks up once you get close to him, signature smirk growing on his lips as he glances up at you.

“Look what we have here.” He leans back, “a lost bunny.” 

“Hi, Harry.” You say simply.

His smile turns a bit softer. “Where are your bandmates?”

“Celebrating.” You shrug.

“Shouldn’t you be as well?”

“I am.” You hold up the mostly empty red cup.

He chuckles. “I see, having fun by yourself then?”

You focus on a spot beyond his head, suddenly feeling timid under his gaze. “Seems like it.”

“Want to join my private party here?” He shifts to his side, patting the spot next to him. “S’very exclusive, as you can see.”

“Well, I’m honored to be invited, then.” You sit down on the space he made for you.

For a moment, there’s a silence between the two of you, the only sound being the jarring cover of  Everybody Wants to Rule The World. The notes of it are so off that you can’t help but huff a relieved breath when it comes to an end, enjoying the few seconds of silence before they begin another song. 

A small groan leaves your lips when the noise starts again, catching Harry’s attention as you feel his eyes land on the side of your face. “It should be illegal to ruin great songs like this.” You shake your head to yourself, speaking your thoughts out loud in a rush of confidence. “They should get arrested for it.”

He chuckles. “You’re not wrong.”

Your eyes dart at him, meeting his. It’s hard to miss the way his irises glimmer under the moonlight. When he glances down at the lighter still in his hands you take the opportunity to really have a look at him. The proximity makes you aware of a small constellation of freckles kissing his nose, and the stubble starting to poke out the skin along his jawline. You want to blame the haziness in your mind for the thoughts of how it would feel like to have it scratching against your skin. Or how it would feel under your lips as you nibble your way all the way to his rosy lips. You want to push these away, belittle them as nothing but drunken thoughts. But you know very well it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve let yourself be entertained by them.

A pitched scream takes you out of your head. You realize there’s been a beat of silence since he’s spoken, so you clear your throat, a warmth creeping up on your neck as if he’d been able to hear your thoughts. “Do you know them?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Not really, no. They played in the pub once, Ronnie hated them.” He glances at you, corner of his lips itching upwards. “Call themselves Crystal Illusion, so there’s that.”

“Christ.” You can’t help but roll your eyes. “And here I thought it couldn’t get any worse.”

The sound of his giggle makes you look back at him, catching the sight of his dimples carving deep on his cheeks. “You’re really something, aren’t you, bunny?”

“Why do you call me that?” The question rolls of your tongue before you can even think about it. His brows raise at your question, and you decide to enjoy the rush of confidence and pick on it further. “Dunno if I’m supposed to feel offended or charmed.”

 “Don’t mean it as a tease, can tell that much.” He smiles, shrugging slightly. “You just remind me of a bunny.”

The words pique your curiosity. “How so?”

He looks back down to his lap, and if it wasn’t for the poor lighting you would be sure of the blush taking over his cheeks. “Just all cute -- could tell you were a bit reserved, and like, curious. Had your eyes wandering all around when I first saw you.” He moves his head around lightly as if to explain his point and you have to bite back a smile. “And when you were focused you’d scrunch your nose a bit. Like a bunny.”

“I’m glad you didn’t say I have big ears.” You try to humor, searching for his eyes.

He laughs, looking up at you. “I mean, now that you’ve mentioned it…”

Your gasp shifts into a giggle as you push him away playfully. “Well, if I’m a bunny...” You pause, racking your mind to think of an analogy for him, but your mind is still a bit slowed down, your thoughts taking a beat too long to catch up to your words. When you glance down to the arm that’s brushing against yours, you notice the tattoo peaking on his skin. You reach for it without thinking about it, fingers tracing the ink as you take in the drawing, his eyes follow your touch curiously. “Then you’re an eagle.” You cringe to yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth, attempting to mask it as you breathe out a laugh.

He arches his brows, lips fluttering, trying to hold back a smile. “You think I’ll kill you?”

“Oh shit, you’re right.” You cover your face with your hand, shaking your head at yourself. “Didn’t think that one through.” Your laughs meld together for a moment, slowly dying off and giving space a comfortable silence. The only sounds being the nightly hum of cicadas and the whisper of the breeze against the branches of the trees, that and, well, the faint screams of instruments from inside the house. Looking up at him, a breath hitches when you realize the proximity of his eyes to yours. You try to tease him but when you speak your voice comes out lower than you expected, almost in a whisper,  “so you think I’m cute?”

“Course I do.” He says in a blink. “Don’t think that’s much of a secret, love.”

You chew on your bottom lip, not missing the way his eyes dart down on your face. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, wiggling his eyebrow teasingly. “Think I’m pretty?”

“I won’t inflate your ego if that’s what you want.”

“I tried.” He breathes out a laugh, eyes moving back down on your face but this time he doesn’t rush them back to yours, not hiding the intent of his gaze. For the first time, you’re glad for the background noise, afraid that if it wasn’t for it he’d be able to hear the thumping of your heart.“Can I kiss you?”

“Huh?” You blink at him, not because you didn’t hear him, but because you’re a bit taken back at the forwardness of the question.

 He moves his arm to rest on the back of the bench, turning his hand to play with the tips of your hair. “Can I kiss you, bunny?” He repeats.

You nod before you can find it in you to voice your answer, clearing your throat, “yes.”

The hand that’s not in your hair moves to caress your cheek, he takes a moment to look at you, thumb rubbing your cheek gently before he leans in. Your eyes flutter close instinctively, holding your breath in anticipation as you feel his lips on the corner of your mouth. He keeps them there for a beat before pulling back, tilting your face a little just to finally close the space between your mouths.

The kiss starts slow. Uncertain, even. His lips are soft against yours, warm breath hitting your cupid bow as he sucks in your bottom lip gently. You feel his hand cupping your jaw, sneaking behind your neck as he pulls you closer and you all but melt under his touch. Being this close you can smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the smoke of cigarettes, and something about it is so sensual you can’t help but grip on his shirt as to have something to hold on to.

You can feel yourself getting lost on his touch, shamelessly scooping to the side as you enlace your thighs for the sake of being closer to him. His hand falls on your knee, rubbing it as your tongue line on his bottom lip.

It’s the sound of the door that leads to the house sliding open that falls like a bucket of ice water on your head, reminding you of your surroundings, and that you’re not, in fact, alone with him in the garden, which means any of your friends could easily spot you if they were to walk outside.

  It’s almost like he reads your mind when you pull away from him, loosening your grasp on the material of his shirt. His lips don’t let you get far, trailing their way along your jaw until he can bite on your lobe. “Relax, petal” He whispers, pulling back to look at you as your noses brush together. “They won’t see us, even if they do they’re probably too stoned to even care.”

You let out a weak chuckle, gazing at the door where a group of people stumble their way towards the bus, voices loud as they slur incoherent words. It’s hard to see inside the house as most of the lights inside seem to be turned off, but you can tell how packed it is, bodies pressed so close together it makes you wince slightly just with the thought of being amongst them. Looking back at him, you ponder for a second before nodding. “You’re right.”

A grin paints on his face before he leans in, closing the space between you once again.

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

“Still with us?” A call of your name on the mic snaps you out of your thoughts.

Looking up, you’re met with your bandmates curious eyes staring right at you and you realize you’ve probably been too lost in your own head to pay attention to the conversation in hand. Your lips part for a split second, trying to think of an answer that doesn’t give away your lack of focus but a single look at Abbey’s arched brows and you know you’ve been caught. 

You clear your throat, lips tugging on a guilty smile. “Sorry, I am now.” 

It’s hard not to let your eyes glimpse to the back of the room, where the sole reason for your distraction sits quietly on his regular spot, tucked behind his journal and doing his own thing. But you hold back the stare, knowing your moves were being watched by your friend who’s back to talking about the setlist changes for the night, and who would not be happy in the slightest to notice your wandering eyes falling on the one person she despises the most. You wonder how she’d react if she got her hands on the piece of paper burning through the back pocket of your denim shorts. 

The message was short and simple, but the connotation behind it carried a much stronger meaning to it.

Meet me in the back before the gig, want to see you. -H

You found it tucked inside your case, lying innocently on top of your bass, apparent enough so anyone who’d opened the case could’ve found it before you. Surely, no one else did, otherwise, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from the minute you’d stepped into the place. Which makes you wonder how he managed to slip in the note sneakily enough without anyone noticing it, but the curiosity is well dulled in your mind by the pounding of your heart.

To your dismay, however, you barely got a look at him throughout the rehearsal. You got to The Blue Bird later than you’d intended to, the tutoring session you had on the day ended up running later than you’d expected. So by the time you stepped through the string curtains of the pub  Harry was already tucked on the shadowy corner and everyone else was hanging by the stage waiting for you, barely giving you a second to set your bag in the dressing room.

So it’s hard for you not to stare when he gets up from his seat, walking into the lighter space of the bar with his signature smirk painted on his face. You’d just gone through the last song of your set for the second time -- an amplified version of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (Lena insisting on repeating it after messing up on the first try). He’s holding a maroon leather jacket on his arm, along with his journal, leaving his arms bare under his Bowie tank top -- which, as he approaches the stage you notice the uneven hem on the sleeves, suggesting he might’ve cut them off himself.  His hair is running wild as usual, the fringe curling against his forehead and you chew on your lip at the thought of running your hands through it as you did not even a week ago.

He reaches to the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a pack of cigarettes as he reaches the end of the stage. “That was a great one, everybody, maybe if you keep it going we can get you a spot on that wacky show they’re premiering.” He sets the stuff he’s carrying on the stage floor, crossing his arms on top of it. “What’s it called again? ‘S like ‘gag me with a spoon’ or something like that.”

“We wouldn’t want to steal your spot again.” The words leave your lips before you can process them, for a moment forgetting you’re not alone with him so your playful tease can be easily interpreted as mocking. 

He rests the things he’s carrying on his arm on the stage floor, hoisting himself up almost effortlessly before picking them up again, walking the few steps it takes for him to stand in front of you. His lips are tugged on a shit-eating grin. “Got another feisty one in here, huh?” He crosses his arms under his chest, and you can’t help but note the way his muscles flex at the gesture, his tattoos dancing slightly on his skin. “What makes you so smug about stealing my spot? Reckon Ronnie only said he needed more chicks hanging around.”

“If that’s the case then there’s no need for you to be intimidated by a band of chicks, then.” You keep your eyes trained on his, but you can notice Abbey’s getting wider from over his shoulder. 

His lips twitch up, and you can tell he’s holding back a genuine smile as not to crack your act. “Am I intimidated now, bunny?”

“It’s what it looks like.” You shrug, now holding back your own smile.

“Maybe you need to take a better look at things then, angel.”  He starts walking backwards in the direction of the backstage. “Wouldn’t want any more misunderstandings, would we?”

“Don’t think we would.” 

And with that, he turns around, walking the rest of the way out and disappearing as he rounds the corner to where you know it’s the door leading to the back alleyway. You just stand there quietly for a moment, following his steps as you try to recollect what just happened. For the two of you, it was clear that the tension was the product of an unspoken want circling around, but you question for a second if that’s the impression that your friends had. And as you look at their expressions, raised brows and mouths agape, it’s hard to tell.

“Holy shit, babe.” Abbey is the first to speak out. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

You hold back a relieved exhale, shrugging slightly as you remove the strap of the bass from your shoulder. “He was just getting on my nerves.” You face away from her, placing the instrument on the stand.

The anticipation of meeting Harry grows impatiently on your stomach as you try to find a gap where no one’s attention is on you to sneak out of the dressing room. It seems as if every time you think you can do it, someone pulls you in, either to try to push you another pill of something you’re not sure what it is or to ask you to help with their makeup. But as the room gets filled and people get higher, their focus become more diffuse, and finally, after finishing assisting Jaz with her eyeliner (her hands were too shaky to get it right) you manage to slip out the room into the corridor.

There’s a sense of recognition that takes over your body when you feel the wind messing with your hair as you step out the building to be met with Harry’s figure leaning back on the wall, not too far from the spot you found him the last time you’d been in this same position. His eyes shoot in your direction as soon as you step through the door as if he’d been waiting for this just as eagerly as you were. He quickly throws the butt of the cigarette on the floor, stepping on it before standing tall as you slowly approach him.

“Hi.” You say simply, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shorts -- not knowing with to do with your hands.

“Hi.” His grin grows. “Came back here to intimidate me?” He teases, biting on his bottom lip.

“Actually,” you scrunch your lips, deciding to play his game as you reach on your back pocket, retrieving the small piece of paper and holding it up. “Got this very desperate note from a secret admirer but I don’t see any hotties here.” You click your tongue, looking around as you let out a loud sigh. “Guess it might be just a misunderstanding.”

He laughs, hands reaching for your waist to draw you closer. “That’s too bad, guess you’re stuck with me”

“Yeah?” You wrap your arms around his shoulders, stepping closer so that your chests meet and his forehead falls against yours.

He nods in response, your noses brushing gently before he leans to meet your mouth with his own.

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁

There’s a thrilling feeling that settles deep within you when it comes to holding a secret.

It’s that spark of excitement that brings a kaleidoscope of butterflies to come alive on your stomach. The kind of feeling that makes every cell of your body feel not just simply alive but as if it’s burning with joy. Which is why you guess falling into a routine of sneaking around with Harry on secret little rendezvous was so easy, to begin with. 

Of course, your friends’ opinions are important to you, but you know that you’re an adult very much capable of making your own decisions. That means sleeping with anyone you’d like despite their ill opinions about the person, without having to sneak around as if you’re teenagers hiding from your parents. You know that, and you try to remind yourself of that every time you catch yourself lying to them about your whereabouts at every coming day. 

In the beginning, you weren’t even sure that there was anything to it except for a couple of innocent kisses, maybe some not-so-innocent touches here and there, but nothing really worth even telling anyone. You’d only really see Harry on the weekends. When he would steal moments with you before your gigs when you “had to take a breather”. Or when mysteriously disappeared from your friends’ sides during after parties after they already had their minds buzzed and noses backed up. Or even when your night walks would tart becoming gradually longer due to your curiosity getting the best of you once you found yourself in front of the familiar Pub on Harry’s nights.

The weekends’ escapades took a different turn when they graduated to weekdays. Things took a quick turn then. It started with him offering you a ride to the houses for your tutoring or to the library (stealing kisses every now and then, of course). And before you knew, you were making up classes or books to rent for your oblivious roommates, only to spend hours on Harry’s car. Coming back with puffy lips and messy hair.

Part of you felt bad for going behind their backs, every now and then feeling an urge to pull Lena aside and gush about him for as long as your heart desired.

But it’s the thrill of it, of having something that’s just yours to have, that no one else knows except the two of you. The adrenaline that comes with the possibility of getting caught at any moment, but being able to get away with it. It’s almost addicting to you, so you prefer to have these moments just to yourself.

As the days went by, and those days turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into months, it just made it harder for you to tell them you’d been hiding a whole relationship for this amount of time. Well, not exactly a relationship, but as close as you ever got to one anyway.

And it’s not like you’d never had anyone before. Being in the music scene, you’ve had your quite a few amounts of flings — even though not as many as it’s expected. But no one has ever left you as enamored as him, especially not as quickly as he has. He’s intriguing, carrying around that mysterious aura around him that leaves everyone wondering the secrets he holds in his heart. 

Although when it’s just the two of you it’s like this cocky persona of him completely dissolves. It’s a complete contrast from the image he carries around the restless mouths of prying people. He’s not that enigmatic heartbreaker who hops around strangers beds as if to live that classic Rock ‘n Roll lifestyle you see on TV. Rather, he’s shown himself to be the most caring man you’ve ever been with.

And that’s how you found yourself in this position, your body awkwardly positioned on your side in the rear seat of his car. A hand tangled on his hair while the other pulls at his Bowie shirt, you know your lips are probably starting to get swollen and his are taking a raspberry tone from the way they’d been sucking at one another. So with that in mind, you part from his mouth, trailing kisses along his cheek, and a final one at his nose before sitting back on the seat.

Just as you predicted his rose-colored lips are plump as he grins back at you, his locks are wild on top of his head. His hair has grown around his jawline now, curls poking out in all directions and you can’t help but reach your hand to pull his fringe back from his forehead. His smile growing fondly and eyes fluttering shut as you run your hand through his strands. 

When you pull away you catch a glimpse of your wrist clock, cringing slightly at yourself as you realize you should start thinking of heading home.

“I have to go soon.” You let your hand fall to your lap with a sigh.

“Already?” He pouts. “Barely had any time together.”

“We’ve been here for two hours, silly.” You giggle at his dramatics, leaning to press your lips on his chin.

He throws an arm over your shoulder, keeping you close. “Exactly, barely any time.”

He turns his head to connect your mouths once more before pulling you against him so your head rests on his shoulder. You look beyond the glass of the windshield to the nearly empty street -- saving from a few people walking back from what you assume is a day of work

He’s parked on the usual spot two blocks away from your house, and from this angle, you can see the front gate that leads to the entrance. The front seat of the coupe still folded forward as there was no reason to set it back to place considering the circumstance in which you were on the backseat. You had called home from the payphone in front of the library, letting Lena know you’d be home late to catch up with some studies -- another lie to your pile.

There’s a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you -- apart from the low voice of the radio Dj interrupting A-ha’s Take On Me in the background. If you move your head just right you can hear his speeding heartbeat, and if wasn’t for the faltering on his breathing you’d assume he was just as relaxed as you are. You move away from him, his arm falling around your waist, looking at his profile as he pokes at his jeans, a crease between his eyebrows.

You rest your cheek against the leather seat, grasping his chin with your fingers and gently moving his head so his gaze meets yours. “What’s on your mind, handsome?”

He breathes out a laugh, shrugging lightly as he brings his hand to scratch at the tip of his nose. “Nothing much.”

“But there’s something.” You insist, being able to tell he’s pondering over something.

“It’s just-- I just thought--” he pauses with a sigh. You play with the rings on his fingers, waiting patiently for him to express his thoughts, you can tell he’s a bit nervous which is an adorable change from his regular charming demeanor. “I wanted to maybe-- like, we could have a date.”

. 

You straighten your posture, lips parting as you take in his words. “A date?”

“Yeah… A proper one, you know?” He shrugs, eyes darting back on yours. “If you want to, that is! Don’t wanna pressure you or anything.”

“I do, H.” You nod, chewing on your lip as you try to recollect your thoughts. It’s not as if you don’t want to go on a date with him, that couldn’t be further from the truth. But turning it into a formality just changes completely the scheme of things and, as much as you felt like this is an inevitable step to take at some point, you still feel protective to an extent of this secret you have between the two of you. So you can help but let your voice come a little apologetic, “it’s just--”

“I know.” His shoulders drop and you can’t help but feel a tug at your heart.

“Hey.” You caress his cheek. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay.” His lips perk up in a small smile, and you lean forward to give him a peck.

He’s still looking at you with puppy-like eyes and it does nothing to help the heaviness in your heart from turning him down. You lean again this time to spread kisses around his cheek as an attempt to pull a giggle out of him, but you only earn a light chuckle so you seat back tilting your head to look at him with a pluck of your lips. “C’mon where’s my smug rockstar gone?”

“He’s right here.” The shadow of his dimples appears on his cheeks. His voice comes out low and gentle, as if he’s still pondering over what you said earlier, “just toned him down a bit.”

You sigh, trying to rack your brain to another subject that can distract him from it. You catch sight of the slightly smudged end of his eyeliner, and your face lights up as you remember a request you’ve always wanted to bring it up. “Do you want to know something?” Biting back a cheeky grin, you cross your arms under your chin as he looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Should let me do your makeup, so you can be a proper rockstar.”

He lets out a laugh. “Do I need that, now?”

“Mhm, said it yourself, it’s part of the look.”

“Did I say that?” You nod, teeth still biting on your lip. He lets out a breath, contemplating the idea for a second before looking back at you. “Okay then.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Course, could never say no to you even if I tried.” He lets his hand fall on your thigh, rubbing it gently. “On one condition, though.” You arch your brows in question. “Come to my gig tomorrow.”

You face scrunches in confusion. “I always go to your gigs.”

“Yeah but I mean go earlier, like so we can hang out before and stuff.” His finger starts to draw circles on your knee. “So you can do my makeup, too, can go on stage looking all pretty.”

“As if you could ever look anything less than pretty.” You say before sitting back, thinking of his proposal. “You’re asking me to be there early…”

“What? D’you have plans already? Got a boyfriend I don’t know about?” And there it is, the teasing Harry you know.

You shake your head, poking his side playfully. “Oh yeah, maybe I should’ve mentioned him sooner.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes before looking at you, his voice coming down to a pleading tone. “Come, please.”

Before the yes can roll off your tongue you remember that you wouldn’t be alone with him. “What about your band?” 

He furrows his brows. “What about them?”

“Well, do they know?”

“They couldn’t care less about us, baby.” He sighs, head falling back on the seat as he moves his hand so it rests on your inner thigh, rubbing a spot in there. “Have no meaning hiding you.”

You can’t hold back the smile that grows on your lips, leaning to press a kiss to his mouth before letting professing in just above a whisper, “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁ 

“‘S poking my eye.”

“Shh, quiet.”

“You’re rubbing it too harsh.” Harry grabs your wrist, eyes fluttering open to stare up at you.

“I’m being gentle, you’re just not used to the feeling of the brush.” You argue, keeping a finger under his chin so his head is tilted upwards as you shuffle on his lap. “Now close your eyes, I’m almost done.”

He lets out a huff, trying to feign annoyance, but the slight twitch of his lips and the subtle appearance of his dimples break his facade. You know as much as he won’t admit to it, he’s quite enjoying having you propped on his lap, fingers stroking gently his eyelids while you hum along to The Cure’s record that’s mixing with the murmurs of the other people in the room.

To your surprise, you’ve come to realize that the dressing room is significantly less chaotic when it comes to Harry’s band. The place is not nearly as packed as it can get during your nights, in fact, apart from the band itself, there’s only a handful of people hanging around. And as much as you notice their bloated pupils and stumbled walks, they mostly keep it to themselves, sharing around a bottle of vodka to wash down their pills.

Like Harry had assured you, his bandmates couldn’t be less bothered by your presence amongst them. And as much as you recognize all from the numerous gig you’ve been in before, and that according to them your name has been frequently mentioned by Harry himself (which did make his cheeks turn into an adorable shade of red), it’s nice to be formally introduced to them. In fact, they were so quick to treat you as one of their own that you could feel a slightly guilty feeling expanding on your chest from the number of times you’d heard your friends bad mouthing them in attempts to joke around. 

You swallowed the feeling back, though, accepting a plastic cup they poured with champagne (which you learned is a tradition before gigs) and making a conversation.

“Are you done yet?” You feel the vibration of his voice on that back of your fingers that touch against his throat.

“Yes,” you say with a final stroke of your brush on his eyes, sitting back to admire your work with your teeth carved on your bottom lip. “You can open your eyes, baby.”

He blinks his eyes open and you can’t help the smile that breaks through your lips as you examine the contrast of the burning red eyeshadow with his jade irises as he looks back at you. “How do I look?” 

You grab his cheeks, leaning down to press a quick peck on his lips. “Like a proper rockstar.”

“Yeah?” He grins once you let your hands caress on the smooth skin of his chest poking through his unbuttoned blue blouse. “Think I can finally get some groupies now?”

Scoffing, you swing your hand to shove him back playfully with a roll of your eyes. You try to move away but he grabs hold of your wrists, pulling you in again. “You’re insufferable.”

“Just how you like it.” His hands fall to your waist, bringing it closer as you let your arms wrap around his shoulders. 

His lips meet your on a slow kiss, allowing you to taste the strawberry flavor of the lipstick you’d applied earlier, the thought of messing it completely lost in your mind as you tilt your head to deepen it even more. His fingers now grip on your hips over your denim skirt that has ridden up considerably since you first propped yourself on his lap. For a moment you just stay like this, tangled on each other’s arms, every so often you scratch on his neck, pulling his hair just a bit so you can swallow the most delicious mewls.

He parts from you as slowly as the kiss started, pecking on your lips a couple of times before letting his head fall back, hands moving to rub at your thighs over your pink tights. His eyes are hooded as he looks up at you with a smirk, voice coming low as if he’s sharing a secret just between the two of you, “can we go to the back?”

“Sure.” You unstranddle him, adjusting your skirt as you stand up and offering your hands to help him to his feet. He takes them, almost bringing you back down on the couch as he pulls a little bit too hard. 

Once he’s up he takes a look at himself on the mirror in the wall opposite to the couch, a pleased smile on his face letting you know he likes the result of your work. He reaches for your hand then, guiding you into the hallway and out the back door you’ve become so familiar with.

Walking into the alleyway, he walks to his usual spot, leaning back on the wall and pulling you with him. His hands easily find their place on your waist once again, fingers tapping against the fabric of your skirt anxiously. Looking down at you, there’s anticipation on his eyes, as if he’s trying to tell you something but is waiting for you to bring it up.

“So,” he begins, eyes darting around as he parts his legs a bit, enough to fit you between them as he pulls you closer.

“So…” You say, drifting off as a way to encourage him to keep going.

“I’ve thought about the date thing.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the ends of his har. “Wasn’t I the one that was supposed to be doing that?”

 He shrugs slightly, looking down to where his fingers fiddle with a loose strand of your vest. There’s something very endearing about seeing him so nervous, a complete opposite to how he carries himself in public, as this cocky and confident guy. You’re grateful that he allows you to see this side of him, though, bringing your hand to caress his jawline as you wait him to speak his thoughts. “Yeah, but I had like, an idea, or whatever.”

“Do tell.”

“I thought we could do--” he shakes his head a bit. “We could go to a place that’s still more reserved, and stuff.” 

“Like?”

“I dunno, I--” he chews on his lip, a habit he’s starting to get from you. “Thought we could go to my flat and like hang out, we could go to that diner that has a drive tru and get something to eat and go back to my place.” 

“Are you trying to take me home, Styles?” You tease, not being able to hold back a smile.

“It’s not like that, I just--” he huffs, cheeks getting a bit flushed as he tries to explain himself. “Just if you’re comfortable with it, of course, we can still go around on my car if you prefer, I don’t mind.”

“Harry?” You hold his cheek, moving it so his eyes can meet yours. Rubbing your thumb against his smooth skin, you try to soothe him, shooting him a fond smile.  “I think that’s a really nice idea.”

“Yeah?” You don’t miss the way his eyes light up. “Is that a yes, then?”

“Of course.”

“Cool, I can, like, call you before I leave home so you can go to our spot and I can pick you up, yeah?” It’s the fastest he’s speaking since the moment you walked out of the building, voice a pitch higher. “How about Friday?

“Great.” You giggle, tangling your fingers on his hair to pull him down so his forehead rests against yours. Lips brushing, you blink up at him, jade eyes flickering around your face, “I can’t wait.”

He smiles. “Me too.”

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁

An annoyed puff leaves your lips as you notice another typo in one of the words inked in the paper poking out of the typewriter. You grab it maybe a bit too forcefully, this being the fourth time in a matter of minutes you had to do this. Taking it out of the platen, you reach for the whiteout conveniently prompted next to you, carefully correcting the error before putting the paper back on the machine.

With the end of the term peeking around the corner, you’ve been finding yourself in this position more often than not. Either rushing with your essays or grading assignments from your students. No matter what the arrangement is, however, there’s always a guarantee to have a half-empty mug of coffee and a pile of textbooks spattered on your desk. 

This time around is no different, as you lean back on your chair, closing your eyes and rubbing your hands over your face, you try to focus on Cyndi Lauper singing in the background as a way to relieve your stress. You can feel the inkling of a headache deep inside your forehead, indicating maybe it’s time to give yourself a break, So, you try your best to relax the tension out of your muscles, breathing in the soft chamomile scent of the burning candle on your nightstand -- it’s one Lena gave to you to help with the stress a few days ago. What disturbs you from your moment of meditation with Time After Time, making you snap out of your breathing exercise, is the ringing tone of the telephone echoing through the house. The sound comes into your room a bit muffled thanks to your closed door, but it’s still enough to irritate you.

You hear closely to the sounds outside your door, waiting for Lena, who you know is propped on the couch downstairs watching TV, to pick up the call and cease the annoying tune interrupting your moment. And as you predict, in just a few minutes the ringing noise stops as quickly as it started, making you relax back on your chair. Closing your eyes again, you let yourself go back to the moment before the interruption, untensing your shoulders. You can hear the pound of heavy footsteps coming up the wooden staircase, but don’t process them getting closer until your door swings open.

Lena is standing in your doorway with an expression that’s hard to read at first, her brows set on a slight frown her hairline and mouth agape. Before you can tell her off for her sudden entrance she’s already speaking, “can you tell me why the fuck Harry Styles is calling our house looking for you?”

You can feel your heartbeat falter at her words, eyes widening as you glance at your bunny-shaped clock and realizing you had gotten so lost in your studies you forgot about the date. “Shit,” you get up so fast from your chair it falls back on the rug. You turn to Lena, who’s watching the scene with the most amused smirk on her face, “is he still one the line?”

As soon as she nods you’re stumbling down the stairs, almost falling down on the last steps but catching yourself up on the railing. You reach for the wired phone lying upwards on the hallway stand, picking it up and walking into the closest door - which happens to be the coat closet - closing it behind you.

“Hello?” You sound out of breath, heartbeat roaring in your ear.

“Did I fuck it up?” His voice is hesitant, nearly remorseful, it makes your heart drop.

“I-- no, you didn’t.” You reassure, leaning back on the wall of the tiny space, instantly regretting your decision of not choosing the restroom in your panic state.  “I just got caught up with an essay and didn’t see the time passing.”

“Do you want to reschedule?” He drags out the words as if he doesn’t want to say them. “We can do this another day, I don’t mind.”

“No!” You protest quickly, reaching back to roughly adjust a hanger that’s poking on your neck, causing a raincoat to fall on your feet. “Of course not, I really need a break, anyway. I want to see you.”

“Want to see you, too.” You can hear the smile on his voice. “What about your friend?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple slightly. “I’ll talk to her, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” He says. “I’ll be at yours in around fifteen, is that good?”

“That’s perfect, yes.”

“I’ll see you in a bit then…” He drifts off, as if he wants to say something else, but stops himself.

“See you.”

The familiar sound of the deadline takes place and you sigh, letting your head fall back on the wall with a thump and staying like that for a moment. When you step out of the closet, the first thing you see is Lena leaning against the railing of the stairs, shaking her head at you in disbelief. “You bitch.”

Your shoulders drop, not wanting to have this conversation right now, as you put the phone back on the base. “Can we not do this--”

“You’ve been fucking him all this time and you didn’t tell me?” She crosses her arms under her breasts. “Abbey is gonna throw a fit when she knows this.”

“You’re not gonna tell her.”

“I’m not.” She agrees with you. “But she already knows you’re sneaking out with someone.”

“She does?” Your voice gets higher, eyes widening slightly.

“She might be high as a kite most of the time, yes, but she’s not stupid.” She chuckles. “And you’re not the best at hiding either, or you thought we wouldn’t notice you’re barely at home anymore?”

You frown your mouth, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. “Does she suspect that it’s him?”

“Not really no, thought it was one of your students.”

You can’t help the horrified look that takes over your face. “I tutor children!”

“Ooh,” she breathes out a laugh. “Well, to be fair, he’s probably the last person she would suspect.”

“She’s gonna kill me.”

“Probably.” She shrugs. “But she’ll just have to get over it.”

“I guess.”

Lena looks at you, dropping her arms as she walks to you. Holding into your shoulders, her expression softens. “Don’t worry about this right now, okay? Go get ready for your date.”

“You’re right.”  You sigh, nodding. It takes you a second, but as you process her words, you frown, squinting your eyes at her. “How do you know we have a date right now?”

Her hands drop, mouth scrunching as she waves her hands around. “I just guessed.”

“Were you listening on the line?’

“Of course not!” She steps away.

“Adeline!”

She backs away, reaching the bottom of the stairs with the guiltiest look you’ve ever seen splattered on her face. “It was just a bit of it! I was curious!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I’m gonna cut the cord of that phone in your room.”

“No, you’re not.” 

Raising your eyebrows in challenge, you take a careful step in her direction, causing her to go up another step. There’s a beat of silence where you two just stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. When you finally give in, racing towards the staircase, she stumbles up the rest of the steps, the sound of your giggles mixing together taking over the space.

                                 ❁         ❁        ❁

There’s an instant sense of comfort when you see Harry’s lime green Ford parked on your usual spot, one that gives an extra pep to your walk, pushing all the stress you’ve been dwelling with to the back of your mind. And as you relax into the leather seat, windows down and radio up, you let yourself enjoy the anticipation of spending the rest of your day with him that settles deep in your stomach. 

You’d always wondered what Harry’s apartment would look like, imagining his LP’s splattered across the place, along with loose papers filled with guitar riffs and song lyrics. Maybe a couple of plants here and there, from what he told you he had tried to take care of one or two before, but always ended up forgetting to water them on schedule. And there’s also a notion inside of you that two young men living together in an apartment are bound to live in somewhat of a nest, so you brace yourself for the piles of beer cans and video game wires tangling on the floor.

When he opens the front door for you, letting you walk in before him, it does surprise you to find a tidier place than you’d expected his living room to be, but you realize you’d not been much far off with your assumption. It’s clear this is a house of musicians from the second you step in, the first sight being two guitars leaning on the wall next to the mud green couch, surrounded by - you guessed it - loose papers, which you assume are filled with scribbled ideas. A wall piano also stands out across the room, a single ashtray standing on top of it next to two candles, where you assume comes the faint scent of vanilla comes from.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry speaks out from behind you, shrugging out of his usual denim jacket and throwing it over the couch arm, looking back at you with his hands on his hips.

“It’s alright.” Your teeth sink on your bottom lip as you take in the sight of him. Without his jacket, he’s left with just a wine-colored half-buttoned blouse, sleeves rolled up to his elbows so some of his tattoos are exposed. Part of the hem is tucked inside his low waist jeans that hug his thighs so perfectly it makes you want to grip your nails on it. Shaking your head, lightly, you let your eyes wander around the room once more, so he doesn’t notice you gawking at him. “Was expecting worse, to be honest.”

“Do you think that little of me?” He feigns offense.

You giggle, taking a lazy step towards him, shrugging. “I just don’t expect two young men to know the basic of cleaning, that’s all.”

“That’s fair,” he chuckles, taking a moment to just look at you. When a silence settles between the two of you, you raise your brows at him, waiting for him to make the first move. He clears his throat, running his hand through his hair. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Sure!” You nod. “Do you have, like, beer or…”

“Yes, yes I--” he stops, face lighting up in realization. “No wait, I have something better.” He strides towards a door to where you assume the kitchen is, calling over his shoulder, “make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right back!”

You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as you pull your purse off your shoulder, letting it rest beside Harry’s jacket on the couch. Glancing over your shoulder, there are no signs of him coming back, so you take the opportunity to snoop around the area. 

There’s a small center table in front of the couch, probably the messiest part of the room so far, a few movie magazines splattered around with another ashtray lying on top of it, a few butts of cigarettes long forgotten along with their ashes. Next to it, is a VHS cover of </i> Ghostbusters, a rental receipt paper scrambled on top of it. What calls your attention is a couple of cassette tapes, some with titles you recognize from being Harry’s songs scribbled on top of them but others don’t have a label, which leads you to assume they must be blank. 

You walk around the table, gazing to the tv stand, where a poster of Freud is stuck on the wall behind it -- and breathing out a laugh as you notice someone had drawn glasses and colored his beard with a red sharpie. A bookshelf stands next to it, completely filled with records (apart from a single succulent that has a piece of paper with the name “Ziggy” glued to it). Your curiosity gets the best of you, picking up some LPs on random and what does surprise you, is the lack of a common theme between them. Finding a bit of everything, from some very recognizable names you’ve seen Harry rock to, like Billy Joel and The Clash, to some you’d never even heard him speak of like Culture Club and even a brand new Madonna record.

You have just picked up the cover of Ladies of the Canyon when his voice startles you from behind. “Mitchell, huh?”

Turning back with the record still in hands, you look down at it. “I love her.” You glance up, taking notice of the glasses in his hand, filled with a liquid of a yellow so bright it reminds you of a highlighter. “What’s this?”

“This,” he hands you a glass. “Is a drink we made.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “You made this?”

 “I’m a man of many talents, bunny.”

“It looks like poison.” You bring the glass up to your nostrils, taking in the strong scent of alcohol. “Am I going to be poisoned? Is this a big plan to get rid of your rival’s bassist?”

“Stop being silly.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s mainly pineapple and vodka, takes weeks to be done, proper fancy stuff, you know?”

“Oh yeah super fancy.” You tease, chewing on your bottom lip to hold back a smile.“Pineapple and vodka.”

“Shut up and drink it.” He says, watching you carefully as you slowly bring the brim of the glass to your lips, taking a small sip of it. An instant sweet taste of pineapple invading your tastebuds, but the vodka is so present it makes you scrunch your nose. Harry gives you a small smile, eyes trained on you as he waits for your verdict, “so…”

“It’s strong.” Your face is still a bit rumpled from the alcohol, but you relax it eventually taking another sip of it, this time quite more prepared for it. “But it’s good, tastes like pineapple and vodka, who would say?”

“Shut up.” He chuckles, taking a step back and propping himself down on the couch.

With the record still in hands, you turn to put it back where you found it, admiring the full bookshelf once more. “Got a nice collection here, Styles, I gotta admit.”

He sips on his drink. “Found something you fancy in there?”

“A couple.”

“Put on something you like.” He motions to the record player standing next to the shelf. You look through the vast collection again, picking some at random and putting it back once you realize it’s not what you’re looking for. After going through a few, you finally stumble upon Elton John’ Madman Across The Water, holding it up to show it to Harry. “Oh, so we’re in one of those moods?”

You pull the vinyl from the sleeve, carefully placing it on the player and adjusting the needle over it. As the beginning note of Tiny Dancer float through the room, you look back at him. “What mood?”

 “Like, a happy-sad kind of mood.”

You nod, setting yourself on the couch next to him. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

As the first few songs swim in the air around there’s a light chatter that settles between the two of you. Nothing out of your ordinary conversations, mainly consisting of you gushing over John Taylor as Harry rolls his eyes and sips on his drink to mask the drop of jealousy that grows on his chest -- “He’s not that good looking, you lot should have better standards” he said with a huff, making you giggle at his antics and pinch his cheeks. But it doesn’t take long, barely going halfway through the record, until the two of you begin to feel more lightheaded, eyes glossy and tongues getting looser. You should’ve expected that from the very first sip of the drink in your hand, knowing it wouldn’t take much more than a glass of it to get you right boozed up. And it doesn’t help that which each sip of it the sweetness of the pineapple takes over the strong taste of the alcohol, and in a matter of a few songs, you already feel your mind soaring away.

Harry is not much different, you realize, becoming quite a bit of a giggly drunk as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes and slurred words coming out of his mouth (which only makes him laugh more at himself). From what he told you, it hasn’t been the first time he and Mitch attempted on making the drink themselves. They tried it at a cramped bar right outside a Tears For Fears concert and it had gotten them so knackered so quickly they went back the next day to ask the barman (who also happened to be the owner) what was it in. Turns out it was just watermelon and vodka, but the man also explained that the technique he used that took about two weeks for the drink to be ready. From the man’s explanation, it seemed simple enough so they decided to try it for themselves, except they replaced the watermelon with pineapple.

“Just to add a bit of fun to it.” He shimmies his body.

“Is it like the original, though?” 

“‘S close, but not quite his.” He hiccups. “I’m convinced he left out some of the details, the bastard, didn’t want to go around giving out the secret formula of it.”

You giggle, biting into the brim of your glass. “I’m curious to try it with watermelon, now that you’ve mentioned.”

“You have to, bunny!” His head falls back on the couch, dimples so deep you want to bite into them, his hand strokes lazily on your thigh, every now and then moving up to rub at the hem of your playsuit. “I’ll take you there sometime, we can get baked and crash into a concert at the music house that’s right in front of it.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

When the blue of the sky outside begins to fade into a golden glow, ribbons of pink and orange cutting through it, you’re already completely far gone. The record player is now only letting out a faint buzz from the lack of sound now that the LP is over. Your head is filled with clouds and you don’t register when Harry reaches back for the guitar, only really registering it once he’s stringing out a familiar melody. He stumbles with the lyrics but as soon as you recognize the beginning line of </i> Big Yellow Taxi you’re joining him, your voices tangling in a high pitch as you more of scream the lines than really bother to sing it. Harry gets completely lost in it, and you let him take over every so often just to watch him, mimicking Joni Mitchell's voice and even enacting her laugh, which makes you laugh until your belly hurts and your cheeks get flushed.

It’s one of those moments you want to get locked in, to live in it forever. Watching him stumbling the lyrics of different songs, the words tumbling out of his mouth between giggles, fingers stroking the cord of the guitar maybe a bit too harshly as you join him without a care in the world to who may be bothered by it. You feel so free with him, it’s a feeling that takes over your whole body, a warmth of knowing you don’t have to filter yourself or fit any type of expectation. And as he ends another cover with violent strokes on the guitar you laugh along with him for a moment before letting the room quiet down. Crossing your arms over the back of the couch and resting your cheek against it, you just look at him.

His bloodshot green meets yours, his chest rising as he catches his breath from the frantic songs, teeth sinking on his bottom lip as he smiles at you. “Gonna slow down a bit fo’ you.”

You raise your brows at him, smiling in anticipation as he begins to smooth his fingers through the cords much more gently than he had been previously. His head moves along to the beat as he gazes down at the instrument, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows in concentration. It’s a complete contrast from the playful demeanor that had taken over the room just minutes ago.

“Love of my life, you’ve hurt me.” He begins, and your ears instantly perk up as you identify the same song you’d heard him play months ago at the pub, the one that made you enter it to watch him for the first time. “You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me.”

It’s much different now, however, not just from the fact that he’s singing it on his own without the band backing him up. But it’s the meaning behind it, the rawness of his voice, low and slightly raspy, the words still come out a bit mumbled but you couldn’t care less about it, only focusing on the emotion he puts to them. 

“Love of my life, can’t you see?” His eyes are still set on the guitar and you search for them almost desperately, shifting closer to him and cupping his cheek, guiding him to meet your gaze. “Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me.”

The swell in your heart is overwhelming to an extent, his glossy eyes looking into your with such sincerity it makes you want to jump on him, but you hold back as he keeps going, feeling nearly hypnotized by his voice.

“Because you don’t know, what it means to me.” He leans into your touch, turning to press a quick kiss on your palm as he keeps stroking the chords in a quiet melody. “Love of my life, don’t leave me.”

You can’t help but shake your head slightly as he sings the lyric almost like a plea. “You’ve stolen my love, and now desert me.” He looks back down at the guitar, letting your hand fall to his shoulder. “Love of my life, can’t you see?”

“Bring it back, bring it back, don’t take it away from me.” Peeking under his lashes, he grins up at you, and you can only imagine how you must look to him. Mouth slightly agape, barely blinking as you’re scared if you do this will all turn out to be nothing but a dream. His voice comes out next a bit lower, stretching out the words, “Because you don’t knoow.”

He strokes the chords a bit mindlessly now, playing with the sound of the melody, and he does it so effortlessly you almost hold your breath as not to miss it. “What it means to me.”

When he stops, you don’t really think before latching yourself on him, throwing one leg on each side of his thighs, and cupping his face before meeting his mouth with yours. He immediately wraps an arm around your back, his other hand taking the guitar off his lap and blindly placing it against the wall next to the couch. Once the instrument is no longer a barrier, he places his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. You can taste the memory of a pineapple still lingering on his tongue as you lick into his mouth. The kiss is hungry, maybe a bit sloppy thanks to the substance still very much present in your bloodstreams, but you don’t mind, only moving a hand to tangle on his hair, scratching at his scalp before pulling at his roots. 

A whimper escapes from his mouth, getting lost inside your throat, his grip on your thighs tightens, nails digging in it and you know will leave crescent shapes on your skin. It only makes you do it again, this time his head tilting backward with a small groan, disconnecting your lips, but you’re soon to connect it again, splattering kisses along his jawline until it meets his neck. When you suck on his pulse point, running your tongue over it, his skin vibrates on your lips as he lets out a whine. His hands are now running all over your thighs before resting on top of your ass, bringing your hips to grind against his.

Even with your hazed mind, it’s still hard to miss the very prominent bulge under his jeans. It makes you pull back, looking down to see it straining against his zipper. There’s a flip of a switch inside of you when you realize how much he’s yearning for it, it’s the desire you’ve been pushing back for months now, crashing into you like a wave and you can barely contain a small mewl at the sight.

“Bunny.” He breathes out. When you look back to him, you notice his eyes have darkened considerably. “We don’t have to--”

“Please.” You let your forehead fall against his, rolling your hips again, stealing another whimper from him. “If you want to, I want to.”

“I do -- fuck, I do.” He nods as you keep grinding on him, his hand disappearing on your back pocket, trying to get as closer to you as possible.

When you meet his lips again, the kiss is somehow eager than before. The longing is evident as you grab onto each other. Your hands travel down his chest, nails digging softly on his exposed skin, and once you feel the fabric of his shirt, you’re quickly to undo the rest of the buttons, not disconnecting from him as you do so. Smoothing your hands back up to his shoulders, you help him shrug off the material, letting it fall to the couch without paying mind to it.

“Wait,” he sneaks between kisses, hands coming up to your waist you push you off gently.

You watch with your brows narrowed as he gets up from the couch, walking to his shelf and standing in front of it, looking for something. Leaning to your side, you let yourself admire the muscles of his back as his fingers run through the edges of the records. It’s impressive how even though his collection takes over the whole furniture, he still seems to know exactly where to look for it, focusing on a small section right at the top. He quickly finds what he’s looking for, pulling it with a ‘Aha!’ before turning back to you. 

He holds up a very familiar black cover, the imprint of Queen’s Greatest Hits instantly calling your attention. Doing the same as you’d done earlier, he takes out the disk, placing it on the player before adjusting the needle over it. You watch it with a smile teasing on your lips, finding oddly endearing how he made you pull away from him with the sole purpose of putting on a soundtrack -- making notice to put on something you’d like, as well. He cranks up the volume as the first words of Bohemian Rhapsody start to swallow your thoughts, turning back to you and offering his hand with a cheeky grin painted on his face.

Taking his hold, you let him pull you up from the couch and, before you can really register it, he’s guiding you through the hallway. You stumble on your footing as he rushes a bit to fast for you to really wrap your head around it, the walls of the corridor passing by almost in a blur as it takes your mind a beat too long to catch up with your eyes. Still, your giggles dance along with his all the way to his door at the end of it, making you feel like a couple of teens sneaking out for the first time.

He doesn’t give you a single minute to take notice of his room -- not that you would at this moment, your arousal pooling at your underwear only enhancing the haziness of your mind. In just a speck of a second, he’s already pushing the door closed, your body being pressed against it not long after. His arms find their place on each side of your head, his lips searching hungrily for yours as your fingers find their home between the strands of his hair once more. 

“Shit, need you so bad, baby.” he presses his hips against yours, mouth hot as he sucks in the skin of your jaw, all the way down your neck, finding a spot that makes you whine under his touch. “That’s it, darling, let me hear you again.”

“Harry,” you mewl as his teeth sink on your skin gently, his tongue swiping quickly over the spot before he trails back to your cheek. You melt under his touch when his hands find their way back on your body, one of them caressing the side of your breast softly, thumb poking out to rub the spot where you nipple pebbles under your layers of clothing. This brings out a desperate whimper from your throat, your head falling back on the door as you close your eyes, trying to savor every slight touch of his. “Please.”

“Look so fucking pretty in this piece, bunny.” The sound of his voice is right below your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin making the hairs on your neck rise. “Look gorgeous in anythin”” he turns his head to bite at your earlobe. “But I really need it gone right now.”

Your eyes snapback open when you feel him pull back from you, his hands finding the front buttons of your playsuit, fiddling them open so easily you barely register it. His lips are back on yours, this time slower, letting his desire be known at every brush of his tongue. Smoothing his hands on your shoulders, he helps you out of the sleeves of the top. As soon as your back is disconnected from the wooden door, you start moving forward before you can really think about it, pushing him back gently until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he’s sitting back on the bed.

There’s hardly a speck of green left on his darkened irises when he looks up at you, watching your every move as you shift the material down your body, letting it pool on your feet before you kick it to the side. Taking a slow step towards him, his hands holding onto your hips almost unconsciously, you reach back to find the hook of your bra, but he stops you before you can even quite grasp it. “Wait,” he pulls you closer, making you fall a bit awkwardly on his lap, your hands moving to grip on his shoulder for support. “Let me.”

You adjust your position on top of him, your knees resting next to his thighs, as he handily unhooks your bra, removing it quickly from your arms and tossing it to the side. A gasp escapes your mouth as he wastes no time before attaching his mouth to your breast, tongue circling on your nipple before sucking in. His hand tries to give the same attention to the other one, grasping onto it as his thumb caresses the pebbled nub.

The crescendo of the song comes muffled in the background and it’s as if it’s echoing inside your head while you mindlessly roll your hips against his. The motion makes the lining of his zipper rub deliciously against your clit under the thin fabric of your underwear, and it reminds you of his hardening length pressing on his jeans. It seems to remind him as well, as his mouth parts from your chest in a groan, his lips licking at the space between your breast, kissing all the way back to your neck, where he hides his face with a strangled moan when you grind down a bit harder.

“Can’t take the tease, baby.” He pants. “Need you right fucking now.”

You pull back from him, gazing down at the tent on his pants and bringing your hands to fiddle with his belt. It takes you a bit longer to manage to pull it out, as his eager lips attack your neck once again. At this point, you can only imagine the marks he’s made on your skin, knowing the reddened spots will soon come to a purple shade, but it’s the least of your worries as you pop the button of his jeans, opening up the zipper. 

“Stand up just for a sec, darling.” He taps on your hip and you do as he asks, stepping back to plant your feet on the floor.

He shifts out of his pants, bringing his briefs along with it and you watch the way his cock all but jumps out of its restrains, slapping back on his stomach. The tip is a reddened shade darker, a trace of precum already oozing out of it, dripping down his length and making you rub your thighs for some sort of relief as you feel your mouth watering. You want to reach for it, grasp it as you feel it throb on your palm. You want to trace the prominent veins adorning it with your tongue and discover all the sounds he makes when he’s all but begging for you to wrap you mouth around it already. But more than anything, and what speaks louder to you at the moment, is how you want to feel it deep in your belly, rubbing against your walls until your legs shake.

“My eyes are up here, love.” You look up at him, a smug grin on his face as he draws you in by your hips.

“Can’t help it.” You watch his fingers play with the waistband of your cherry colored underwear, meeting his eyes as you let yourself mess with him a bit. “Just have such a beautiful cock.”

“Christ.” He groans, yanking your panties down your leg, making your arousal drip down your thighs. His lips immediately trace on your pubic bone, hands travelling to grip on your ass as his teeth sink into your skin slowly. “Didn’t know you were this filthy, bunny.”

You enlace your fingers on his strands, pushing his fringe away from his forehead as you mount him again. “Only for you.”

“All for me? What did I do to deserve you?” He smiles, pecking your lips and pulling your closer so you can feel his cock poking at your stomach. “Why don’t you lie down for me?”

You shake your head, pushing his shoulders back gently until his back hits the mattress. “You lie down.”

“Shit, baby, gonna sit on my cock?” He shifts back just slightly, watching you sit back on his thigh as you grab his length, giving it an experimental pump that makes his breath audibly hitch. “Fuck-- such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

You chew on your bottom lip, flickering your palm over the tip and collecting a bit of the precum before rubbing it once more. He lets out a strangled moan, head tilting back on the mattress, his curls splattered around him like a halo. Which is an ironical contrast to what you’re doing to him. 

His voice comes out in a breathy, chest moving frantically as he peeks down at you when you give him another slow pump. “Please, darling, don’t torture me right now, need you so bad.”

If it were another occasion you wouldn’t listen to him, simply continuing your teasing as if he hadn’t said anything at all. But right now you can feel your wetness pooling where you sit on his thigh as you all but throb for him at the sight of his angry cock in your hand. It’s just as much torture to you as it is to him to keep this going any longer, so you just shift up, gabbing his base and rubbing it along your folds one, two, three times, before finally aligning it with your entrance.

His nails dig on your thighs in anticipation, his eyes watching with barely a blink as you slowly sink down. Your mouth hangs open but nothing except a choked gasp comes out of it. There’s a delicious burn that comes with him slowly spreading you open for him, and when you fully sit down your eyes are teary and can’t help but clench around him, earning a full moan in response.

“So fucking tight.” He pants, chest moving up as he takes a sharp inhale when you clench again. “So wet too, baby, drenching me.”

“Fuck, Harry.” You lean forward, hands lying on each side of his torso as you pull up the tiniest bit just to sink down again.

You want to start slow, gradually fastening your pace but you can’t seem to hold yourself back. As his hands grasp on your hips you start to bounce on him at a hard pace, your moans meshing together as well as the faint vocals blasting outside the closed door. Rolling your hips on his, he hits spot that makes you sit on your heels again as you throw your head back, crying out his name. 

It’s hard to keep focus as you mind is blurry from the pleasure that takes over every cell of your body as well as the alcohol still running freely on your bloodstream. All you can focus on right now is Harry. It’s his hands gripping on your skin, helping you fasten your pace. It’s the sound of his voice pitching on a needy whimper, telling you how good you feel around him. It’s the sight of his face creased in pleasure when you look down at him, the veins staining his neck and his locks sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks rosy and lips plump. He’s the only thing in your mind as you chant his name under your breath like a quiet prayer.

“Is my cock that good, bunny?” He meets your thrusts with his hips, making you sob out a moan. His lips tug on a smirk, “Look at you helping you helping yourself out on my cock -- fuck, look like a proper dream.”

There’s a familiar tightness in your stomach, one that makes your toes curl and your rhythm falters. “I’m almost there, shit.”

“Won’t last much longer too, baby, feel too good.” He groans holding your hips in place when you stumble on your pace again, deciding to thrust upwards, your pelvis meeting in loud smacks. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna let me see you looking all pretty when you cum all over my cock?”

“Harry, please.” You’re not even sure what you’re asking for, your eyes closing as you roll back your head. A trifling cramp is starting to set on the back of your thighs but you barely pay any mind to it as the bliss takes over your whole body. You’re so close to your high you can almost reach it, just needing a small push.

“C’mon, baby.” Harry urges you, hand reaching where you’re connected to rub at your clit harshly.

And that’s all you needed, opening your eyes as a couple tears fall down your face when you feel your orgasm taking over you body, the white ceiling feeling far away like an imagine you watch on the television. You’re not exactly sure when Killer Queen started playing, but as the waves of euphoria hit your body, you can hear the guitar solo ringing in your ears, the crescendo of the song only enhancing the thrill of your high as you ride your orgasm along with it.

You practically collapse  down on his chest, his hot skin sticking to your body. He’s still panting under you, warm breath hitting your neck as he holds onto your ass, his thrusts coming sloppier as he comes right after you. The sensitivity of your center makes you whine along with his strangled moans when he holds his hips to yours,burying himself in you as he paints your walls white.

For a moment you just stay like this, cheek resting on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat slowing down by the minute blending with the music coming from outside the closed door. His fingertips trace patterns on your bare arm that’s hugging his torso and keeping him close. You can feel your mind getting clearer, not just from the alcohol but from the high of your orgasm. And as the sound of the soft wind knocks against the window glass, you’re almost lulled to sleep just like this. 

Harry shifts slightly, you feel his lips pressing on your head before he carefully moves to sit up, letting you fall back on the bed gently. “Mind if I have a smoke, bunny?”

You give him a lazy smile, shaking your head as you look up at him, reaching for his locks that poke wildly on his head. Leaning down, he gives you a quick peck before getting up. Turning to your side, you watch as he looks around the room, finding his briefs thrown by the end of the bed and quickly putting them back on. He grabs the pack of cigarettes along with his lighter and heads towards the window.

Opening up the window, allowing the evening breeze to slip through the crack and dance around the room, he pulls a chair leaning on the wall to sit directly by it. The chair is stacked with colored cushions on top of it - one yellow, one red, and one blue - he throws two of them thoughtlessly on the floor next to it, adjusting the remaining one on his back as he leans down to sit on it. The stool is low enough so he can relax his feet on it comfortably, fingers fiddling with the lighter for a second before rising it to meet the end of the cigarette resting between his lips. Freddie Mercury still sings loudly in the living room, the sound coming a bit muffled thanks to the closed door, but making it as background noise as you come quiet to admire his figure against the last creeks of sunlight hitting the side of his profile.

You chew on your lip at the scene, wishing you could record it somehow and play it every night before falling asleep. There’s something inherently erotic about having him smoke a cigar just on his underwear, humming along to the tune of the song, right after having you scream his name into his pillow. 

The light streak of wind coming from the window breaks you out of your thoughts, making goosebumps rise on your skin as you come to the realization that you’re still sitting naked in his bed. It doesn’t take long for you to find your panties hanging from the edge of the mattress, picking them up to quickly slide them up your legs before you get up to search for your other articles of clothing. You can see the colorful pattern of your playsuit lying next to the closed door, but as you crouch to pick it up something else catches your attention in the pile of clothes thrown around mindlessly on top of a wooden chest

It’s the pink shirt. The same one he wore on the day you first saw him play.

A grin takes over your face as you pick it up, throwing it over your shoulders and sliding your hand on the sleeves. It has the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering smell of cigarettes, something you’ve come to associate with him. You don’t bother to button up the material, letting it hug your body as you take a quick look at yourself in the full-body mirror leaning on the wall in front of you. You turn to him, his eyes still focused on the view outside, a thin coat of smoke leaving his lips and getting lost in the breeze, so you clear your throat as to get his attention.

He looks at you, eyes shamelessly scanning down your body and you’re afraid the cig will fall from his lips as they grow on a smug smirk. 

“Look at you,” he lets his feet fall from the stool, fixing them on the floor as he motions for you to get close. You approach him without a second thought, climbing on his lap as his hands hold onto your hips. He takes another look at you, grasping the cigarette with his fingers and taking out of his lips. Reaching for your face, his thumb caresses the side of your eyelid gently. “Looking like a proper rockstar now, even got the smudged makeup.”

You giggle. “That’s more your fault than mine.”

“I guess it is.” He taps the butt of the cig on an ashtray prompted on the stool of the window, eyes still trained on you. “Should do it more often then, s’fucking hot.”

You smile at the connotation, picking at the hem of the shirt and gazing at him from under your lashes. “Guess I might be starting to like pink, that’s also your fault.”

“Look way too good in pink not to like it, bunny.”

“Stop that.” You hide your face on the crook of his shoulder.

“Telling the truth.” His free hand grips on your waist, pulling you closer as he tilts his head to kiss at your neck. “Looks good in everything.”

“Could tell you the same thing.” You pull back to look at him, teeth sinking on your bottom lip as you smooth your hands down his bare chest.  “But I do prefer this fit on you, really brings out your eyes.”

“Naughty.”

You lean to connect your lips, hugging him close with your arms wrapped around his neck and enjoying the tender moment as you distribute kisses around his face just to hear him giggle. And when you bring your mouth to his again, you barely feel the softness of his lips before he all but jumps on his skin. You pull back, furrowing your brows, ready to question it but he beats you. “Forgot I got something for you.”

“For me?” You blink. “What is it?”

“Go sit on the bed while I fetch, will be just a minute.” He gives you a quick peck before you’re pulling away.

You do as he asks, sitting back on the bed, right next to the wrinkled spot where you lied just  minutes ago. He walks across the room, opening the door where you came from and disappearing in the hallway. The record is still blasting through the apartment walls, sound coming louder now that there’s no barrier between you.

While he’s gone, you take a moment to look around his room, something you didn’t get a chance to do when you first came in tangled on his arms. It’s not much messier than the living room, really, only the small piles of clothes you’ve spotted earlier that give the illusion of an untidy room. There’s a light wooden dresser that sits next to the chest, and from where you sit you can see two candles standing alone on top of it, similar to the ones on the piano. 

You swing your feet on the edge of the bed, letting them brush along a blue fluffy mat that hugs the floor underneath it. And as you run your hands on along his mattress, you notice the soft superficie, making you look down at a knitted blanket spreaded across the bed. It’s made of different colored squared stuck together in an oddly comforting pattern. You want to lie down on it, and let yourself be swallowed by the cozyness of the material against your skin, but before you can do so, Harry appears back in the room, closing the door behind him as he makes his way to you.

“This blanket is so nice.” You run your hands through it, smiling at him.

“Thanks, I knitted it.” The information makes your eyes bulge out, you open your mouth to inquire further but he’s already talking again. “This is-- uhm, I dunno, just something I thought you’d like it.”

The small box in his hand catches your attention as he hands it to you, his eyes looking down at it and even with just the moonlight illuminating the room you can see the blush on his cheeks. He props himself down on the spot next to you, watching your fingers turn the rectangular box around. It’s a cassette tape case, you quickly realize.

When you gaze at the back of it, there’s names of songs scribbled behind it. Not many, but a good collection of them, from Fleetwood Mac to The Bangles, and even Billy Joel. And it doesn’t take you long to find a pattern with the song chosen for the tape. Their all love songs. It makes your heart swell even more, if that’s even possible at this point.

“These are so cheesy,” you bite your lip, barely able to contain your smile.

He rolls his eyes. “They’re romantic, bunny.”

You keep examining the titles written neatly in his handwriting, raising your brows when you land on a specific one. “Every breath you take?” You tease, “That’s an interesting take on romance.”

“Shut up.” He giggles, eyes watching you carefully. “Do you like it?” His voice is adorably hesitant, it makes your heart stumble on a beat.

“I love it.” You say in just above a whisper, feeling the butterflies in your stomach get a little more vivid once your eyes land on the last song scribbled in the back of the tape. Somebody to Love. Brushing your thumb over the words softly, careful not to smudge the paint, you look up at him to find his green irises glistening at you. You shake your head almost in disbelief at the tenderness behind the gift. “Did you record this just for me?”

“Uhm yeah some of them I did but—” He looks down, focusing on his fingers as they pick a loose string from the blanket under his leg. “Some of them I just... Sang”

“You sang?” It takes you by surprise, how you thought there was no way he could make you feel warmer.

“Yeah… All of them, actually.” His dimples dig deep on his cheeks as he quickly peeks his eyes at you. “It’s just… The quality is shit when you record it from the radio and the dj keeps interrupting and stuff.” He shrugs, “Thought if I sang it could be more, personal? I guess.”

“I love it.” You repeat.

“You do?” 

“I do.” You chew on your lip, watching his eyes glimmering on the dim light of the room. “Is there a reason for this sudden present?”

“Kind of I--” He clears his throat, fully glancing at you. There’s an expectation behind his eyes, you can tell from the way he takes a sharp inhale that he’s nervous. “Thought I make you-- ask you, actually, if you’d be mine?”

You can’t help but giggle at how adorable he looks, your eyes getting a bit glossy as you nod without a blink of a thought. “Of course I’m yours, Harry.”

“Yeah?” His smile grows. “As like, m’girlfriend?”

Throwing your arms around him, you press your lips against his cheek, careful not to drop the tape in your hand still. You pull back, tilting your head as giving him a fond smile. “As in your girlfriend, yes.”