#gives me a wee chuckle xx

[abyssurvived]

actually obsessed w/ having so many supes/superhero/antiheros moots cause the idea of ivy trying to leave the supernatural world behind and moving to gotham/nyc/etc and ending up having to deal w/ a different kind of supe like..

[crashandlivewrites]

omg am i your first ask??? anyway, crawling to your inbox on my hands and knees to please ask for dom!soap overstimming reader <3 like she’s overwhelmed from work and can’t get her brain to shut off so johnny forces her brain to melt by making her cum over and over again. idk i just think that would be yummy :(

You know you are, Cherry darling <3 taking my ask virginity. Enjoy me not shutting up about your (our) man xx

As requested: Dom!Soap x fem!reader

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, overstim, degradation, Johnny being nasty and mean (but that’s normal), me ranting my ass off

“Hen, what’ve I told ye about overworkin’ yerself?” Johnny growled as he stepped over the threshold, home from the gym. Chucking his towel and bag in the corner and shutting the door behind him, he marched over to where you were sitting at the table. You were seated in the exact same place you were when he’d left for the gym and the same place you’d been when he’d woken up this morning. Tugging your chair back, he slid his body between you and your laptop, frown evident on his face.

“I’m just finishing things up, Johnny. Need to get this last thing done—”

“No, hen. Yer not.” There was no room for argument in his tone, so you shut your mouth and furrowed your brows together in annoyance. “Dinnae look at me like that, I’m in a right mood tae punish ye.”

“For what? I’m trying to finish this.” You snapped, trying to reach over his shoulder for your laptop, but he grabbed your wrist, pinning it to your side as he raised his brow.

“Dinnae give me that attitude, hen. Yer walkin’ a thin line.” His voice lowered and eyes narrowed, sending shivers down your spine. Meeting his hard gaze, you reached out with your other arm for the laptop again, attempting to click the save button on the email you’d been drafting when he snapped.

“Fuckin’ brat. Ye naw listenin’ tae me. Gonna give it tae ye now.” Standing up and throwing you over his shoulder and taking you to the bedroom where he unceremoniously dumped you onto the bed, before manhandling you so you were bent over the end of it, face pressing into the sheets.

“Johnny—” You gasped out, but you were interrupted by a sharp click of his tongue.

“Shut it, ye wee slut. I gave ye a chance and ye didnae listen.” His hands were rough as he stripped your bottom half bare, kicking your legs apart to expose your cunt which, much to your embarrassment and his delight, was already wet. Johnny chuckled darkly as he ran his fingers through your folds, collecting your slick on his fingers as he cooed. “Haven’t even touched ye, hen. Mah good wee slut, ain’t ye?”

He allowed two of his thick fingers to slide into you slowly, clicking his tongue again as he felt you try and shift to pull away. A hand came down to slap sharply on your ass.

“Ye lost the right tae move, hen. Already proved tae me ye cannae take care of yerself.” Curling his fingers, he pressed directly against that spongy spot that he knew made you moan. You did just that, tilting your hips back to meet his fingers as he thrust them into you. “Look at ye. Fuckin’ slut takin’ my fingers. Listen to yer pussy. She’s fuckin’ missed me. All wet and leakin’., makin’ the sweetest sounds fer me.”

He kneeled down between your spread legs, ignoring your cries and calls of his name. Instead, he crooned directly to your pussy as he added another finger, producing slick sounds that made you want to bury your face into the bed.

“I ken I’ve been neglecting ye. But dinnae fash, I’ll make ye feel so good tonight, aye? Make up fer lost time.”

“Please… Johnny I need—” You yelped as another hard strike stung your ass cheek.

“Naw, bonnie. Ye get nae say in this. This is between me and ye bonnie wee cunt. At least I’ve got one lassie that listens tae me.” Whining, you dug your fingers into the sheets, turning your head to look back at your boyfriend over your shoulder, who was pointedly looking at your sopping cunt and not you.

“C’mon bonnie. Cum fer me, aye?” He cooed, leaning in so his tongue could dance over your clit.

And you did. Over. And over. And over until slick covered your inner thighs, the bed, his fingers, his face…

“Please Johnny… I can’t… no more please!” You cried, struggling to form the words as your legs were numb and trembling, making it virtually impossible to push him away.

“Yer still talkin’ hen, clearly need to muddle ye brain more. Ye can handle another one, aye? Ain’t even shoved my cock in ye yet.”

Johnny was usually the most impatient bastard around, but when it came to teaching you a lesson… he suddenly had all the patience and self-control in the world.

“Besides, ain’t heard yer safe word yet, bonnie thing. Ye remember it, dinnae ye?” Chucking, he spun you around so you were sprawled on your back, hooking your knees over his elbows and looming over you. “Gonna be a good girl fer me? Gonna listen tae me next time I tell ye to take a break?”

Heavily panting and body lax from climax after climax, you gave him a small nod and his responding smile was wicked. Letting go of one of your legs, he reached down to drag his thick cock along your slit before pressing in. Johnny moaned loudly as he slid in right to the hilt, meeting no resistance.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus, hen. Pussy feels s’fuckin good ‘n wet. Gonna fuck ye, breed ye til ye cannae even think of work nae more.”

[eleniyappz]

Farm house pt 6

Cw: drinking, swearing, implications of sex and ‘repayment’ in sexual acts

“I’ll just have a beer thanks Simon” You hum as Simon collects the drink orders for your group. “I'll have a martini please!” Maybel sings as she shamelessly ogles Simon to which you have to suppress an annoyed groan. Those two have been eye fucking for ages and have never asked eachother out at this point you’ve considered looking into how to make an arranged marriage. “Beer f’ me too Ghost” Johnny nods at Ghost before looking right at you and fuck does it make you weak, you’d give anything right now to climb over the table and kiss him. No. Dammit snap out of it you are here for a fun time not a man… sure the man who you want no need is right across from you but you need to get a grip. “So how long are yer stayin’ down here in Devon, Maybell?” Johnny asks with his usual impish grin. “Umm another three days i think, then i have to get back to work” Maybel smiles her pretty posh london accent almost makes you jealous. “What do yer do f’ work lass?” He asks as he murmurs a small “cheers” to Ghost as he hands him his beer. “I work in a flower shop” Maybell beams, she's always loved flowers even when you two were wee lasses. “She’s very good at makin’ th’ flower bunches n shite” Ghost grumbles as he sits down the chair creaking under his weight, his compliment makes Maybell blush like an in season tomato.

“Meant ta ask ya lass, whats th’ deal bout the sheep back at yer place?” Johnny inquires as he looks straight at you making dead eye contact and it’s nothing short from hot. “I sell em’ that’s what i do for work. I sell th’ sheep n their wool or meat” You clarify before taking a much needed gulp of beer. “Still havin’ trouble with that Steve guy n his dogs?” Simon adds looking at you to most people having two well decorated and honestly intimidating men staring right at you would be unnerving at least but you don’t see them in that light. “Nah, once i shot his dog i think he got th’ message. Keep ya fuckin’ dogs away from my sheep” You chuckle and Simon gives you a proud brotherly look. 

“Work has been quiet lately, Si?” Maybel hums as she again ogles Simon. He gives her a polite nod “Too quiet, knock on wood it ain’t a curse in disguise” He smiles. Both you and Johnny shoot each other looks you both can’t remember the last time Simon smiled like that. Sure the seemingly stone cold Lieutenant smiles and cracks a laugh every now and then but he hasn’t smiled like that at someone in a long time. A genuine, lovestruck smile. “Hey Mabel, wanna come to go see how much the old juke box is to play some music? You hum standing up and grabbing her hand before walking away and flashing her an eager smile. Once you are out of earshot you giggle at her. “Maybel, He is head over heels for you!” you groan with a grin as you look at your best friend. “No way!” she gasps not believing you for a second “He don’t smile like that for anyone” You say pursuing your lips together. 

2:21am 

It’s gotten late in the night, Simon and Maybel have disappeared somewhere definitely shit faced. It’s just you and Johnny left you both are drunk but not as much as your other friends it’s what you like to call ‘thoroughly buzzed’. You sigh pulling out your phone and opening your best friends contact. 

Saturday 8/4/24, 2:22 am 

2:22 am: May didn’t get kidnapped, did you??

2:30am: girl at this point i'm assuming you’re with Simon, text me when you can Xx

“Can Yer get a hold of her?” Johnny asks as he sighs, putting his own phone down on the table. You shake your head with a small drunken chuckle. “Nup, you get ahold of Simon?” You inquire as you nurse the end of a slightly warm martini that is probably not yours. “Nae, what's th’ bet their fuckin’ right now?” Johnny laughs loudly he’s definitely more drunk then you but not off his face. “Honestly they probably are” You huff “should i call dad to give us a ride home or you wanna walk?”. Johnny faines thinking hard about the question. “I think if yer old man saw i was hangin’ around his daughter unsupervised he’d cut me dick off” Johny half winces and half chuckles. “Walk it is then, we need those intact don’t we?” You blurt out accompanied by a wink before you can process what your drunk mind is doing. Johnny’s subtle smirk forms into a full wide grin at your comment. “Is that right lass?” He chuckles, his arm snakes around your waist as you two walk down the quiet street. 

Fuck. you can’t believe you just said that. You are now blushing like a mad woman but thankfully he doesn’t add anything else. His arm stays firmly wrapped around your waist as you two walk down the street. “Meant to clarify before lass… yer just sell sheep?” Johnny slurs drunkenly as he looks down at you with a goofy smile. “ya just sheep i ain’t got anything else for work… I mean I chose to sell sheep” You nod with a smile that you can’t help but crack. “I mean i could be a teacher i’ve got a degree in Agriculture and biology” You ramble on leaning into Johnny’s side as you near closer to your house. “Oh so yer a smart girl?” Johnny beams with an impish grin. “I’ve always liked smart girls” he teases as you make the kilometre walk up your ridiculously long driveway. You blush more if it’s even possible at this point at his stupid but somehow charming comment. 

“Shhhh if ya wake up dad i’ll let him cut your dick off” You hiss at Johnny as he steps on a creaky floor board. You are both heading not so quietly upstairs to your room. Is Johnny supposed to be sleeping down stairs on the couch? Yes but you feel bad for the poor man after all he's been so polite to you all night may as well repay him right? Of course without your father, his Captain finds out otherwise he’ll be lacking the assets for you to repay him with. “Watch the left side… the boards are creaky there” you shoosh as you pull Johnny next to you stupid fuck almost stepped on the part you said not to which causes you to roll your eyes. After what feels like hours but in a non-drunken reality was only a few moments you both successfully make it into your bedroom. You quickly strip down to your bra and underwear and Johnny follows suit before you both slip into your double bed that Johnny is taking up the majority of. That just gives you an excuse to cuddle up to him, you press your ass into his upper crotch area and he envelops you in a cuddle. Very quickly you both fall asleep due to your drunken states. 

Taglist:

@tabbslouuformer

@amberpanda99

@thepowers-kat-be

[ayashitetsuko]

Izzy had to go on a business trip. He told his spouse Jim about this on their afternoon walks, and Jim was unexpectedly excited: their girlfriend Archie would be in the same city at the same time.

“Please, you two should hang out!”

Izzy didn’t give an answer right away. Sure, not a bad idea. He liked Archie; he approved of her relationship with Jim. Heck, they had had threesomes a few times. But he was still unsure about going out with Archie without Jim.

“Yeah, okay.” But he remained vague with the answer and did not do anything to follow up.

Jim was over the moon. They even offered to arrange the accommodations after the two’s business in the city was done. “Ooooh this is cool, you get to spend the weekend together!” Their group chat was filled with these messages. It was almost as if Jim shipped their girlfriend and husband.

The trip happened. Jim sent both of them to the airport. For the first few days, Archie and Izzy were busy with work matters. They called Jim back home to talk about their day, separately.

It wasn’t until the last day of work that Archie sent this pic to their group chat with the message: “Otw to steal your husband”

“OMG pls do yasssss”

“You two are aware that I’m not a dead object, right?”

“Lol sorry papi x”

“S ok birdie xx otw to pick up the devil now”

“Hey I heard that”

So Izzy went to see Archie. He hugged and kissed her lightly on the lips when they met, but otherwise they acted just like good friends when they went for dinner. Even when they checked in at the hotel, they opted for twin bed. So on the first night, they slept on separate beds. Nothing happened.

Jim was disappointed.

“You shared a room and nothing happened!? Que!? Why? 😢”

“Ah we’re tired, sweetheart. Old bones.”

“Birdie, have you fed Jojo?”

“Jojo is fine! I need you guys to talk!”

“We talked. Unless talk is how you married couples are calling it these days.”

“GAH!”

Archie and Izzy just laughed. They went on to do more touristy things that day. Checking out the biggest bookstore in town (“Birdie, are you sure you don’t want this special edition Star Wars thing?” // “😤”), buying chocolate for people at home (“How many nieces do you actually have at home?” // “Ah, that’s me, I’m my own niece”).

That night, something quite different happened.

Archie and Izzy went for a drink and after a few glasses, and their laughter became unbearable, they found themselves sitting closer to each other—none of them tried to move farther when their skin accidentally brushed. Izzy even moved slightly closer to Archie; he began to speak to her in whispers. At some point, he playfully traced the skin in her upper arm.

Archie knew what this meant. “Wanna go back and make your little spouse’s dream come true?”

Izzy chuckled. He pulled Archie closer when he felt her arms on his shoulders. “I have an idea. Let’s go back now.” The two of them kissed. “We’ll make this fun.”

Later, in the wee hours, as they slept with Jojo by their side, Jim received something on their phone.

It was a video.

It opened with a scene of Archie lying on her stomach. She was obviously naked. “Hey babe. Someone wants to say hi.” Then Izzy appeared on camera, exactly behind Archie. He did nothing but to kiss Archie’s naked shoulder and winked at the camera. “Wish you were here, babe.” Then Archie placed her phone in such a way that it was able to record everything that she and Izzy were doing; all their activities in clear view.

Jim bit their fingers in excitement when they saw their husband pulling Archie’s hair as he fucked her from behind. They squealed happily whenever Archie and Izzy kissed. When the two reached orgasm, Jim screamed so loudly that it kicked Jojo off the bed.

The cat walked away from its owner. He stared back at Jim with a judging, disapproving look.

—

Read my Archie x Izzy x Jim smut here.

[pinkandblueblurbs]

Hi! So I fucked up a wee bit and deleted the ask, but someone requested Fred x Reader smut where the reader is Sirius and Remus’s daughter, and they notice marks on her neck, so they confront them about messing around. Huge thanks to whoever requested that, all the love xx

Fred Weasley x Reader, Oral sex (male and female receiving), dirty talk, hickies.

You smirked to yourself. You had finally convinced your fathers to let you accompany them on their order meeting, claiming that you’d be terribly lonely and bored at home, and you wouldn’t interrupt the discussion at all. You were friends with Ron and Ginny, and wanted to spend some time with them. With a simple promise to be on your best behavior, Remus and Sirius had agreed.

“What’re you grinnin’ about, darlin’?” Fred murmurs against your neck, hands rubbing up and down your sides.

“My dads. They think I wanted to come to hang out with Ginny and Ron.” You respond with amusement. Fred chuckles. You’re in his room (George, fortunately, was out that day), held up against his door, legs around his waist as he kisses your neck.

“If only they could see you now. Against my door, desperate to get fucked.” You moan, bucking your hips against his.

“Quiet, love, they’re right downstairs.” Fred teases. You nod, biting your lip.

“Get on with it already, Fred.” You mumble, grinding against him again.

“Your wish is my command.”

He carries you over to his bed, laying you down and holding himself over you. He looks down at you, grinning.

“You’re gorgeous.” He compliments, brushing a stray hair out of your face.

“You aren’t too bad yourself.” You respond, smiling. “Now eat my gorgeous pussy, will you?”

“Alright, alright, so impatient.” his grin betrays the feigned nature of the annoyance in his tone. He moves down your body, his hand firmly rubbing over your clothed mound. Then he lifts your skirt and pulls down your panties. You bend your knees, helping him take them off your legs completely.

 “What’s the magic word?” 

You meet his question with a roll of your eyes. “Just do it already.”  

He raises an eyebrow at you, running his hands over your thighs, deliberately keeping them away from where you want them most. You let out an exasperated sigh.

“Please” 

“That’s a good girl” He smirks, bringing a hand down and starting to rub slow circles over your bundle of nerves. You let out a small gasp, lifting your hips slightly to meet his touch. His smirk widens at your reaction, and he dips down so he’s face to face with your cunt. You squirm as his warm breath ghosts over your glistening folds. 

Finally, after a few excruciating seconds, you feel a warm, wet touch against your entrance. You moan as Fred’s tongue prods inside your channel, stroking your walls and exploring thoroughly. Unfortunately, the sound proves to be counterproductive, as Fred lifts his head.

“Keep it down sweetheart, I love your pretty noises but I wanna be the only one who gets to hear them.” You nod, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, eyes begging him to continue. He complies, diving back down between your legs. He continues lapping at your cunt, and you grow wetter and wetter with each pass of his tongue.

Soon, he’s slipping two fingers inside you, and you bite your hand to keep from releasing another sound. He wastes no time, thrusting in and out of you at a brisk pace. You feel yourself quickly barrelling towards orgasm by his expert fingers and tongue.

“You close, baby?” He murmurs against your sex. You nod desperately, eyes squeezed shut as you bathe in the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Come for me, then, come on my tongue.” In an instant he’s back down and sucking your clit. You let out a loud moan, thankfully muffled by the hand clasped over your mouth. Your walls clench around his fingers and your hips thrash wildly as your release crashes over you like waves. Fred holds them down firmly with his free hand, working you through your orgasm. 

Once your movements have been reduced to a slight tremble and the spasms of your pussy reduced to a dull pulse, he removes his fingers and mouth from you. He gives you a sly grin as he sticks his drenched fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean.

“Well, was my pussy eating to your liking?” He jokes once he’s removed his fingers, crawling back up the bed so he’s above you once again.

“It was adequate.” You respond breathlessly, still recovering from your intense orgasm.

“Mm, clearly” he leans down and envelopes your lips in a deep kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue as it explores your mouth. You snake a hand down, cupping the prominent bulge in his pants, and he lets out a groan into your mouth. You pull away.

“Your turn, Freddie” you murmur, giving him a grin which he promptly returns. He lets you flip him over, and after another quick kiss, you move down between his legs. You work open his trousers eagerly, allowing you to pull down his boxers enough that his thick length can spring free. You pause, lips parted slightly as you admire the cock before you. Your eyes trail over the veins leading up the shaft, the ridge where the head begins, the sl-

“So should I just get myself off or are you planning on actually doing something?” You glance up at Fred to see his arms behind his head, brow raised in question.

“Yeah, yeah. Who’s the impatient one now?” You tease as your wrap your hand around his length, stroking slowly. He exhales audibly, watching you work.

You lean down, taking his tip into your mouth and suckling gently. Encouraged by the low groan he releases, you go down further. You try to take him all in one go, but you’re soon gagging around him. You’re forced to pull back with a couple inches still left untouched by your mouth, causing you to scowl.

Fred brings a hand down to cup your face, thumb rubbing over your skin softly. “Easy, love. I know you’re hungry for cock but no need to hurt yourself.” His voice toes the line between teasing and sincere. You let out a small huff but heed his comment, taking him into your mouth only halfway this time. You begin bobbing up and down, wrapping your hand around the length that your mouth doesn’t reach and matching your movements with it.

Fred groans again, softly. Clearly, he’s better at controlling his volume than you are. “Look at me, babygirl, wanna see ya while you suck me off” You comply, lifting your eyes to meet his. You take in the bliss on his face, feeling a surge of pride at having been the cause.

You begin sucking in earnest now, increasing your pace and intensity. Fred’s hand comes to sit on the back of your head. He doesn’t apply any pressure or attempt to guide you, he does it simply for another point of physical contact.

“Fuck, just like that baby. Such a good cocksucker” You hum appreciatevly in response to the compliment, and he groans. You continue your movement, ignoring the slight ache in your jaw. Eventually, Fred’s breathing grows more shallow, and the muscles in his thighs and stomach tense.

“I’m close, baby” he warns, expecting you to pull off. You have other plans, however, and only suck harder. His head falls back as he releases the first shot into your mouth, but he quickly brings his gaze back down, watching you intently. You swallow a mouthful of the thick liquid and are quickly met with more. This you hold in your mouth, and once his cock is spent, you pull off. You stick out your tongue, still coated in Fred’s cum, for him to see. You pull it back into your mouth and swallow, flashing him a cheeky grin.

“Fuck” he breathes out, watching you with wide eyes. “You’re so fucking sexy baby. C’mere” he makes the motion with his fingers, and you climb back up his body. He brings your head down and kisses you once again. This kiss, however, now that both your desires have been sated, is different from the ones previous. It’s gentle, sweet, and loving, and you feel yourself melt into him.

You pull away begrudgingly after a while. “We should probably get down there, I don’t want an appearance by Ron or Ginny to break our cover.” You murmur.

He nods, giving your bum a light pat. “Up you get, then.” You roll off him, standing up beside the bed, and find your discarded panties across the room. Fred tucks himself back in his pants and trousers, zipping back up.

You put your hair into a messy bun, something you fortunately do often throughout the day, so you’re confident it will go unnoticed. Then, you make your way downstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Tonks, and your fathers are sitting at the table, talking.

Tonks is the first to notice your presence, and she looks up, smiling at you. She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can her eyes widen as they land on your neck. She looks up at you again, pointedly, as if she’s trying to send you some sort of signal. Your eyes widen now, as you realize what she’s trying to communicate. You panic slightly as you remember Fred’s mouth on your neck as he held you against the door. He must’ve left marks. Tonks looks at your fathers, still enthralled in conversation, then to you, as if to say “they haven’t noticed, go”.

You turn to rush back up the stairs, a plan already formulating in your head. Maybe Fred knows some charm you can use to hide them, or you can ask Ginny to borrow some concealer. You only make it up one step before-

“Y/n! There you are. We were just going to come let you know that we’ll be staying here for dinner.” Your father Sirius’s voice states from behind you. You swallow, not turning around.

“Okay, sounds good!” You respond cheerily.

“Did you need something?” It’s Remus asking now, in his usual gentle tone. You shake your head.

“Nope! I’m fine” you try to keep your voice from coming out strained.You must’ve failed rather miserably, because Remus continues his interrogation.

“Are you sure...? You didn’t come down here for anything?”

“Just checking in.” You quickly lie, still facing the stairway.

“Turn around, Y/n, we can hardly hear you” Sirius says, eyeing the back of your head confusedly.

You inhale sharply, turning around slowly as he’d asked you to.

“Thank you, love” Remus’s brows furrow as he takes in your expression. “Are you alright? You look flushed-“

“Y/n, what’s that on your neck?” Sirius interrupts him, eyes narrowed as he looks at the skin below your jaw.

“Looks like a curling iron burn. She must be as clumsy as me!” Tonks answers his question before you can. Remus gives Tonks a doubtful look. Sirius is on his feet, stepping towards you, scrutinizing the spot on your neck.

“That’s a hickey.” He corrects, bringing his eyes to yours with a raised brow. Just then, you hear footsteps on the staircase, and soon Fred is stood behind you. You stare at Sirius nervously, unsure what to do or say. He looks behind you at Fred, then back at you, realization coming over his features.

“What did you two do?!” You’re unable to read the emotion in his tone, but whatever it is it’s intense. You recoil slightly.

“Nothing!” You respond, unable to meet Sirius’s eyes.

“We aren’t mad-“

“Speak for yourself”

“Sirius” Remus sighs, looking at you. “We aren’t mad, love, we just want to know. You can be honest.” He says gently, eyes full of sincerity. You open your mouth to respond, but can’t find the words. Fred, apparently, does not face the same issue.

“We fooled around a bit” he says casually, giving a small shrug.

“Fred” you mutter, turning to look at him indignantly. You’re only met with a grin.

“Is that why you wanted to come with us-“ Sirius starts, looking at you with narrowed eyes, and color rushes to your cheeks.

“Sirius, we can discuss this later, hm? As long as she’s safe” he looks at you in a silent question, and you quickly nod “then we can drop it for now.”

Sirius sighs “Fine. But we will be discussing this later.” You nod again, blush intensifying.

“You can go back up with Ron and Ginny, love” Remus says with a small smile. You give him a grateful smile and a nod, turning and quickly making your way upstairs.

Footsteps begin to follow you up, but are quickly stopped by your other father’s voice.

“Not you, Fred.”

[acapelladitty]

@sleeping-potatoe Babe 🥺 have some soft and sweet Father Gascgoine words. As a wee gift xx

Having dispatched the trio of beasts which sought to tear your throats from their natural positions, the stench of blood is thick in the air as you collapse atop the large body which has already set up camp as you double checked the perimeter of the small town square.

Beneath you, Gascoigne grunts in response as he finds his lap filled. The adrenaline rush of the recent battle is yet to dissipate and your shared breathing is shallow yet relaxed as you both fight for a return to some calm.

His lack of sight, the sense robbed both by the beast blood which flows through his veins and the ragged bandages which are wrapped around his eyes, only serves to make his other senses stronger and a shudder rolls through your frame as he inhales your scent deeply, his nose pressing into the side of your neck where the skin meets the shoulder.

Sighing, you loll your head backwards to give him easier access as thick hands wrap around your waist to pull you closer, ensuring that your back is flush against his chest as a shaky sound of contentment, almost a purr, rumbles through him.

"You handled those beasts so finely, my love." Extending one of your arms, his scarred fingers curl around your wrist with ease as he strokes your hand with a familiar softness. "It's enough to put me to shame; the grace with which you strike them down with your lovely blade."

"Silver-tongued pup." You purr back at him, enjoying the warmth which is pouring free of his large body as he cages you from behind. "I would be more than happy to give you lessons but that axe of yours is too powerful to be graceful. Besides, watching you use your strength to tear through beasts is always a pleasure and one I wouldn't dream to deprive myself of."

A gruff chuckle meets your teasing words and even through the familiar scent of blood and gunpowder which hangs in the air between you, a soft smile graces your lips in response to his amusement.

[thusspoketrish]

Showers in the Malfoy-Potter Household

Domestic, tooth-rotting, fluffy Married Drarry!!! Written for the prompt Fresh over at @drarrymicrofic. 2.3K words. Thank you to @curlyy-hair-dont-care for the thorough beta xx

I. That One Time with the Gloves…

“Bugger, I need to shower!” Harry shouts to the empty sitting room as he steps through the Floo, shoulders tense as he kicks off his muddy shoes, waving his wand to send them to the hamper and clearing the residual mess on his and Draco’s Brazilian Macchiato Pecan hardwood floors. On socked feet, Harry dashes up the stairs towards their ensuite, disrobing along the way as the charmed grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway strikes 14:00.

Any minute now, Draco will Floo back in from brunch with Narcissa and Lucius—the very brunch Harry said he couldn’t attend because he pulled Sunday rotation at the Ministry. In truth, he had actually signed up for THE GREATEST WEEKEND QUIDDITCH MATCH EVER!!! between the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry had been surprised to learn that the DoM swots were a bunch of dirty playing wankers—their self-important swagger causing a stir on the ground and a gloriously brutal match in the air. Harry’s pretty sure he bruised his ribs when he struck the muddy ground at the end of the match. But even with his injury, Harry couldn’t help the wicked grin that crossed his face when Timmons, the DoM’s Seeker, watched in horror as Harry staggered to his feet, punching his Snitch-full fist triumphantly into the air.

The glory. The power. Harry feels like a warrior—he feels like a bloody beast!

The little white lie and a skipped brunch with the in-laws were worth it!

Once in the bathroom, Harry uses his wand to send his scattered muddy clothes to the hamper downstairs and turns the water on scorching hot. Stepping under the spray, his sore muscles relax. It’s absolutely blissful, and he can’t help the happy moans that escape him as the water sluices away the mud and sweat from his highly earned, brutal win. He chuckles darkly to himself. Those wankers from the DoM will be sucking on this one for months to come.

The shower curtain is pulled to the side, starling Harry so badly that he nearly slips, his head whipping around to face his smirking husband.

Draco sticks his head into the shower, making sure to avoid the stream, his eyes flashing. “Well, well, well. Look who’s getting so fresh and so clean after a hard day’s work.”

Harry huffs, covering his nipples with both hands as he says, scandalised, “Merlin! You scared the bloody hell out of me!”

“I’m sorry,” Draco says, sounding far from it. “I was so eager to see my husband after a lengthy morning away from him that all I could think about coming up the stairs was giving him the best shower blowie he’s ever had in his entire life…”

Harry grins. “Babe, I’ve missed you so much,” he says eagerly, stepping back under the spray. “Come on, get undressed and join me.” When Draco doesn’t move, Harry gestures inward. “Come on...come now…”

“Yeah, okay. Let me just…” Draco pulls from behind his back Harry’s dirty Quidditch gloves, dropping them into the shower as Harry gasps. The fresh dirt mingles with the water, swirling down the drain. Harry could’ve sworn he sent those gloves flying into the hamper.

Draco’s smile is shark-like, eager, and ready for blood. “Imagine my surprise when these came flying into my chest on my way up the stairs. I was so curious, I decided to have a quick search of the laundry room hamper, and lo and behold, I found all of your Quidditch gear, sweaty and smelling of fresh mud and grass, darling. Must’ve been one hell of a rotation this morning, huh?”

Harry holds up his hands. “I can explain—”

“Oh, really?”

“Er, yes…” Harry starts, running a hand through his soaked hair. “Babe, it’s those wankers from the DoM’s fault! They’re a bunch of posturing arseholes and someone had to put them in their place.”

Draco crosses his arms against his chest. “Ah, right. And that someone had to be you?”

Harry smiles sheepishly, shrugging. “Well…you know I’m the best Seeker in the Corps.”

Draco harrumphs, tilting his chin up and leaning against the wall next to the shower. “So, you know what this means, right?”

Harry bows his head. “Yeah…” he says sadly, shaking his head.

“What?”

Harry sighs. “No more Mimosa Sundays at Malfoy Manor?” he asks hopefully, peeking up at Draco through his wet, shaggy hair.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know the mimosas at my parents' are bar none.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know…so, no blowie for me?”

“You’re damn right,” Draco says, yanking his head back and sharply pulling the shower curtain shut.

Harry grumbles to himself, turning back to the shower to rinse his hair. A minute or two passes before the shower curtain opens up again, a fully naked Draco stepping inside.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t start grovelling the proper way: by sucking my cock,” Draco says with a smirk.

Harry laughs, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. “How did I land such a deeply compassionate, forgiving husband?”

“With that sinful mouth of yours, obviously,” Draco drawls, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders to slowly push him down onto his knees.

II. That One Time Draco Was Trying to be Seductive...

Harry’s entering their bedroom, half an egg mayo sandwich in hand, when he notices Draco standing before the wardrobe mirror. “What are you doing?” he asks, pausing near the door.

Draco turns around, his arms spreading wide as he pops one narrow hip outward. He’s draped in an intricate floral-patterned gold bathrobe. “Do you like it? It’s new, darling. Just arrived from Italy. Rocco-inspired, heavy-weight close-knit silk lined with black satin…isn’t it gorgeous?” Draco purrs.

“Er…it’s quite something,” Harry says, biting into his sandwich.

“Neanderthal,” Draco tuts with a scowl before turning back to the mirror. He slides his hands reverently down the sides of his body as he tilts his head to the side. “It feels like fucking sex,” Draco whispers, his eyelids drooping.

Harry chokes on a bit of egg. Draco grins, ferally, as he faces Harry again.

“I have a surprise for you. Get undressed and meet me in the bathroom,” Draco says imperiously.

“Right now?” Harry asks around his sandwich, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. “Why?”

Draco runs his hands down the front of his bathrobe, his eyes fluttering shut. “The things I’m going to do to you the moment you slip this robe off my body…”

That’s all Harry needs to hear as he sets his sandwich down on the nightstand to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor before levelling Draco with a heated stare and a wolfish grin. “Is that right? Well, go on, then. I’ll meet you there in a minute,” Harry says, now unbuttoning his trousers. When Draco heads towards the bathroom, Harry picks his sandwich back up and shoves the rest of it in his mouth before getting undressed.

When he’s fully naked, he opens the bathroom door, the entire room filled with fragrant steam so thick he can barely see Draco.

“Er?” Harry says, stepping into the bathroom. Draco stumbles forward, wand in hand.

“I think I may have overdone the steam a bit,” Draco says before promptly pitching forward. Harry misses him by just an inch because he can’t bloody see, and Draco lands face first on their tiled floor.

“I thought it would be sexy,” Draco whines from his position on the floor in Harry’s lap after Harry Rennervates him. There’s a red patch on his forehead and a trickle of blood coming out of his left nostril that Harry cleans up immediately.

“You were! You were so sexy,” Harry urges softly.

“But there was no arse groping. No kissing. No fucking. It was all so unpleasant!” Draco cries.

“Aw, babe. I’m sorry. I think we should take you to St Mungo’s just in case…”

Draco sighs, sitting up but swaying slightly. “Fine. Alright. But let’s not tell them the visit is due to my failed attempt at seduction.”

Harry stifles a laugh. “Of course not. C’mere,” he says, helping Draco to his feet. “You can seduce me after the Healer has ruled out a concussion, okay?”

“Okay. But only if you promise to take my new bathrobe off with your teeth later…”

III. That One Time with the Mongrel…

Draco’s writing out a pros and cons list to determine if they’ll be purchasing a cottage in Cornwall this summer when Harry appears in front of him, a black towel cradled against his chest that’s moving.

Draco quirks an eyebrow. “What in the fresh hell is wrong with that towel?”

Harry chuckles and pulls the towel back. Pressed against his chest is a tiny, muddy little Beagle.

“No,” Draco says firmly, setting his quill down.

“Wait! Don’t be so quick about it! C’mon, babe, she was all alone in the alley by the Ministry! No mum or dad in sight. I couldn’t leave her there!”

Draco closes his eyes against the utterly heartbroken look in Harry’s eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, Harry would bring home an orphan, Draco had been preparing himself for this day since they married four years ago, only, he thought said orphan would be a wee babe, not a filthy mongrel. He exhales, nods, and opens his eyes, hand dropping away from his face. “Okay. Well. I refuse to have this mongrel in our house looking and smelling the way it does.”

Harry’s face lights up as if Draco has promised him the moon, and the stars, and all the love in his entire being. All over again.

“So, can we keep her?” Harry asks excitedly.

“Yes, Harry. We can keep her.”

Harry surges forward to press a kiss against Draco’s mouth, taking Draco off guard but aiming perfectly, nonetheless. Draco can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat as Harry begins to litter kisses all over his face, the mongrel caught between them. “You’re going to love her, I promise. Just look at her! She’s bloody adorable, isn’t she?” Harry says, holding the beast out to Draco.

Draco’s nose scrunches up as the dark-eyed creature stares up at him. She’s so small she could fit in Draco’s cupped hands, but her smell is atrocious. “Sure…” Draco says slowly, leaning away.

Harry hums happily. “I think we should name her—”

“—Beasty,” Draco interrupts, gaze flickering up to Harry. Harry rolls his eyes.

“No, silly! We should name her Pepper. Because she sorta smells like black pepper.”

Draco wants to suggest to Harry that perhaps they need to visit St Mungo’s to get his nose examined, because the last time Draco checked, black pepper smelled absolutely nothing like faeces. But he refrains, the joyous look on Harry’s face well worth going along with the madness.

“Sure, darling, whatever you want. Pepper it is. But she’s going to need a bath.”

Harry nods. “Right, yes, let’s take her upstairs to our bathroom.”

Draco smiles tightly. “Ah, no. I just had that tub put in. I don’t want this mong—Pepper staining the porcelain.”

“Oh, right, right. Okay, well, we can bathe her in the tub down here.”

Draco links his fingers together over his list. “Yes, excellent idea. So,” he starts, eyeing the now droopy-eyed, stinky monster. “Should we use a Petrificus Totalus or—?”

“DRACO!” Harry gasps, looking completely horrified. “We can’t put Pepper in a full body bind, are you insane? She’s a puppy!”

Draco frowns, his eyebrows knitting together. “She’s covered in grime and you expect me to manoeuvre this beast into the tub with its full cooperation?”

Harry glares at him. “She’s the sweetest thing, and I’m sure we won’t have any problems getting her into the bath, okay? Just follow my lead.”

Draco shrugs. Harry hasn’t led him astray yet.

When they finally enter the downstairs bathroom, tub now full of water at the perfect temperature and a mild soap, Draco suddenly gets an armful of Pepper as Harry begins to shed his jacket and jumper.

Draco stares down at her.

She is quite cute, with her large, bulbous black eyes, long, floppy ears, and wee-frowny mouth. Draco believes he can actually come to love this gross little beasty.

“Let’s get you all fresh and clean, sweetie,” Harry says, taking her back from Draco to place her in the water.

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

As Harry struggles to keep a hold on her, Pepper lifts her paws away from the water as if it’s fire, wild yelps escaping her as she struggles out of Harry’s grasp, dropping into the water first before lunging straight at Draco.

Draco catches her, her tiny little body soaking through his very nice, very clean jumper.

“Fucking fuck, fuck…” Draco mutters, staring down at Pepper, warmth exploding in his chest. She’s shivering against him and the anger and shock immediately leave his body as he cradles her, a defeated groan escaping him as a section of his heart unlocks and opens up to this little beasty.

Harry laughs. “Merlin, you are just so bloody adorable,” he says.

Draco scoffs, even as he stares down fondly at her, rocking her in his arms. “She’s a menace, that’s what she is.”

“No…I mean you,” Harry says, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, cheeks dimpled. Draco can feel the heat of a blush spilling across his cheeks as Harry leans forward to kiss him. When they part, Harry glances down at Pepper before meeting Draco’s eyes.

“We’re building our little family,” Harry says proudly.

Draco opens his mouth to say something mocking, but can’t, not with the ball of emotion that’s suddenly lodged in his throat. Instead, he blinks several times, glancing down at Pepper who’s staring up at him with her large eyes, tail wagging.

“Oh,” Draco says softly. “I suppose we are.” He sniffs. “I think it’s best if we get Beasty Pepper to the vet instead, maybe they can help us give her a proper bath. Shall we?”

Draco smiles as Harry drapes an arm around his shoulders. “Yes, let’s do it, babe,” Harry responds tenderly.

[bee-kathony]

Kneading Love | Ch. 7 “Merry and Bright” 

a/n: thank you all so much for reading! after this, there will be one more chapter! I’ve enjoyed writing this fluffy fic and I’m glad you all have enjoyed reading it! and as always, thank you @julesbeauchamp for the moodboard! xx

Chapter One |  Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six 

December 18th, 1946

“How many are we making?” Claire asked for the second time that day, hoping that the number might’ve changed.

“Five hundred,” Jamie repeated from earlier.

Pressing down hard onto the rolling pin, Claire worked out her frustrations on the cookie dough. “I cannot believe that you’ll sell five hundred Christmas cookies in the next week. This is a small village, for Christ’s sake!”

“They’re but wee, Sassenach,” Jamie placed his hands on her shoulders from behind and kissed her cheek. “We need that many because people buy twenty or so at a time. They make great puddings for Christmas dinner. Or so I’m told.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Claire smirked and returned to rolling out the sugary dough. As much as she was complaining about the amount of cookies they needed to make, she was enjoying herself immensely. Jamie had brought his radio into the bakery, which was now blasting out Christmas songs all day long. The smell of Christmas was in the air, and Claire had snuck quite a few too many treats already.

“Speaking of Christmas dinner,” Jamie said as he put down a fresh ball of dough in front of Claire to her to roll out. “Mam wants to know if ye’ll spend it wi’ us.”

In all honesty, Claire hadn’t really thought about her plans for Christmas, but now that this option was available, she couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the holidays. “Of course I will,” she smiled brightly. “As long as I can help. Now, we all know I’m not the best cook, but I’ll wash dishes if that’s all I can do!”

“Ye can try,” Jamie laughed. “Mam will probably no’ let ye, but ye can try, Sassenach. Perhaps ye can even spend the night or even a few nights — separate rooms, of course,” he added at Claire’s expression. “Then when everyone’s gone to sleep, I’ll sneak into yers.”

“And then when someone comes knocking on either of our doors, and we’re found in bed together, that’ll be just great!” Claire’s eyes widened. “But yes,” she said. “I’d love to stay for a few nights!”

Jamie walked behind Claire and wrapped his flour covered hands around her waist, leaning his head down on top of hers. “I’m sure my mam already kens what we’re up to, and besides, we’re adults who love each other. I already ken I’m goin’ to spend the rest of my life wi’ ye, Sassenach.”

“Oh,” Claire said softly, staring down at the dough. “Well, I love you. You know that, and… and I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”

“It feels like we’ve known each other for years,” Jamie said, spinning her around to face him. “No’ just months. I can barely even remember what twas like wi’out ye in my arms, Sassenach.”

“I can’t either,” Claire reached up, smoothing her fingers over his cheek. He had stubble over his chin, just as Claire liked.

Jamie reached behind her, collecting a small ball of dough and began to form it into a shape. Watching, Claire saw that he was forming a circular shape, and then he poked his finger through the middle to create a hole.

“Claire Beauchamp,” Jamie said gently, reaching for her left hand. A small gasp left her mouth as she realized what was happening. “I’ve loved ye from the moment I laid eyes on ye. When ye stepped out of yer wee shop that day, askin’ me if I was all right… I thought ‘Christ man, look at the pair of legs on that woman.” Claire laughed, hitting him lightly on the chest. “And then I thought, ‘She’s yer wife, whether she kens it or no’, she’s the one ye’ll marry.”

He took her hand and slid the ring made out of cookie dough onto her left ring finger. “It would bring me great honor if ye would marry me, Sassenach and become my wife.”

“Why, that looks good enough to eat,” Claire grinned as she looked at her hand. Then, she looked into her favorite pair of eyes and said, “Nothing would make me happier than to marry you, Jamie Fraser.”

Elated, Jamie kissed her, lifting her off of the ground. Claire’s heart was soaring, and she knew that this would always be one of the happiest moments of her life. Every decision had led her here to Jamie. Every step brought her closer to him, and now she would never be parted from him.

“I had planned to ask ye on Christmas,” Jamie said, setting her back on her feet. “But, I couldna wait. So, as nice as that ring made of dough is, I do have a real ring for ye back at the house I’d like to give ye.”

“I suppose this one won’t last,” Claire chuckled. “But it will taste really nice when I eat it later.”

“Eating raw cookie dough,” Jamie smirked. “Ye ken ye shouldna do that, Sassenach. It’ll make ye sick.”

“Watch me,” she whispered and held up her hand, closing her teeth around the dough ring. Jamie threw his head back and laughed before grabbing her hand and taking her whole finger into his mouth. With his teeth, he pulled off the dough and removed her finger.

“You ate my ring,” Claire said a little breathless.

“Ye started it,” he narrowed his eyes.

Before he knew what hit him, a dust of flour rained down over Jamie. Claire squealed as she escaped his grip, and hurled another handful of flour at him. Flour began to rain down on both of them as they tossed it to and fro, creating a cloud of powder — it was practically snowing inside the bakery.

++++++

On Christmas Eve, Claire packed a small bag to take over to Jamie’s. For the first time, she realized that after she married Jamie, she wouldn’t be living above her shop. While it was a nice little place, what she really wanted was to make a home with Jamie.

“Are ye ready, Sassenach?” Jamie called to her from below.

“Coming!”

They would spend the holidays at Lallybroch, and for the first time, Claire would have a real Christmas. Her past Christmases with Lamb hadn’t always been conventional, having spent them in hot countries with a makeshift tree with the native plants. She’d always dreamed of having a true White Christmas.

During the war, Christmas had passed by almost like any other day, with only a few moments to pause and reflect.

“Can you grab that bouquet of flowers? They’re for your mother,” Claire pointed to the counter where a large vase of red roses sat.

“She always loves when you bring flowers,” Jamie kissed her cheek as she hit the last step.

The walk to Lallybroch was cold, but the immediate warmth that hit them as they walked in was all worth it. The large fire was lit, and Ellen was sitting nearby, knitting a blue scarf.

“Hello, Mam,” Jamie said in greeting, shutting the door behind them.

“Hello my darling lad,” Ellen smiled as she set aside her knitting.

Rolling his eyes, Jamie laughed and hugged his mother. “These are for ye, from yer favorite florist,” Jamie handed his mother the bouquet of roses.

“Mmmm,” she smelled them. “Lovely, Claire, just lovely.”

“Is Jenny around?” Jamie asked, sliding his arm around Claire’s waist. “We’ve got some news.”

“She’s just in the kitchen, come, we’ll all go,” Ellen smiled and took Claire’s hand, leading them through the house. Jenny was standing near the stove, a large wooden spoon in one hand and the delicious smell of warm soup filled the air.

“Yer brother’s here,” Ellen announced, making Jenny turn. “And he brought us a gift!”

“Am I the gift?” Claire laughed, pointing to herself.

“Aye,” Ellen winked. “The best thing he ever gave us too!”

“Hello, Claire,” Jenny unchained herself from the stove and greeted them both. “Dinner tonight willna be anythin’ special. Tomorrow is the big meal and I canna be slavin’ away tonight too.”

“It smells delicious!” Claire commented. “And if I can help you in any way, please let me know.”

The four of them all sat around the long wooden table, and Jamie took Claire’s hand. “Before we celebrate the holidays, Claire and I have somethin’ we wanted to tell ye. We should’ve told ye the moment it happened, but I wanted to wait until now, when things had settled at the bakery and the shop.”

“Spit it out!” Ellen said, holding her hand over her heart.

“A few days ago, I asked for Claire’s hand in marriage,” Jamie beamed.

“And I said yes!”

“Oh praise Mary and Joseph!” Ellen cheered and jumped from her seat to come and hug them both. “I’m so verra happy!”

“Ye’ll be my sister!” Jenny hugged Claire. “And twas about time the two of ye moved forward. I was wonderin’ how long it would take my numptie of a brother to ask ye.”

“I woulda asked her the day we met, but I thought I best give her time to get to know me,” Jamie grinned, squeezing Claire’s hand.

“Let’s see the ring!” Ellen practically squealed.

“Ah, well, I proposed with a ring made of cookie dough,” Jamie blushed. “But I do have the real ring. I just plan on givin’ that to Claire a wee bit later,” he attempted to wink at Claire, making her chuckle.

“James Fraser,” Jenny clicked her tongue. “Only ye would propose with an edible ring.”

“It was very sweet actually,” Claire smiled at Jamie. “And then we got into a massive flour fight that I’m afraid you can still see the remnants of.”

“Ah, so that’s why there was a dusting of white over everything,” Jenny smirked. “Well, I’m verra happy for ye both. We’ll be gainin’ a wonderful new family member soon.”

“And then maybe soon a wee one,” Ellen said quickly, causing Jamie to blush furiously.

“And on that note, I’m goin’ to take Claire on a walk,” he stood from the table, taking Claire’s hand. “We’ll see ye for dinner.”

After grabbing scarves and mittens from a basket near the door, Jamie and Claire set off outside. It wasn’t snowing, but it would soon — Claire could sense it in the air.

“Rather chilly for a walk, don’t you think?” Claire said, hooking her arm through Jamie’s as she huddled close.

“Aye, but I wanted to get out of there, and I have somethin’ to show ye,” he said and kissed the tip of her red nose.

What must’ve been ten minutes later, Jamie stopped in his tracks.

“Ye see that building?” he pointed to a small cottage on the other side of a small pond.

“Yes! It’s rather cute,” Claire covered her eyes to shield from the sun.

“I’m glad ye think so,” Jamie said, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a golden key. “Shall we take a look?”

“Jamie!” Claire gasped. “Why do you have a key?”

Her heart was racing as she looked back and forth between the cottage and Jamie.

“It was the first house that my mam and da lived in while the main house was being finished. It’s still in the family,” he grabbed her hand and led her to the front door. “And now it belongs to me… to us.”

As Jamie unlocked the door, he let Claire walk in first. It was decorated simply, with only a few bits of furniture. A stone fireplace was on one side of the room, and the kitchen tucked behind the living area.

“Tis two bedrooms, and while it’s small, it’s a good size for a newly married couple,” Jamie wrapped his arms around Claire’s waist from behind. “I’ve been ready to burst wi’ this for weeks now!”

“We’re really going to live here?” Claire asked, hardly able to believe it. “A home all to ourselves. Oh Jamie.”

“So ye really like it, Sassenach?” Jamie stroked her head. “We can find another place, but since this place already existed —”

She turned in his arms, placing her hands on his chest. “I love it! It’s more perfect than I ever could have imagined, and I can already picture our lives here.”

“I’ll do the baking and ye do the gardening?” He quirked a brow.

“Sounds like a wonderful plan,” she kissed him, then shivered as a chill ran down her back.

“Go sit on the sofa, I’ll start a fire,” he rubbed the sides of her arms. “We dinna have to head back just yet. We can enjoy bein’ in our home.”

“Our home,” Claire sighed, and took a seat on the sofa. They would need a few more pieces of furniture and more decoration to make it feel like a home, but that would all come together. Even though they just got engaged, Claire wasn’t planning on having a long engagement. Especially not after realizing this would be where her and Jamie would start their lives together.

Jamie had obviously been here before today, as the fire was already set with logs, and after a few tries, he got it going, the warmth already filling the small space. He joined her on the couch, pulling her legs into his lap.

“Now,” he grinned, reaching into his pocket for the second time that afternoon. A small box was in his hand as he pulled it out. “I would like to do things properly.” Jamie opened the box to reveal a modest sized oval diamond on a silver band.

“I ken ye’ve already said yes, but tis no’ official without this,” Jamie said, taking the ring out of the box and holding it up to her left hand. “Claire Beauchamp, I love ye wi’ all my heart, wi’ all my soul, and here in this house, we’ll make so many memories together.”

He slid the ring onto her finger, closing his fingers around hers. “It’s gorgeous, Jamie.”

Claire pulled his face down to hers, running her fingers through his curls. He adjusted his body on top of hers, covering her. There was no greater joy than having the one you love whispering sweet nothings in gaelic after he just gave you a diamond ring. Claire felt like if she died then and there, she would die happy. But there was a lot of living she needed to get done.

“Merry Christmas, Jamie,” she kissed him.

“And a happy hogmanay,” he wiggled his nose against hers.

There by the fire, two souls became one. Two people who had known loss and pain had found each other, and there was now nothing that could separate them.

[all-things-fic]

Head Over Heels

A/N MetGala!Harry did a number on us all didn’t he ladies? Don’t know why we expected any different to be honest. So this is me taking inspiration and writing a little something about sharing that night with him. Hopefully it lives up to the hype for some of you (I’m anxious as hell). Massive massive thank you to my fave gal @waitingfortwilight for listening to me ramble about this all afternoon and to @talesofstyles for indulging me at 2am when Katie had the sense the sleep and drop out of group chat. 

Tagging some of my loves who reached out to me @for-fucks-sake-h, @theasstour and @harrygivenchy

Without further ado, hope you enjoy! Loads of love to all you babes xx

***

The faint click of the hotel room door was heard from behind you, as you watched Harry navigate his way around your suite.

A flickering of yellow light lit up the space and contrasted against the harsh hall lighting that had filled your room a mere second or two ago.

Eyes washed over his svelte figure that donned the black lace and rayon crepe jumpsuit impeccably well, the fabric tailored to his body in such a way that made undeniably custom and undeniably his.

Harry busied himself, his back still turned to you as you admired him. Head down, fingers tapping quickly away on his phone as he read through what were probably instructions of the outfit change that awaited him.

You admired the way his hair was cut neatly into his neck, the length curling now as the night had almost come to its end, an after party awaiting you both. Falling around his ears and temples, softening his face in that way that warmed you.

The glint from the bedside lamp of the earring in his right ear caused you to breathe deeply as Harry flicked it on. He didn’t know it yet but you were going to ask for him to make that stay around for a little while longer yet.

Black lace teased your gaze winding down his neck and over his broad shoulders. You craved to feel it underneath your fingertips, catching against your nails as you desperately clawed in a silent beg at wanting him as close to you as you could get him to be.

His arse was non-existent in the trousers and the thought caused a bubble of a laugh to leave your lips and for Harry to turn his gaze quickly over his shoulder at you.

He blinked, eyes lighting up as he saw the way you allowed your stare to scan up his body and to meet his eyes that so very often filled you with a indescribable warmth, a mixture of desire and love but right now showcasing incredibly blown out pupils and glassy from light intoxication.

“S’tha’ you laughin’ at me?” He asked, amused lilt filling your suite, causing you to press your lips together to hide your smile. You shook your head at him. “No? S’tha’ you checkin’ me out then? Fancy me summat rotten don’ya?”

He scrunched his nose up as he confidently goaded you with a slurred voice that filled you with a fire loud enough for you to be willed to bite back.

“Awfully confident for a man whose wearing a blouse and heels that match the length of his girlfriends.”

You saw the way his eyes lit up as he rolled his head further back on his neck to look at you. Ring clad hands pushed deep inside the pockets of his trousers as he pressed his groin forwards into nothing but thin air.

Standing dick first, he smirked, slowly. “You and I both know that my length matches nothing you’ve ever come across before in your life.”

You held his gaze. “S’why I’m still around.”

His head dropped back as he barked a laugh at your retort, eyes crinkling as they looked up to the ceiling for your hotel suite.

“Christ, I love you,” he sighed as his laughter died down. “You comin’ to me or do I need to come over to you?”

You stayed silent looking at him again, watching the way his eyes were alight, and the way his right hand slipped from his pocket and was held loosely out to his side, ready for you to take.

“Cause you know I’d come over to you in a ‘art beat. No question,” he admitted, in not so many words just how much of a fool he was for you. How much he didn’t care who knew it

His words lingered for a short while before his fingers wiggled over at you playfully. Your body filled with a warmth that you could only liken to the excitement of two lovesick teenagers, anxiously waiting with nothing but unadulterated eagerness to pounce upon each other regardless of how long or short it had been since their last embrace had taken place.

Twisting your body around, the sound of the chain of your clutch bag was brash against the crackling energy created by you both as you roughly placed it onto the dark mahogany sideboard.

With aching feet you tottered over to Harry who could see the lingering tiredness within your features as you draped your hand over his.

He clasped his fingers around yours, thumb soothing over your skin as he pulled you to him the rest of the way huskily chuckling to himself when you lightly squealed having been taken aback by his action.

The minute you fell into his side, his lace clad arm scooped you into him, your hand finding his upper abdomen, level with his butterfly tattoo.

“Steady on darlin’,” he teased. “What was it you said earlier ‘bout my two left feet?”

“Shut yer face,” you replied, tilting your head to look at him and enjoying the way he looked down at you wearing a look of boyish adoration.

His mouth fell with a mocked disbelief at your sniping at him. “S’tha you givin’ me a tellin’ off now n’all- need a good tellin’ off don’t I, eh? One too many nipples one show-“

You bit away your smile. “Should’ve gone with two but couldn’t hold back and went wi’all four of ‘em instead-“

“Sometimes it’s nice to let the girls breathe.”

He hummed at that, dipping his head down before you could even comprehend what he was doing next. Your felt his teeth nip at the swell of your breast, catching the top hem as he pulled at the fabric.

“Harry, god- stop-“ you giggled threading your fingers through his hair and hearing the most sexiest, deepest, filthiest laugh bounce against your bare skin as he obnoxiously growled shortly afterwards, only deepening the blushing warmth of your cheeks.

“Tits looked extra good t’nigh’,” he groused. “Go’ a favourite one y’know-“

You hummed, closing your eyes at the way he nosed his way up against your neck and suckled against the hinge of your jaw. You dug your nails into his neck at the nape, Harry hissing lightly against your neck.

“You know,” he asked again, husky whisper everpresent. “‘Ow’d you know?“ This time his question was asked in a whine, purely due to the way he’d be caught.

As you responded he brought your head back to his, lips skimming gently against your cheek. “You like sucking on one more than the other-“

“S’the right ‘un-“

“I know-“

“S’a bit bigger than the left. Nipple pebbles nice fo’me.”

You breathed heavily out your nose at his words, easily enticed by the way his warm breath bounced against the corner of your mouth. He cheekily puckered his lips, ever so gently, willing you to turn your head slightly to the left give him what he wanted.

When you didn’t comply, he chuckled again, “s’tha’ you sayin’ no?”

“S’me not saying anything-“

“Not even a little bit filthy f’me?”

“Harry-“

“S’not a no.”

You stared at him though hooded eyes, his expression matching yours. Leaning forward he pecked your lips lightly, keeping your eyes contact, completely going against the lingering pull of his gaze and the soothing motions of his hands that made you swear he would’ve tried for something not.

“Need a quick piss,” he muttered, forgetting the manners he was always so quick to remember around you. “Can you undo me, darlin? Can’t quite reach and don’t wanna rip the lace.”

He turned quickly to show you the expanse of his back again and your eyes were dazed by the buttons of the neckline that was strikingly feminine in contrast to the thick band of the tied bow collar and the broad back of your long-term boyfriend.

When you didn’t respond straight away you heard his voice enter your thoughts. “S’fine if not, can ‘ave a go m’self.”

Alongside his voice, you watched as his arms lifted up and behind him, fingers fiddling with tiny buttons too petite for his clumsy movements. With a quick glance you could see the strain of the lace over his biceps as he reached up and tried his hardest to undress himself.

Without another thought you placed your hands against his shoulders, smoothing them upwards over his shoulder blades and to the tops of his arms to guide them down.

You felt him shiver a bit underneath your touch at the feeling of your hands on his skin, the lace he wore the only thing between you both. Boldly you nudged forward and pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade, the lace a lot softer to your lips than you first imagined it would be.

A soft sigh left Harry shortly before he confessed, “Missed you tonigh’. Sorry I didn’t get much time with you.”

You sighed, dropping your head to the middle of his back, taking to feeling the way he blindly reached behind him to coax you into pressing your entire front to his back.

Gently he took your arms and wrapped them around himself, enjoying the way you clasped your hands tightly against his midsection.

“S’fine I had a great time with Bradley Cooper,” you joked. “He’s quite a catch. Does both a bit of the old singing and acting. Seems ‘ve got a type.”

The two of you stayed silent for a while. The calming rise and fall of Harry’s stomach against your hands with his breathing, instantly soothing your emotional state.

Somewhere in the tranquil stillness Harry found his voice, a lingering question on his mind and itching to leave his tongue. “Proud of me?” he asked, a bit braver with his back facing you.

“Couldn’t be more proud of you if I tried.”

Your response came not less than half a beat after his question. His shoulders visibly relaxing as he felt you scratch against the fabric of his trousers. He cupped his hand over yours.

“Thought you needed a wee?”

“I do,” his tone let you know he was smiling. “‘M just enjoying my girlfriend trying to envelope me even if I do tower over her.”

You slapped his lower stomach lightly, causing him to groan. “Don’t do tha’, ‘m fit to burst.”

“Can’t stay attached to you and undress you, so which is it?”

Wordless he guided one of your hands back to his neck, and sighed when he felt the collar of his neck give way as your nimble fingers easily undid the delicate buttons.

While you unbuttoned, he unzipped. Seeing the lace fall away from his back, enjoying the way the heavy fabric pooled at his feet. The sight of his bare bottom cheeks was enough to cause your mouth to become almost unbearably dry. The way he stepped out from the expensive fabric, to stand in front of your wearing next to nothing but a pair Gucci boots was quite frankly to biggest turn on you’d yet to experience with you boyfriend.

He didn’t seem phased by leaving the expensive garment on the floor as you turned to look over your shoulder at him as he headed towards the en-suite bathroom. Him walking away from you boyishly cupping himself with both hands and freely letting his bare arse bounce with each strut.

There was something about the way he pranced to the toilet in nothing more than a pair of patent Gucci boots which cut off at his calf that caused you to erratically flush.

“I’ll pick this up after you then, shall I?” You sarcastically asked.

Mere seconds later he replied through the close door, “Cheers doll!”

You shook your head, walking around the room and finding the Gucci coat hanger that you required on the back of the door. By some kind of miracle you managed to get the garment back inside the white protective bag, hanging it back up where you found it.

The next thing was to tackle was your own dress, the could wait however. The heavy fabric weighed you down, and while it was an exquisitely gorgeous piece crafted by Gucci itself (because let’s face it you would be dead if you’d have been seen in anything else), you wanted nothing more than to take the weight off and replace it with the slinkier number you’d hand picked for the Fall 2019 runway.

Sinking down to the floor, you reached above you and grabbed at your clutch, crawling closer to the end of the bed. Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear Harry pottering around the bathroom, messing with little trinkets and making far too much noise for someone who only wanted a wee.

Opening the clasp of the black velvet bag, you pulled your phone out and quickly swiped across the screen, ignoring any messages you had from friends regarding your outfit. Prying questions of who you’d been seated next to etc etc every present when your phone was brought to life.

Taking to social media, you somewhat narcissistically searched out your boyfriend. And by search you meant clicked on his number two trending topic worldwide - which was his name - to see what sort of kerfuffle he had managed to cause for himself this time.

Beaming. That was a word that was used a lot. However this time it was an understatement. Your emotions were hard to pin down as you scrolled and scrolled through the thousands upon thousands of images and kind words about the man who had always that little bit extra and not always afraid to show it either. Well, not with you anyway.

“S’tha’ Bradley tha’s got you smiling like tha’,” you felt your lips twitch deeper as Harry’s voice entered the room again signalling that he was finished up in the bathroom and yours to ogle once more.

“Wouldn’t you like to kn-“ you voice trailed off as you lifted your eyes to see Harry resting casually against the door frame of your en-suite, arms cross over his chest and heels extending his height so much more as he stood, filling the doorway, almost intimidatingly.

You gulped. He was hauntingly beautiful as his eyes blinked slowly and he licked at his lips, quickly rolling them into his mouth as he watched the way you’d frozen at the sight of him.

Before you could stop yourself, you swiped up on your phone and snapped a photograph of him. Expecting him to protest by covering his exposed private parts. Instead you were quite surprised when he altered his position in the doorway and rested his hand against his hip, opening himself further.

“‘F yer gonna take ‘em at least have the shutter noise on,” he smirked, pressing his left hand against the doorframe and loosely setting his right hand on his bare hip. Oh my god he was getting off on this. On you snapping pictures for him and you to deconstruct later. “Make sure you’re getting my good side.”

“Have you got a bad side-“

“Know you ‘ave,” he deeply responded, giving the conversation an whole new meaning as he tilted his head back and looked at you with such a vacant expression of smugness that made it so you didn’t quite know what to place yourself. His cheekiness was ever present as he fought his laugh, and his dimples from showing.

“I’m not the one standing with my dick proud in a pair of slutty heels.”

“S’a very sophisticated nude actually,” he started, pushing himself off the doorframe and walking over to you. He leant down, left leg lifting slightly off he floor as he planted his right foot firmly to hold his weight. The strength of his muscular quads visible as his legs tensed and he messily found your lips.

Head tipped back, sat on your haunches you kisses him in return, just as messily enjoying the way his tongue lapped sultrily against yours. “A very very sophisticated nude. No sluttiness involved-“

“S’a shame,” you cut him off, enjoying his breathe fanning across your lips, knowing you were drunk on lust as he watched you. “Quite like the idea of being a bit slutty.”

“You or me?”

“Both,” you breathed.

He groaned around his laugh, standing to him full height and breathing deeply to try and calm himself. Where he stood you found yourself almost level with his crotch. So close, all you needed to do was raise ever so slightly onto your knees and you could take him into your mouth with ease.

You were enticed, there wasn’t any doubt. Especially as he stood hard in front of you, bobbing with each harsh movement of Harry’s flamboyant hip swinging prance.

As you chose to throw caution to the wind, Harry slipped around you, walking in the direction of the dimly lit corner of the room. He messily flopped down into the burgundy, crushed velvet chair and peered over to you like a crocodile peering over the waters surface.

With eyes locked with yours, you watched the way he slid down the back of chair, his shoulders digging into the back rest as he pressed his hands teasingly to his pelvis, so close but so far away from quelling the throbbing of his cock.

You eyed each other silently, both your chests heaving with anticipation as you waited to see who would be the first to give into their enticing lust.

Next, Harry somewhat erratically darted forward, spreading his legs wide within the seat as he leaned down to unzip his boots.

Underneath the hair that had fallen, he must have seen the way you reached forward, pressing your hand down against the thick rug, cream and soft to touch, beneath you.

“Are you crawlin’ to me?” He asked, the left side of his mouth tilting up into smarmiest smile. “You’re crawlin’ to me.” He confirmed.

Biting you bottom lip, you hummed watching the way that Harry dropped his head a smirk. This breathy chuckle filled the space between you both, as he shook his head before he once more looked back up at you from underneath the hair falling into his eyes.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry breathed, falling back against the seat once more, his chin was almost resting against his chest as he wordlessly goaded you to come to him.

“Come perch yourself nicely between m’legs then, darlin’.”

You find yourself complying and you knew if you body was under his now you would be needy and pliable, just the way he liked it.

“‘F we’re doin’ this, then we’re doin’ it proper.”

“What are we doing?”

He smiled at your question, your own voice deeper with arousal now as you eyed him. The challenge of your questioning him was always a nice push and pull for you both.

“What is it you want, pretty boy?”

“Get ‘em out for me,” he feebly reached for the top of your dress, weakly tugging he fabric down. Your breast bounced against the jolt of his hands combined with yours.

“Gonna fuck ‘em?”

“Want me to-“ he asked, voice dying off as you leaned forward and he felt your hardened nipples brush against the skin of his legs.

This desperate, wet, plea escapes him before he can stop himself and wait on your reply. “Want to, want to,” he breathed.

Raising higher you shuffled around, reaching for the top of your dress and somehow managing to pull the front down to sit awkwardly under your boob.

“Other one,” he spoke, breathing ragged, chin nudging upwards as he cupped over his hardening cock and squinted his eyes so tightly you could’ve sworn he’d closed them. “Christ darling, what’re doing to me,” he begged, panting. “Look, feel- feel- ‘av a feel, ‘av a play.”

You laughed down your nose as you dropped your head down, open mouthed kiss left against the skin above his belly button.

“Doll,” you heard from above you as you felt his hand fidget next to your neck, curling around his aching member and choking out an mantra of “darlin’s”.

Harry swallowed harshly, stomach rolling as he heaved, in and out, short and sharp pants as your lightly moved your head from side to side as his descended closer to where he wanted you most.

His hands scratching against the velvet of the seat was faintly heard by you as you came to a short stop. Closing your eyes you inhaled lightly first, his trimmed pubic hair short but still enough to leave a light tickle against your skin.

“Bit lower, bit lower, bit lower,” he breathed, voice whispered, broken.

You pushed your nose into him harder, inhaling deeper.

“God, please get on me. Suck me off-“

Reaching for his hand, you guided his palm that still held his aching hard cock and pressed it to your lips. Through hooded eyes he look down at you and smeared his wet head against your lips.

Your mouth dropped slightly, tongue dipping out to lave gently before you took and deep breath through your nose and dropped forward taking him tenderly in between your lips and sucking.

He choked your name, watching you delicately while gritting his teeth and hissing as you lowered down some more. You pulled up, lifting off him and holding him in your hand. Head dipping down you licked from the base of his shaft, kissing as you got to top before suckling him into your mouth again.

Fingers slide along your jaw, as Harry dropped his chin to his chest. He felt the way you flexed against his hand, using his free hand to try and stop your hair from covering your face. He growled as he came up short, quickly making his right hand weave through your hair and holding it up in a makeshift pony tail.

“Look at you,” his tone was guttural, feeling you pull off before spitting lightly down onto his already wet and leaky cock. “Fuck me tha’s good-“

You bobbed your head up and down over him, tongue working over his length causing him to whimper, desperately trying to guide your head with non-verbal encouragement.

Pulling off you suckled on his head again, feeling him choke as he strained, “Stop- stop playin’ wi’me.”

“Wanna fuck ‘em?” You breathlessly asked, pressing your chest forward and feeling the way he reached to stroke the underside of your right boob.

Harry wordlessly nodded, sucking his bottom lip harshly into his mouth and through hooded eyes watched as you leaned up a bit more and pressed your tits together.

He thumbed over the weeping head of his cock, heavily breathing through his nose as a muffled groaned left his tightly pressed together lips. 

A gleaming line of spit and pre-come traced your tits, as he smirked at the mess he was making against your skin. He slapped himself against both your nipples, rubbing against his favourite boob a bit more than the other with highly glazed eyes of lust and something else.

“What would the world say if they saw Harry Styles’ fucking his girlfriends tits-“

His eyes snapped up to yours from where they’d been trained on the way he played with himself.

“No sharing,” he whispered, pressing his cock in between your cleavage and enjoying the way you pressed your boobs to encase him.

“No, no sharing,” you agreed, pouty lips confirming his words by repeating them, moving painstakingly slowly and watching the way Harry’s face pinched and breathed in wonder about how soft you skin was.

Dropping your mouth down you managed to lap gentle licks to his head as it popped between your boobs, which had gotten a bit of bounce to them again as Harry began to raise his hips, hand holding himself solidly at the base.

“Love fuckin’ your tits, doll.“

“Yeah? Don’t want ‘em bigger?”

He shook his head. “They’re perfect, don’t need ‘em bigger. Wanna fuck ‘em more, wanna fuck ‘em all the time.”

“Show me then,” you goaded. “Show me how much.” 

You saw the way his eyes had darkened in determination, zoning in on the way you focused on ensuring your mouth was always there where he popped out the top. Lapping at him and purring each time successfully managed to get deeper in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whimpered. Heaving breath, choked. “‘M gonna come. Darlin’, s’gonna be loads-“

“On my face?” You asked, him shaking his head with gritted teeth, sweat pebbling against his temple and hairline, as he tried to hold off. “My mouth-“

“Angel-“

He hardly called you that. That one was rare. That was the name when he was far too lost within his own psyche.

He wanted to blow his load in your mouth. He just didn’t have it in him to express it with fear of exploding before you wrapped your lips around him.

In a flash your breasts fell away and your hair fell into your face as your enclosed around him and took him down as far as your could. “Comin’, sorry- sorry-“ his apology was quick pants of words that turned into mumbled garbles of incoherence together with groans and choked moans that in every sense of the word embodied: erotic.

You also didn’t know why he was apologising, swallowing was never a problem.

As you slipped off of him, Harry’s heavily spent cock fell backwards against his stomach. In post coital haze, he gasped heavily above you, blushing skin returning slowly turning back its usual pale shade. If you’d have looked up at him that moment, you would’ve seen the way that he was blissed out. A slow, crooked smile lifting on his lips as he bit his bottom lip and spread his palm against his face, almost in embarrassed disbelief.

You however were too busy with running your nose along his hairy thighs, pressing the softest, barely there but ever so slightly wetter than usual, kisses to his skin.

You grazed his knee with you teeth, favouring the “si” tattoo subliminally telling that there was more where that came from if he was up to it. Down his calves, you slowly draw the back of your hand over the patent boot, unzipping and removing it.

Eyes ran over his feet as his toes curled into the thick, white rug underneath you both, causing you to smile as you were all too familiar with burn in the balls of your feet from high heels.

As Harry returned to his surroundings you heard his hoarse voice, “Fuck me.” 

“Can I?”

He brashly laughed, blinking sleepily over at you. Lightly, he tugged you up to him, wanting you lips on his desperately. You rolled your tongue against, wanting to share his taste with him and feeling the way his jaw flexed wider as the kiss deepened. He wanted that too.

As the kiss slowed, you felt yourself soften as Harry breathed against you. His nose nudging yours, the change in him cause you to become slightly flustered and a bit fidgety. “You’re so fucking good at tha’, d’ya know tha’? Never gonna get tired of doing that with you.”

“Harry,” you fell against him, as he dipped his head back behind him and laughed again. His hand rested on the nape of your neck soothing over your slightly messy hair, from the way it had previously been tangled in between his fingers. 

“We like the heels then?” He questioned after a small amount of silence, as he kept your body draped over his as comfortably as he possibly could for the size of the arm chair.

“They’re alright, I suppose,” you scratched lightly at his chest hair. He bit back his smile, admiring how you tried to remain blasé.

“You let me fuck your tits for something that’s just alright? Suppose we did get a little slutty after all-“

He dipped his head, turning it to the side to find your jaw. He hummed before saying, “And the night’s still young eh-“

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I NEED MORE HRH 😩 and Loss, obviously

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations | Part VII: Magnolias| Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market | Part XVII: Stables | Part XVIII: Alarms | Part XIX: Visitor | Part XX: Cuffed

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XXI: A Woman’s Speech

Claire woke from a dream within a dream.

In the first, she was suspended in a dreamless trance against Fraser’s chest. It was warm. Too warm for Scotland. Perhaps there had been some noise (a crash or faraway disturbance) that roused them both at the same time. Silently, Claire traced a single gray hair in a sea of unruly auburn lightly breaking against the centerline shore of his chest. Cool air filtering through the window lifted curtains she had never seen before. Perhaps it was a honeymoon – a gauzy, bikini-clad getaway ensconced in the carefully-controlled bubble of one of the British Protectorates. The Maldives maybe? She had seen a postcard once (pressed into the pages of a scrapbook maintained by her sister, a memory of a beautiful holiday to trot out to make a younger royal grow emerald with jealousy), but she had never made it there before.

She curled closer to him, felt the burr of speech rumbling in his chest like an oncoming storm, realized she couldn’t hear him. Jerking up, she pressed a hand to the center of his chest, felt her facial features contort. His mouth was moving, curled into a lazy, slow smile. His hand was on her naked hip, urging her closer, but she had the sensation that she was being pulled backwards. It was as though she was being tugged by a lead threaded into her spine.

Then it was pitch black (like blindness itself, an endless blank slate of darkness upon darkness forever and ever).

In the second dream, Fraser was stripped bare to the waist and in a courtroom. Scars criss-crossed his back like the map of a chaotic, unplanned city center. Lined, bloody wrists were secured in fetters and chained behind his back. Scar tissue (his past) and fresh wounds (their future). Claire shouted for him (for her Fraser, for him to pay attention god dammit, that she would fix this), voice raw. He turned, calling to her and shaking his head. His mouth was frantic, needy. There was no trace of a smile. She tried to move, but she was bound to the spot (hip-deep in cement, locked in place). The courtroom lengthened, the lights dimmed. It was a corridor then, and he was getting further and further from her.

“Stop!” she attempted to scream, but no sound emerged. She scraped at the cement until her fingertips were bloodied; she touched her mouth. Only the narrowest indentation remained where her lips (appendages designed to kiss him, taste him, tell him the darkest parts of herself and hope she had for a future drenched in light with him) had been sealed together.

“Claire!” he bellowed, the single syllable bellowing from the deepest part of his belly.

Her fingers clawed at the indentation, her toes curling uselessly inside shoes entombed in cement.

He continued, “I’m doing this for you.”

She tried to call out, shook her head furiously, and refused to blink. She couldn’t bear the thought of tears falling as her lipless mouth screamed, “No. No. No.”

She woke, gasping and kicking through layers and layers of covers until her legs were free of the obstruction. The soles of her feet found solid ground.

Edinburgh. She was still in Edinburgh.

Her nightgown clung to the sweaty parts of her (lower back, breasts, armpits, lower stomach, thighs), made her feel like a thousand colonies of insects had taken residence under her flesh.

She launched herself from the mattress, tearing at her nightgown, ripping it off and over her head, leaving it in a puddle on the rug.

“Fraser,” she whispered, taking her robe from its resting place over the settee next to the window. “You bloody stubborn Scottish martyr.”

It had been nine hours since she had left him in that jail. Nine hours since he had declared himself a martyr, announced that he would take the fall without seeking her input. Nine hours from the moment she turned her back on him, left him alone with his mouth full of lies and his daft self-sacrificing nature.

It had been six hours since she had made clear her intentions to her staff. Three hours since she gathered three of her most trusted advisors and explained what she would do to head him off at the pass, to put an end to this (the media spectacle threatened by her ring, the hushed speculations about how it got there and why). She knew that her plan would start something else entirely (a cannibalistic feeding frenzy for information, which she would publicly respond to with a regal dismissiveness appropriate to her position), but she did not know what else to do.

And perhaps, most importantly, she had ceased to care.

She swallowed hard and went to the window. Crossing her arms across her waist, she squinted down at the stables (they were dark, lifeless, her stock transported to Balmoral ahead of her). Quietly, she shook her head and let her fingertips sink into her hips, an attempt to replicate Fraser’s touch. Her efforts failed miserably.

Then she said it aloud – the thought that had dwelled unspoken in her mind since she’d left him, since he’d vowed to take the fall for them both. “I hate you right now.”

She heard footsteps outside her door and turned, watched shadow interrupt the creamy sliver of dim light beneath the door.

“Come in,” she called, turning her attention back towards the stables before the corridor’s lurker could enter.

Mrs. Fitz.

Claire could tell. She knew the cadence of the woman’s step (the soft shuffle, the clank of a tea service on a tray), the gentle way she closed the door and flipped the lock into place.

Swallowing back the bitter taste of a fitful sleep in her mouth, she summoned the question that had roused her, replaced a dream within a dream. “Is Fraser still in the jail?”

“Aye, ma’am,” Mrs. Fitz confirmed quietly.

Without meaning to move from her vantage point at the window, Claire felt herself being pulled as if by gravity itself towards the table where Mrs. Fitz was pouring two cups of what smelled like perfectly-steeped Earl Grey.

How properly English, Claire mused. Fix it with tea.

Claire would have given anything for a taste of the cabin (jewels that were not hers to give, a title that only felt precious when she thought of giving it away). To have the gritty, smoky flavor of Fraser’s too-strong coffee in lieu of her usual morning tea (the concentration in his brow as he poured hers, dropped a single sugar cube into its depths, stirred it into a sparkling whirl before handing it to her with the smallest of smiles, a hand on a bare hip). To taste tinned peaches (to pluck the wiggling, gelatinous, too-sweet preserved stone fruit from the tines of a fork held by Jamie; to squeal as the juice dribbled onto a sheet wrapped around her breast; to let her noises magnify as she feigned a fight against his efforts to take the sheet from her.) To bite into a crumbly icebox biscuit (his fingers dusting the flakes of icing from her lower lip, kissing them from his finger, promising to teach her how to drive his motorcycle) or stovetop-charred sausages (his laugh as he promised her with sparkling, fibbing eyes that he actually preferred them cooked to charred, unrecognizable logs). To lick yogurt from the side of her thumb beneath the sheets (the warmth of their joining evaporating with the leisurely lack of urgency that seemed to define all things on a cool Scottish summer morning, and their tongues meeting to mingle clover honey and berries).

She blinked hard, turned, and offered what she could of a smile.

“How much longer?”

“The broadcast will be at 8 o’clock. Fraser will be escorted from the jail to his sister’s home three hours earlier… they are probably waking him right now.”

Claire nodded, her mind suddenly fixated on the sound of his name from her lips.

Fraser.

It was just a last name to Mrs. Fitz. To her it was something more, intimate syllables that tumbled from her mouth to represent someone to her that had defined love and sacrifice and lust and passion and hate (just a little). She focused her attention outside, feeling her cheeks redden at the thought of him believing he was doing her a favor by declaring himself a common thief.

She dried her palms on her robe, inhaled, let loose a cosmic question to which she did not have an answer. “Do you think that he will hate me for this?”

The cadence of Mrs. Fitz’s familiar plunk-shuffle-plunk step neared, and Claire closed her eyes as the woman’s hand closed around her shoulder. “I ken the man loves ye. I ken that solely from the look in his eyes when I slipped him a wee note, the way his shoulders squared when ye had to postpone a visit or two. The way a lad becomes a man, he looks when he’s longing for someone, not out of lust, ye ken. It’s no’ his cock–”

“Mrs. Fitz,” Claire gasped, tears burning along her lower lash line as she chuckled.

“Ye ken just fine that ye’re no’ some innocent doe-eyed girl. Ye’re a woman, and he loves ye. You’re ban-druidh. Ye conjure things for him, ye ken? He’s given himself over to ye, to yer spell, ma’am, just the way of ye enchants him. So no, he’s no’ thinkin’ wi’ the parts that make him a man, but from spiritual need.”

A dribble of tears tickled Claire’s chin and throat. She uselessly attempted to mop at them with the back of her hand.

“And what he needs now is for you to be strong. Stronger than he is.”

Claire nodded, her chin tilting up as she snuffled back a second round of tears.

“Strong enough to show him that he doesna need to take a fall for ye, that ye’re the bloody Queen. That ye’ll do this for that rare love that ye kent ye needed, that led ye into his arms in the first place. Now, wipe yer face and find yer smartest dress, and give the speech of yer life, ma’am.”

Claire intended to do just that.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

SD Drabble #1

Note: Another prompt I thought of long ago, that I’m still so in love with. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the time to write it, but here it is anyway. Posting under the tag “Sugar Daddy AU”. Please excuse my self-indulgence. xx ---

“Have you got that?” the woman asked. The tone of her voice, coupled with the patronizing pinch of her newly ‘refreshed’ lips, screamed condescension.

Harry offered her a soft, subdued smile. “I have, ma’am,” he said, calmly.

She sniffed and her nose, already two and a half inches in the air to begin with, titled higher in doubt. “Repeat it, then.”

Harry let out a slow exhale through his teeth.

“Of course.” His smile never left his face as he ran through the list in his head. “For the table’s appetizers, the Rockefeller oyster platter, baked garlic lemon butter scallops, lemon butter sauce separated into individual sauce dishes, garlic to the side, and a Caesar salad, with no dressing, no bacon, no chicken, and no croutons, to be served twenty minutes before the main dishes. For his entree,” Harry said, turning to offer the gentleman – who had been scanning him from head-to-toe with a rather lascivious smirk – a quick nod. “Sir will have the cherry-glazed rack of lamb, with marble potatoes instead of garlic rice pilaf, potatoes pre-cut into quarters, and a whiskey double.” He turned back to the woman, a challenge in his tone. “Madam will have the Chilean sea bass and braised asparagus, asparagus to the side and blanched instead of braised, with the pesto and lemon sauce on a separate dish, and a glass of Semillon. Dessert will be two pieces of the dairy and gluten-free chocolate truffle cake, and two glasses of our best sherry.”

The woman’s gaze remained unimpressed.

“Fine,” she breathed. She flicked her fingers away once, the sheen of her opulent diamond ring reflected on the white tablecloth – a dismissal.

Harry bowed politely, face impeccably calm as he gathered the menus from the table and began to walk away.

Oyster platter and scallops baked in nothing, he recited in his head as he weaved his way around the tables. Plain lettuce masquerading as Caesar salad. Lamb with an entirely different side dish than the one on the menu – Chef will be pleased as fuck, by the way––

Snap! Harry startled at the sound. What the f–– Snap! Snap! Snap!

He leaned back reflexively to avoid the hand aggressively snapping right in front of his nose, before turning to find it was attached to a portly man in his mid-fifties. His face was tinged red with impatience, his breath laboured as he heaved himself back onto his chair now that he had Harry’s attention.

Harry took a deep breath before facing the table.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Sir,” he began politely. “But my colleague will be with you in just a mo –”

“Oh, you’ll do, sweetheart,” the man crooned, licking his lips as he surveyed Harry. “You’ll do just fine.”

His impatience had faded completely, Harry noticed, though Harry much preferred irritation to… whatever this new expression was. Having only had this job for three days, it took all of Harry’s willpower to swallow the cutting remark that was already resting on his tongue. He managed, but unfortunately, the way his skin was crawling with discomfort was not as easily dealt with.

He exhaled slowly, reminding himself why he needed this job. Unbidden, the events of the last week flashed before his eyes.

Finding unrecognizable lingerie under his pillow. Being told by his fiance that he was being left for a nineteen-year-old pilates instructor slash aspiring male model. Discovering three months’ worth of unpaid rent bills hidden in their (now his, he supposed) bread box, and a discarded bill for a ‘12-carat gold-plated necklace with ‘MY BABY’ engraving, cursive’ (Gross.) in his trash (already paid, thank God for small favours). Combing coffee shop bulletin boards for part-time jobs that fit his tedious grad school schedule. Chicken-flavored ramen for the three straight dinners.

He tried not to sigh.

Relax, he told himself. Be professional, get your check, and get out of here.

“How may I help you, Sir?” Harry said, miraculously polite.

“Well, handsome,” Lecherous Restaurant Patron purred, drawing out the pregnant pause as Harry quelled a rising gag.

“Come off it, George,” his companion cut in. He tacked on a chuckle at the end like an afterthought, though it couldn’t mask the slight edge embedded in the words. It made Harry think of the way a cheeky thief smiles as he runs his finger back and forth against a switchblade – just a hint of a threat. “Just order, mate. The kid’s busy.”

It was hardly a white knight stepping in to defend his honour, but after the week Harry had, it was close. He had barely glanced in his saviour’s direcion before George spoke again.

“I own the place, Tomlinson. He can spare a couple more minutes, can’t you, darling?” He punctuated the question with two hefty slaps to Harry’s arse cheek. The first made Harry freeze in shock. The second made his vision go red.

Lingerie.

‘He’s… amazing, Harry. I love him.’

Rent.

‘MY BABY’ engraving, cursive.

Wanted: Part-time Wait Staff.

‘Repeat it, then.’

Slap! Slap!

The punch flew out of Harry, the crisp sound of knuckles against cheekbone ringing satisfyingly in his ears, loud and clear over the scuffle, over the yelling, over the firing. It was all Harry could hear until the harsh slam of the restaurant’s back door, and the biting whip of the winter wind.

Cheated on, left, in debt, harassed, fired, tossed out on my arse, Harry thought to himself, raising his fist in a sarcastic cheer. B-I-N-G-fucking-O. What he wouldn’t do for a joint right now.

He let out a deep, bone-tired sigh, winter’s icy fingers creeping around his open coat and up his too-thin undershirt (they had taken his uniform straight off his back, the bastards), before making his way out of the tiny back alley. He hunched his shoulders automatically, the wind somehow stronger out on the dimly lit main street, and began his long trudge to the tube stop, large hands stuffed awkwardly into his coat’s faux pockets because he had also lost his favorite gloves to bloody Neverwhere this morning.

“Mind the gap, indeed,” he mumbled to himself sadly, taking a little solace in the fact that he had remembered to bring his earphones with him today. He was convinced the morose opening chords of Landslide would manage soothe his broken heart, if he played it enough times. (Hey, if Stevie made it through, so could Harry.)

Lost in thought (and in the gargantuan task of untangling the aforementioned earphones), the barely audible crunch of gravel next to him didn’t register at all.

“ – genuinely feel like you’re ignoring me on purpose now but, once more, with feeling – Do. You. Need. A. Ride?”

Harry jumped, clutching at his heart and dropping his earphones in surprise. “What the bloody –”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said. He offered Harry a sheepish smile, his elbow resting on the window of his cheesily predictable top down. “But I’d been here for like seven minutes –”

“You’ve been stalking me for seven minutes,” Harry deadpanned, so done with these absolute shits. “Yeah, not a great line to lead with.”

“Not stalking,” he tried to chuckle confidently, but the tone came out slightly uncertain. “But like, offering you a ride. You know, to make up for…” He tipped his head backward, motioning to the restaurant. “My partner. Business partner,” he clarified seriously, and ––

Oh, Harry thought. The other guy. Tomlinson, he remembered. No wonder his voice was familiar.

“No, thank you,” Harry said curtly as he began to walk again, his face resolutely blank, eyes trained stubbornly on his destination.

A huff of disbelief weaved itself between the sound of slow-rolling wheels.

“C’mon, kid,” Tomlinson tried. “It’s cold as shit.”

“Then maybe get a car with a roof,” Harry said, quietly.

Tomlinson chuckled in answer, wheels still painfully in time with Harry’s steps.

“Fair point. C’mon,” he repeated. “You’ve had a shit night. You’re cold and tired. Let me give you a ride.” When Harry stayed silent, he continued. “You’ll be home quicker. Home, and clean,” he needled. “And warm.”

At that, Harry let himself steal a glance, and was greeted with Tomlinson’s smirking profile, his eyes on the road. High cheekbones, a sharp jaw, the lovely peak of a small nose – everything was slim and pointed. Pixie-like, Harry caught himself thinking, though the delicate quality of his face was offset by just a hint of handsome stubble. A healthy amount of silver decorated his temples, but the hair on his head was still a touch more pepper than salt. Not quite a silver fox just yet.

Fifty, Harry guessed. Fifty-five at most.

“Is this your M.O., or something?” Harry asked, trying to keep the raking irritation from bleeding into his voice. The calmer he was, the less Tomlinson would think he was getting somewhere. “Is that how this works? You go to a restaurant, find a target, get your wingman to act like an arsehole, and then swoop in for the kill?”

A startled laugh broke through the hush of the street.

“Just a wee bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Tomlinson teased.

“Evasive, aren’t you?” Harry shot back.

“Okay, calm down, Sherlock.” Harry could still hear the amusement in his voice. “I do have killer flirting skills, but not serial killer flirting skills.”

Harry sighed then, so, so exhausted. “Right. Well again, no thank you on the ride. In case my little demonstration at the restaurant was somehow unclear, I don’t date men who are old enough to be my father.”

He tipped his chin up higher, because while Harry may not have any money (or a job, or a fiance), he still had his dignity.

Or at least part of it, he corrected, pushing away the curdle of humiliation as he remembered finding those awful panties.

“So you only date cheap men,” Tomlinson said, decisively.

“God,” Harry whispered under his breath, his annoyance now too hard to ignore. Louder he said, “Fuck off.”

“Cheap,” he continued confidently over Harry’s insult. “Young, handsome bastards who get one big paycheck and think that makes them Drake or whoever the fuck –” The cool-dad rap reference, plus the well-timed dig at his stupid, necklace-engraving ex, made Harry’s lip twitch upward against his will. “ – and then fuck off with some barely-legal twit who sucks dick like a champ but can’t name a single city outside of London.”

Harry snorted.

“Know him, or something?” he asked sarcastically, eyes trained on the tiny Underground sign that was still about three blocks away.

“Know him? Oh love,” The way he said it – ‘Luhv’ – made Harry finally turn to him. It was a mistake. His eyes were sharp – a searing blue even in the orange cast of the street lamps – and his smile devastating. “I am him,” he admitted freely, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his smirk widened. “Only, you know,” he shrugged. “With a few more checks, and slightly higher standards. I mean,” he blinked, almost sweetly. “You can name at least three cities outside London... can’t you?”

Harry could feel a gentle heat settle at the tops of his cheeks, the insinuation about his blowjob skills decidedly not lost on him. He felt his stomach do a sudden somersault. He pushed it away, convincing himself it was just the rush of attention, the electricity of an unexpected ego boost and that quick, first moment of feeling pretty again after getting horribly, horribly dumped.

His brief silence must’ve signaled a chink in his armour, because Tomlinson then took it as an opportunity to say, “I’m Louis.”

“I didn’t ask,” Harry said, tongue fast, though the fact that he hadn’t yet ducked into a not-suitable-for-sports-cars-sized alleyway probably softened the blow.

Louis only nodded, still smiling. “Right, okay. As much fun as this has been, I really doubt the lovely heated seating of my car will dull our banter. Or...” he dragged out the ‘r’, eyes mischievous.  “Are you really going to let a…” he assessed Harry. “Twenty? Twenty year gap be the reason you get hypothermia? Is that really the hill you want to freeze on, Mr. Principled?”

“Closer to twenty-six,” Harry corrected stubbornly. “Which is an entire fully grown adult between us. You could have kids as old – nay, older – than our age gap.” Did he just say ‘nay?’

“Did you just say ‘nay’, Shakespeare?” Louis teased. “So definitely at least three cities outside London, then.” Harry didn’t smile but it was a close thing. “And I promise you,” Louis continued. “I haven’t put myself in the position to bear children since you were – nay, before you were born. Been in a lot of other positions since then, though.”

He had the audacity to punctuate it with a wink. It was annoyingly charming, and Harry had never been angrier at himself.

“Besides,” Louis said, with the kind of smile that knew victory was close. “It’s just a ride, love, no strings attached. Unless of course, getting tied up is what you’re into,” he added, so incredibly pleased with himself. Harry wanted to smack him. But he could also feel the blessedly comfortable heat radiating from the car’s vents.

“Fine.”

[littlejeanniebean]

The Marauders | Wormtail

A/N: Sequel-ish to Prongs and Padfoot. Read on Wattpad!

Wormtail owning his insecurities with the help of Moony who is still a sweetie even after a full moon, Prongs who straight-up lies to McGonagall for him, and Padfoot who somehow pulls off both role model and rebel. ~1000 words, minor angst + some chill banter.

Seriously though, for anyone reading this, if you ever get stuck inside your own head, especially now that we’re all stuck indoors, know that you don’t have to actually internalize everything anyone tells you about yourself. You don’t have to become whatever or stay the way they say you already are. 

The Finale (Moony).

- J xx <3

“Watch where you’re going, rat! Ha-ha!”

“Awww, is ickle Petey lost without his friends?”

“Bet they got sick of you tailin’ ‘em, didn’t they?”

“Think you can worm your way outta here?” one of the Gryffindor upper years yanked him back by the hood of his robe and shoved him to the ground.

“Leave. Me. Alone!” cried the small, stout boy as a hundred screeching rodents burst forth from the castle walls and leapt upon his tormentors, “I’msorry!I’msorry!” he scrambled to his feet and ran, tears stinging at his rosy apple cheeks.

Even in his second year at Hogwarts, Peter was prone to bouts of accidental magic. Their first exam of the year, he turned everybody’s papers to confetti five minutes before the period ended because of how nervous he was. McGonagall scolded him severely for that and took twenty points off, but stopped short giving him detention when he was reduced to a puddle of pathetic sniffs and hiccups. 

At the first Quidditch match of the season, which is what everyone in Gryffindor was now hounding him for, he turned the quaffle into a goose for two chaotic seconds because James and Mulciber were fighting over it so viciously, neither noticed that they were about to run straight into one of the towers. James had said he’d rather lose the quaffle than all his teeth, but the fact remained, Mulciber stole and now they had to score a near-impossible hundred-point lead in the Hufflepuff game to win - the badgers’ seeker held the record for fastest game time!

Peter’s father would tell him to “get a grip.” He was a Pettigrew and while they’d never had much, they had their bravery and they had their wits. Sometimes, Peter felt like he had neither and that felt bloody rotten.

“Hey, Petey,” Remus greeted him quietly, swathed in three comforters and an oversized jumper in the middle of his four-poster.

“Hey, Moony,” he sat at the foot of the bed, “You feeling better?”

“Much, thank you.”

“What did Madame Pomfrey say?”

“Oh,” the brunet boy waved dismissively, “just not to spend so many of the wee hours reading, that’s all…” he noticed the tear at the seam where Peter’s hood met the rest of his robe, “What happened to you?”

“Nothing…”

“Petey…”

“I just…” Peter held up the letter he had gone for in the owlery, “They finally did it. M’parents. They separated.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright!” said the boy quickly, swiping his pudgy arm across his distraught face, “It’s alright! Father was always… always so mean and - and… and Mother would always… always be pleading to her weak, good-for-nothing excuse of a son - ‘Petey, please, Petey, don’t you think you could try a little harder, Petey?’ I’m bloody weary with it!”

“Hey,” Remus shed one of his blankets and wrapped it securely around him, “You know none of that's true of you.” 

“I just wish I could be more like… like James or… or Padfoot. I hate being me.”

“I know exactly how you feel.” 

This shocked him, “But… the boys love you, Moony. You’re brilliant!”

“I’m sickly.”

“You’re the best student among us!”

“Don’t let Shacklebolt hear you say that,” he chuckled, thinking of their dorm-mate, who was civil enough with them, but rather disliked bearing witness to their shenanigans so often and having to keep their secrets so Gryffindor wouldn’t lose any more points. “And the boys love you like a brother, by the way.”

“Well, the older boys don’t think much of me.”

“And why do you think much of what they think?” 

“Don’t you?”

“Should I? … Were they teasing you again?”

“Don’t tell James or Pads!” he said quickly, “Please.”

“Don’t tell James or Pads what?” like they’d been summoned, the two best friends burst in in full quidditch gear. 

“Pads, why are you dressed?” Remus sipped his tea.

“Red’s just my colour,” the boy removed the keeper’s helmet and shook out his long dark hair. 

“I was just asking Peter a hypothetical question,” the pale-faced boy covered for his friend, “If someone ever... called you things that made you think... less of yourself… what would you do?”

“Who’s bothering you, Moons?” James’ eyes flashed behind his glasses, ready for a fight.

“No one,” the soft boy shrugged casually, “It’s hypothetical.”

“Then hypothetically, you would hex their food when they least expect it, so they throw up in their cauldron during a particularly volatile potions lesson -”

“Wait, is that what happened to Mulciber after the match?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James twirled his wand deftly.

“And… if you’re not good at hexes…” Peter refrained from adding, ‘like me,’ “maybe… maybe you can take whatever they throw at you and just… own it. Like you, Padfoot! All red and gold no matter what your family in Slytherin says about it!”

“That’s the spirit, Petey!” the boy in question slapped him on the back.

He flinched, but recovered bravely, “A-actually… could… could you boys call… call me... Wormtail from now on?” 

The boys shared an agreeable look and Remus answered for them all, “Sure, how did you come up with that one?”

“Oh, I… I just set about a hundred rats on -”

“Pettigrew!” McGonagall barked through a sonorous charm, “Get down here and apologize to Bagman and his friends! I will not have my house fighting amongst itself at a time like this!” 

“Always hard on the cat to lose a game,” Padfoot shook his head. 

Remus, meanwhile, was in stitches, “So that was what that was! I could hear him squealing through the tower window! Nice one, Wormtail!” 

James threw an arm around the shorter boy, “I know Bagman and his crew have been giving you a hard time. McGonagall will understand - I’ll just tell her I was with you and witnessed the whole thing. C’mon then, Wormtail.”

“Thanks, James,” the boy’s blue eyes watered, but they were no longer sad. These were friends who would look out for him and in that moment, he was grateful.

[princess-of-france]

Also- since Love's Labour's Lost has been on the brain, and you are such a cool theatre person: dreamcast for LLL? Thank you so much!

OMFG MY FAVORITE COMEDY YES YES YES 

*blows kazoo*

(Also, I’m cracking up at you thinking I’m a “cool theater person,” because I promise that’s a wonderfully accidental illusion; in reality, I’m just a cryptid who’s entire genetic makeup consists of triple-espresso lattes, Gmail push notifications, Shakespeare plays, and tears. But you’re very kind!)

Before I answer this amazing Ask, I think I should clarify that my dreamcast for LLL already exists — or, at least, it existed in 2018 — and I had the dazzling, life-affirming pleasure of seeing them perform my beloved plotless comedy at my favorite theater festival on the planet: the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

So here’s to Amanda Dennart and her IMPECCABLE Love’s Labour’s Lost:

^^^ Yes, that is King Ferdinand of Navarre, played by the once and future Daniel José Molina, meeting the Princess of France — the fabulous Alejandra Escalante — with a paper bag over his motherfucking head so that he doesn’t break his kingly oath of Not Looking At Female For 3 Years. (Fun fact: these two are now married!)

[Photo credit: Jenny Graham.]

BUT NOW TO THE MAIN EVENT:

Critically, I think LLL is a play about eight young people experiencing love for the first time and struggling to reconcile that love with their desire to be the Cleverest Person in the Room. Like so many whip-smart young people, the Crazy Eight equate cavalier carelessness with power, but the problem is: true love requires radical, wholehearted, unbearable vulnerability. It demands chaos and madness and mess and mistakes. True love asks us to be willing to look like an idiot. And most young people just aren’t ready for that, the first time it happens. It’s why the ending of this play is so goddam devastating.

And it’s why it’s so important to me that my cast list for the Crazy Eight reflects the youth, innocence, and inexperience I see baked into every one of their lines. Love has to seem like a first-time visitor to all of them. Love has to shake up their worldview like a snow globe, bowl them over, and then leave them impermeably altered. Love has to be the thing that makes them grow up. 

So, with that, I am proud to present...

~THE NAVARRE NERDS~

1. KING FERDINAND OF NAVARRE — Paapa Essiedu

Love of my complete life. I don’t know if there’s a better actor with a bigger heart anywhere on earth. His Henry VI was utterly inspired, so I know he can be Kingly. Plus, he’s a passionate advocate for decolonizing Shakespeare and making classical theater accessible to all and...yeah. I adore him. 

2. BEROWNE — Anthony Boyle

THIS IDIOT. I had to find a picture of him laughing, because he’s played a lot of Moody Broody Types, but OMG when he cracks a grin... Anthony is just a jewel of an actor: versatile, intense, thoughtful, emotionally articulate. He’ll keep Paapa’s Ferdie laughing, but also bring out the big guns for Berowne’s gorgeous character arc from horny cynic to lovesick wooer to chastened fool.

3. DUMAINE — Alfred Enoch

Perfect angel darling. There’s no doubt in my mind that Alfie can do Smug, Suave, Would-Be-James Bond Dumaine as well as Dorky, Clumsy, Foot-Constantly-in-Mouth Dumaine with equal flair. Also, I love him. <3

4. LONGAVILLE — George MacKay

Apparently, this sweetheart is playing Hamlet soon in the new Ophelia movie, which is HILARIOUS, because he looks like the most Innocent Innocent to ever Innocent. I suppose this is what makes him a good actor. And he is very good.

~LES FILLES~

5. PRINCESS OF FRANCE — Lily James

This goddess is always getting cast as ingenues who fall in love with their eyes and hearts wide open, which is all fine and good. But I wanna see her fall in love against her will, against her better judgment, and with stubborn denial attending her every step of the way...partly because Lily is up to the challenge, and partly because it would be precious af.

6. ROSALINE — Karla Crome

BAMF. Berowne won’t know what hit him. Karla is talented in a way most of us can only dream about, but even more importantly, she is whip-smart, self-possessed, and in love with herself. Get it, girl.

7. KATHARINE — Shay Mitchell

It’s hard to beat Shay for Sleek, Feline Intelligence. I like to imagine Katharine as the ultimate duchess: rich, spoiled, overeducated, overprivileged, dressed to the nines every minute of every day. But she carries so much pain behind the mask. Being fabulous is no substitute for losing your big sister. And I think Shay can do justice to all those layers.

8. MARIA — Francesca Mills

I had the honor of seeing Francesca in Rachel Chavkin’s epic production of American Clock at the Old Vic this past winter. In a cast of over 20 brilliant actors, she emerged as the brightest star. I have never fallen in love with an actress so quickly. Sweet, inquisitive, sassy, and smart, with a crystalline voice, Francesca is the ultimate heroine. Her Maria will be the most adorable in human history, I think.

9. BOYET — Tamsin Greig

Imho, no one does Blustery Spinster Energy better than Tamsin. (See her performance as Miss Bates in the 2009 BBC miniseries, Emma.) My favorite version of Boyet is the adult female chaperone that the Princess and her ladies gleefully dress up as a man to stymie Ferdinand’s guards. It makes 5.2 all the more giddy and revelatory, and also it just makes narrative sense. Tamsin will play the beleaguered and increasingly exasperated Wine Mom to perfection.

~THE PSEUDO-SCHOLARS~

10. DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO — Riz Ahmed

I just can’t even express how much I love Riz. He dissolves completely into every single role he plays, no matter how absurd the character may seem on paper. And that is a very pertinent qualification for playing Armado, because he has the hard-fought distinction of being the most Abjectly Batshit Character in this bonkers play. Also I just really wanna get his autograph help

11. MOTE — Kiernan Shipka

THIS GIRL. Oh man, I don’t even know where to begin. She’s so flipping good at her craft, and at such a young age!! Honestly, I’d hate her if she weren’t so damn precious. All she needs to do is learn how to do a Scottish accent and then she’ll be 100% ready to play the wee snickering Watson to Armado’s pirate-Holmes. I’ve always read Mote as Armado’s platonic life partner slash surrogate daughter. She’s probably the only person in the world who knows Armado’s social security number. (Plus, Riz is a sweetheart, so you just know they’ll become great friends!)

12. DR. HOLOFERNES — Olivia Colman

What can I say? She’ll play the broad, slapstick comic relief stock character of Il Dottore to perfection...right up until the moment she doesn’t. Then she’ll make us all sob. “This is not generous, not gentle, not humble!” (V.ii.2570)

13. NATHANIEL — Cyril Nri

Can’t you just see this angel loving the crap out of Olivia’s Holofernes?? Like, he probably built an extension onto his rectory home JUST to give the famous visiting Italian academic a place to stay during her time in Navarre. Great actor, great human, great smile. 11/10

~BELOW-STAIRS~

14. COSTARD — Andy Samberg

My only Costard. I mean, he’s the only white boy I know who could play such a cowardly fuckboi of a character without turning him into a 2-D caricature. Not to mention the fact that Andy is a spectacular improv actor, so he can invent a lot of new lines and jokes for the hallboy! Win-win!

15. JAQUENETTA — Phoebe Waller-Bridge

Because I want the oft-disregarded Jaquenetta to be the Narrator of this whole wild shebang, I need an actor who can foster a deliciously familiar, non-4th-wall relationship with the audience and/or camera. Phoebe is the undisputed Queen of this. She’ll be STELLAR. And she and Andy will make people cry from laughing so hard.

16. CONSTABLE ANTHONY DULL — Andre Braugher

I love the idea of this Juilliard-trained classical actor sitting quietly with his crossword puzzle in the back of the polished oak Navarre library, watching a group of the Dumbest Smart People in human history talking themselves into a tizzy over false Latin and prickets and excrement and bad, mis-delivered iambic hexametric sonnets and just chuckling to himself. (Also: BB99 reunion!)

17. MERCADÉ — Randall Park

Tbh, I feel bad giving such a small part to such a phenomenal actor, but the thing about Mercadé is that he is like the BIGGEST small part in all of Shakespeare. He’s right up there with the First Servant in Lear in terms of the sheer narrative punch he packs into just a few short lines. And I think the best Mercadé is the one who has a personal relationship to the Princess. Maybe he was a personal aide to her father, the King? Maybe he helped raise her? Regardless, I think their conversation at the end of 5.2 is more than just the delivery of a sad message. It’s a communion between two grieving patriots of France. I want an actor whose warm heart will shine through that brief interchange. Randall can obviously do that, tenfold.

Aaaaaaand I think that’s it! Thanks again for the Ask, Lauren!! This was an absolute treat. xx Claire

[secret-rendezvous1d]

Sometimes I just think about how pregnant women wet themselves sometimes and imagine his missus did it and she’s insecure and crying about it H cleans her up and washes the bedding and her clothes and then cuddles her and says something like “love its okay, I’ve wee’d in yeh before.”

Oh, my god. This is so cute and sweet yet so sad at the same time. :’(

“Please don’t tell me your waters have broken.”

“It’s not my waters, you fucking idiot,” she hisses beneath her breath, shoving an elbow into his ribs and a foot into his knee and coaxing a gentle ‘oomph’ out of him. His eyes widening in the darkness at the sudden jerk and jolt of pain that shot through him. “I wet myself.”

“You- you wet yourself?”

“Yes, I wet myself,” she whimpers; her bottom lip trembles and her eyes sting with the tears that threaten to burst from her ducts and she feels gross and dirty and embarrassed, to say the least. “Harry, I wet the bed and-”

“Alright, okay. Hold on a second,” he mumbles softly into the darkness, pushing up on his elbow and reaching over to switch on his bedside lamp. The bedroom succumbing to a yellow glow and aching his tired eyes, casting shadows on the walls. Her blushing face, drenched with tears and shining underneath the harsh light, almost like she was under an interrogation, coming into clear view, “hey, no. Baby, no. Don’t get upset about it now. It’s alright.”

“But- I didn’t mean to- and it smells gross and it feels really gross and I feel so gross and the bed will be really gross now,” she sobs and drops the duvet from her fists, covering her wet cheeks with her palms and shying herself away from his view, “I didn’t do it on purpose-”

“-I know you didn’t-”

“-and it just happened because I’m pregnant and have no control over all of this now and-”

“-will you shush, please?” He chuckles lightly, peeling the duvet away from her body and using his feet to kick the covers off of the bed, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of striped, grey and white cotton. “You wet yourself. It doesn’t matter, does it? It happens. You’re not the only pregnant woman who has wet the bed or wet herself, in general.”

Her hands drop from her face but she refuses to look at him. 

The mattress squeaks as he moves away from the warm space he had cosied down into. Bare feet pressing against the carpet, fingers adjusting the elastic of his pyjamas trousers as he rounds the bed, fingers curling around her wrists and pulling her up from the bed. The material of her grey CK knickers, that she had found to be the most comfortable to wear, being a little darker in colour than normal. 

“Come on, you muppet. Let’s get you showered and dressed and I’ll change the sheets over whilst you’re freshening up and we’ll have a cuddle before we go to bed, okay?” He presses a kiss to her forehead and gives her bump a pat with his hand, “’sides, had a wee in you, haven’t I? Don’t think anything could get, how do you say, grosser than that.”

She snorts as he winks down at her and she pushes his chest; “I hate you.” xx

[outlanderfandomproject]

Barks & Glances Chapter 3

Fic collab by @kkruml​, @whiskynottea​, and @smoakingwaffles​

A/N: SORRY for the delay in the posting of this chapter. Life happened and my writing had to be pushed on the back burner for a little bit. I’m so thankful everyone was patient with me and I hope it was worth the wait.

XX-Waffles

Previously

Her eyes met Jamie’s once more, and they shared one last smile before she turned back towards the direction of her flat. Claire and Perdy walked home together, their gate a bit slower than usual. Claire recounted the flurry of events that afternoon, smiling as she replayed his laugh and easy smile in her mind. She shook her head and laughed a little as she thought of the mess of artwork strewn about the flat.

She heard a soft whine and when she looked down at Perdy, she saw her tail unusually calm, and her brown eyes looking up at Claire.

She tilted her head as she took in Perdy’s face, nodding, “I know love, I’d like to see them again, too.”

Chapter 3: The Painter by @smoakingwaffles​

The black canvas was staring him in the face. Gently he dipped the paint brush into the white paint, drawing with a delicate touch, the landscape he was painting - or rather supposed to be painting- but it was not how he wanted it to look.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, turning his head towards the clock.

4:20.

Dropping the paintbrush onto the tray of his easel, he heard Pongo let out a small whine.

“I ken, Pongo, we will go fer a walk in a wee bit.”

His chocolate lab released a small whimper, and rested his head back out the window.

The noisy streets of Glasgow were hustling with the commuters taking their commutes home -- the trains, the car honks, the soft mumble of the voices, normally would give Jamie inspiration to finish this piece.

Except -- artist’s block is a real thing, and currently, Jamie was struggling, hard.

“Och. Boy. Tis’ not turning out how I would like it to.”

Pongo turned and titled his brown head, sticking out his tongue and licking his nose, resuming his spot at the window. Jamie smiled softly at his furry companion, and picked up the paint brush once more. The soft strokes finally finding a rhythm as he painted the canvas.

The whimsical chime of the clock struck five and was accompanied by a pitter patter of paws as Pongo ran across the room biting his leash and putting it at Jamie’s feet.

Jamie chuckled as he dipped the paint brush into the water, and back onto the tray of the easel.  Pongo continually whined at his feet as Jamie scratched right behind his ear.

“Alright, alright, ye furry dolt! We’re going for a walk.”

Pongo barked at him and sat still as Jamie attached the leash and grabbed his jacket as they made their way to the door.

Pongo trotted faithfully next to Jamie’s left hip -- like always. Ears perking as they rounded out of the building, and crossing the street to the park.

They took this walk daily, and at this point, Jamie was sure Pongo knew exactly where to go: the leash- just a formality as to not scare other people in the park who might not like a canine.

Jamie’s grasp on the leash was light, and Pongo lead them down through the east entrance, straight towards the the pond.

He felt the small buzz of his phone in his pocket and looked down for just a second and then felt a mop of brown hair in his face. His pants soaked by the cool water of the pond.

““IFRINN!” Jamie stammered.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” an English accent murmured at the same time. He brushed a piece of his red hair out of his face to find a lass next to him- her teeth chattering and body trembling in the cold water.

““Ah Dhia! Are ye alright?” Jamie asked. He grabbed her by the shoulders taking a quick glance over her body.

“It’s s-s-so cold!”  The sassenach stammered, her wet clothing sticking to her petite frame.

“Och, aye lass, let’s get ye out o’ the water and get ye dry.” The lady nodded at him, and then a look of shock ran over her face.

“P-P-Perdy!”

Jamie scurried around both of them, looking for his own dog.

“Pongo! Look what ye did ye wee dolt!” He laughed as he found his chocolate companion next to a lovely yellow lab. Jamie shook his head and placed his palm on his forehead in exasperation and a slight embarrassment. “I’m sorry lass, seems my dog was lookin’ to meet a lass, aye?”

Jamie shook his head and opened his eyes to find warm, whisky colored eyes staring at him, warming the depths of his soul. She laughed and his core warmed in the center even more. Her laugh was music to his ears.

“I hope this doesna seem too forward, but my flat is just around the corner. Can I offer up a cup of hot tea and some dry clothing?” Jamie asked as they stepped almost in unison along the path behind the dogs.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” The thick English accent said.

Jamie smiled at her, tilting his head slightly to the side and sticking out a hand, “I’m Jamie.”

Her hands found his - warm and solid- sending a spark through his body. “I’m Claire.”

He gestured to the right, as they made their way towards his flat, trailing behind two dogs as their tails danced in unison.

The fire crackled in the distance and a new found friend, he dared to admit, joined him on his couch. She was dry in his old university sweatshirt and lucky enough for him had a pair of his sister’s yoga pants in his flat. Claire- he reminded himself, was sipping a cup of oolong. Her company made him the happiest he had been in a long time.

“… And then, out of nowhere, Pongo just bolts down the pathway, towards Perdy,” He laughed as he watched her sip on her mug. “Next thing I know, his leash is wrapped around my legs and I’m staring at the top o’ yer head as we splashed into the water!”

He watched as she laughed and it made him blush. It was slightly alarming to him, just how natural this was for him- whatever it was between him and Claire. He liked it- enjoyed how it made him feel so much so, that he didn’t want her to leave.

They talked for a while, exchanging formalities and small talk, telling stories about their lives. She told him how she was a doctor-- but truly she was a surgeon, and how she enjoyed the adrenaline rush of surgery and how she could change people’s lives in the own two palms of her hands. He talked about his art and how he was preparing for the large gallery show in a mere couple of weeks. He showed her the half finished canvases scattered throughout his flat- some better works than others, but seemingly with her whisky eyes large and a small smile she had seemed to love them all.

He rolled a belly laugh as Claire admitted that she and Perdy walked by his flat daily, and how it was shocking how they -- nor the dogs, had ever run into each other.

He caught her finishing the last bit of her tea, and it caused her to blush in her cheeks, the soft tips of ears turning red, too. Claire let out a breath he thought that sounded of one in disappointment and placed her mug on the coffee table.

Ah dhia, it is time for them to leave.

Claire stood, turning to the clothes as they dried in front of the fire and Jamie held up his hand. “Ye better wear what you’ve got on. Yer clothing would start yer teeth rattlin again.”

She let out a sigh and gathered her clothing, placing it in the bag he handed her.

“Come on, Perdy.” Claire said as they started to head towards the door. They both looked at the dogs, and as Claire grabbed Perdy’s leash Pongo let out a small whimper, and Perdy reluctantly trotted to the door.

Feeling brave, Jamie placed a light hand on Claire’s shoulder, causing her to turn and face him. “I… I canna say I enjoyed the early springtime swim, but it was sae lovely meetin’ ye, Claire.” He admitted as he grinned from ear to ear.  

Claire smiled back it him, as Perdy sat by her feet. “Yes, I agree.”

“Maybe next time we can meet somewhere a bit dryer, aye?” He blurted out with a hint of hope as he reached behind Claire and opened the door.

“Yes, I’d like that.” Claire responded as she tugged on Perdy’s leash and she followed right behind her.  Pongo let out another whine as he came to sit by Jamie’s feet. “And it was lovely to meet you too, Pongo!”  

His eyes met hers once more and he gave her a lopsided smile and they turned to leave.

Jamie closed the door as he rubbed Pongo’s head.

“Pongo, I think we’ve found what we’ve been searchin’ for.”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Expensive Mistakes | Calum Hood fanfic

A/N: Here’s the fanfic I’m writing, or at least the first chapter! Hope you like it! @felicitycal, let me know what you think! :) xx

Alexis Ruby Day is a passionate, intelligent girl from Queens, New York with 21 years of age. When one day her cousin asks to be a photographer on tour with her band and Fall Out Boy, she had no clue she was about to meet someone who would change her life forever. And for the better.

one // think about us

Alexis Ruby Day

London, United Kingdom

Another day, another place. This has become a habit for me to fall asleep in one place and wake up in another. If you’d tell me when I was a fifteen-year-old that I would be touring the world with a famous band like Fall Out Boy, I probably would’ve laughed right in your face. But it did happen. Thanks to my amazingly talented cousin, Chrissy Constanza. Ever since she’s started her band Against the Current, I’ve been rooting for her to become someone’s opening act before actually selling out her own arenas. And now, it’s finally happened. Against the Current is opening for Fall Out Boy. And me, being Chrissy’s cousin and best friend, she has asked me to come on tour with her to be their photographer. I’ve been obsessed with photography since I was a little girl. My favourite uncle, my dad’s brother, was a photographer and videographer and taught me all the things he knew. When I was fifteen, he gave me one of his hand-me-down cameras, just to give me a head-start. At eighteen, he gave me a brand new one. The best of the best, he said. I majored in photography in college, much to my parents’ absolute dismay, and now I work for Holly Holiday photography. A photography agency that has taken me on board and given me the best projects I could ever imagine. At the beginning, even the wedding photoshoots were cool, but now, two years later, it has kind of gotten boring. I’m extremely grateful Chrissy and the band has taken me under their wing for the MANIA tour this year. It’s finally something different, finally something I can be passionate about again. The other projects Holly has given me have kind of drained me. I needed a change. Just for this once. I’m not sure how I’m ever going to thank them for this, but I’ll find a way.

“Ready to go, Youngblood?” someone behind me asks. My hands are shaking, causing my camera to shake a little too. I’ve been doing this for almost a month now, and I’m still not ready for it.

I turn around to see who was talking to me. The one-foot-taller-than-me Pete Wentz stands behind me with his bass around his neck, his band jacket on and hair gelled back. He seems readier for the show than I am.

“I think so,” I tell him with a smile, “I don’t know why I still get nervous for this,” I chuckle a little, and he does too. Pete has been such an amazing person to me. Almost like my brother. He’s my tour brother. That’s what I’ve been calling him for a month while he’s been calling me ‘Youngblood’ because I’m the youngest and newest addition to the tour crew. “That’s okay, Alex. I’ve been doing this for seventeen years and I still get nervous sometimes,” he reassures me, giving me a smile and a shoulder pat.

“Are you ready for this show today?” I shoot him the question back, not wanting to think about my anxiety too much. Over the years, I’ve figured out how to reduce the anxiety: distraction. It always helps whether it’s playing around with the rings around my fingers, counting how many times I twist them around my finger before moving onto the next one, or talking to someone about something completely different.

“Oh, I’m so ready! A friend of mine is in the crowd tonight. That almost excites me more than the thousands of fans waiting for us,” he explains, “Maybe you know him? Calum Hood? From Five Seconds of Summer?” he asks me, tilting his head to the right a little.

“I have heard that name somewhere, yeah,” I reply, nodding my head. I really like the songs his band makes, but I don’t know the members individually. I used to be that kind of girl when I was sixteen and the biggest One Direction fan. I knew their birthdays, birth places and families by heart. I grew out of that after a good two years. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a fan of the band and I still listen to their music. You just won’t find me screaming by the mention of their names anymore.

“Maybe we should go get a drink with him afterwards,” Pete mumbles while strumming his bass. I look at him for a moment, wondering if he meant something different by that than what it sounded like. But then I get distracted by his glorious, shiny bass guitar. I’ve always loved the bass. It gives such a different and unique sound to songs. It’s the only instrument you truly feel with your heart. You know, that feeling when you’re blasting a song and you can literally feel the bass? That’s what I love most about music and the instrument.

“Ready to go in three, two…” one of the technicians of the crew says. Pete, Patrick, Andy and Joe run up the stage, the crowd going mental for them, filling up the arena with their screams and cheers. I love the atmosphere at a concert. I honestly wish I could do this for the rest of my life, rather than shooting wedding photos or family photos. I wish I could feel this passionate and this energetic everyday for the rest of my life without getting drained after a few months. I wish I could be this happy and feel this bliss all the time.

 I put my camera away once the night is over. I feel ecstatic and satisfied. That was a good run. Both for me and the bands. They’ve all done such great jobs, and I feel like this is my best work I’ve ever done in my career, if I do say so myself. However, I still feel like Holly would find it shit when I show it to her after the project. The new kids at the agency have to meet with Holly every month or so – or in this case, when the project is done – to let her give comments and tell you what you need to improve. Most of the time she’ll just tell you what’s bad and never how you can improve. I’m seriously considering quitting and finding another agency that does see my worth and helps me improve on my photography.

“Pete just asked us if we wanted to go have a drink at a pub or something,” Chrissy starts as she sits down on the sofa next to the table where I had dropped all of my bags. “Do you want to go?” I nod my head, but I’m not really listening to her. Instead, I’m thinking if I’ve got everything to put on the tour bus. I can’t leave anything here as we’ll leave tomorrow morning for the next city, which is Paris. I’m so excited about Paris. I’ve been there once with my parents when I was about ten. I don’t remember anything of that trip besides the Eiffel Tower.

“I need a wee,” I then suddenly say as I realize I’ve been needing a wee since Fall Out Boy had started playing. I hear Chrissy giggle a little and I bet she’d rolled her eyes too while I run into the hallway. I slow down to a walk when I find Pete in the hallway, talking to two people I did see once before. I don’t know where I know them from, but I have seen them before. One of the two is a gorgeous blonde woman with the brightest smile I had ever seen. The second one has captured more of my attention. His dark brown curls atop his head and the dark brown orbs that look at me like I look at taco’s. Like I’m the stars and makes me feel like the sun[NV1] .

“Hey, Youngblood, let me introduce you to my friends!” Pete tells me as I pass them.

“In a minute, brother! Need the loo hearing about this show first!” I tell him and rush to the toilets. I want to meet Pete’s friends. The tall, broad and mysterious young man has intrigued me. I wonder what his name is and how he likes his coffee. Maybe he’s a tea person though. All I know is, he looks like my cup of tea and I’m thirsty.

 I wash my hands afterwards and dry them, thinking about what I’m going to do next. I go over everything I have done so far; put my camera in its bag, along with the lenses and all the memory cards I’ve used so far. Did I forget anything? I don’t think so – oh. I bump into someone just as I turn the corner onto the hallway.

“I am so sorry,” I mumble, but freeze when I look up into those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes, I had seen just minutes before in the hallway. Those chocolate orbs that made me feel so warm and happy. That mysterious set of eyes that made me wonder how the boy would like his coffee.

The boy gives me a small smile but doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. It’s as if he’s starstruck, as if he’s meeting his idol for the very first time. But I doubt that’s what’s happening. He couldn’t have ever seen me before. I have seen him before, I should be starstruck. If only I knew where I … Oh, wait. This is Pete’s friend, so it must be the dude from Five Seconds of Summer. That makes sense. I should be starstruck, bumping into him and looking into his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes. Damn, those eyes.

“Hey, you’re that guy from Five Seconds of Summer, right?” I then ask, hoping he’ll react to that. His eyes widen a little before he nods slowly.

“Yep, that’s me; Calum, the guy from Five Seconds of Summer,” he sighs, and I can tell he doesn’t like his status of fame as much as I would’ve expected. He’s known as a member of the world’s hottest band. I wonder what makes it so bad. It might be rude to ask though, wouldn’t it? I only know his name, I don’t need to know his deepest, darkest secrets or the terrible things in his life. But something in me wants to.

“Right, yeah, anyway. It was really nice to meet you, Calum. But I really need to go check if all my twenty memory cards I brought with me are in my bag. If I don’t, I’m not sure I’ll be able to do my job,” I say, chuckling a little bit.

“Sure, yeah. Go ahead,” Calum says, seemingly glad I didn’t ask anything about his job. He steps aside to let me pass and I almost think he’s going to ask something else, but then he doesn’t. Something in me is upset he didn’t ask what was on the tip of his tongue. “Wait!” he then shouts, making me turn around and continue walk backwards for a little while. “What’s your name?” he questions. Was that the burning question he wanted to ask me? Or was there something else too? I have so many questions about this boy.

“Alexis,” I tell him with a smile and turn around again. I feel my cheeks heat up and my hands feel clammy. How does a stranger make me feel this giddy and nervous? Is this a sign of the universe? Or is this my anxiety acting up? It wasn’t when I was right in front of him When I was talking to him, I was calm and collected. As if I had seen home in his eyes.

“Youngblood! Are you joining us at the pub?” Patrick asks me excitedly when I find everyone – including the girl that was with Calum – huddled in the hallway, talking to one another.

“Yeah, of course! Let me check on my babies first!” I tell them and quickly rush off to count my memory cards. They’ve always teased about how I treat my memory cards and the rest of my equipment like my own children. That’s when we started calling everything I own to do my job my ‘babies’. It will probably sound weird to anyone who doesn’t know what’s behind it, but I think it’s just about perfect. It’s like a tour-thing, you know?

Once I’ve joined the rest after I’ve counted twenty of my babies – I legit have twenty memory cards with me, that was not an exaggeration – we head to the pub down the road.  I’m talking to Chrissy and Mali, the girl who was with Calum. It’s his sister who moved to London a couple of years ago to pursue her music career. I find out a lot about her, but it doesn’t satisfy me. I want to know more about Calum, but he’s wrapped up in a conversation with Pete. I want to know what he’s thinking, what he thinks about the showbusiness and if he believes in conspiracy theories. Something in me wants to have deep conversations with him about flat earthers and if the earth could actually be flat. I want to know everything about him. I want to know him. I don’t know why, but I do.