#its meant to look either like a dance but also reaching out

[satas-momento]

Danse macabre

I sure do love contrast (her name is Eternal Voidia and she dies twice lol) (epic Voias hell school lore)

[moralesmilesanhour]

mad props! 05

summary: you learn a couple new things about Miles as you fall into your new study routine. wc: 1.1k start from the beginning prev next a/n: probs won't update regularly if i'm being transparent but i gotta wrap the story up! so expect more in the coming weeks probably. and before you ask no this does not mean i'm returning to writing reader insert i am just finishing what i started bc i feel like i owe it to my audience ! much love <3

The auditorium was empty during lunchtime, which meant that no one was there to spectate as the sound of your voice echoed through the rows of unoccupied seats. You were working on one of the numbers from the second act.

“It’s not up to me…Just let me be…Legally–”

“I knew I’d find you here.”

You sighed, not needing to look up to know who it was.

“Have you come to take me away?” you asked dryly as you descended down the steps and trudged over to where Miles stood in the middle of the aisle with a smug look on his face.

“You can finish your song, if you want.”

You brushed right past him towards the double doors.

“Stop pretending to be nice.”

Essentially being a teacher’s assistant, Miles had elevator privileges that removed the hassle of climbing up five flights of stairs to reach Mr. Sanchez’s classroom, making it the most (and perhaps the only) pleasant part of the experience.

Sanchez was digging into a bowl of salad when the two of you arrived.

“Ah! Buenas tardes,” he greeted hastily through a mouthful of lettuce. “Thank you for being on time.”

You shoved past Miles and rushed over to the professor’s desk.

“I just have to make up for last week’s missing homework and a couple quizzes, right?”

“Well, yes, but there’s also–”

“Can I just do that at home, then? All due respect, but I really don’t need a partner to–”

“Hold on,” he held up a hand to stop you. “You also have some gaps in understanding when it comes to grammatical concepts such as presente and futuro, missing assignments notwithstanding. You’ll go over those with Miles first before making up last Friday’s quiz independently. Comprende?”

You visibly deflated where you stood. To tell the truth, the different tenses were never your strong suit, but you were able to get away with that with flawless vocabulary memorization and verb conjugation (in the present tense, of course). Now? Not so much.

“Comprende,” you groaned before turning away to grab a seat.

Miles had already taken a chair and pulled it up to one of the desks in the front, and was sitting on it backwards with his notebook in front of him.

“Ready, partner?” he said with a wide, mocking grin. He knew you couldn’t tell him to shut up in front of Sanchez.

You rolled your eyes and sat down with a slump.

“Let’s get it over with.”

He opened his notebook and flipped through a few messy pages before landing on a blank sheet. Sloppily ripping it free from its binding, he took out a Sharpie (which he uncapped with his teeth) and began to draw a line down the middle. 

“What are you doing?”

He began writing a series of words down either side of the line.

“Helping you.”

Miles slid the piece of paper towards you.

It was a verb conjugation chart, labeled ‘Past Tense’ in his strange handwriting that made no distinction between upper and lower-case letters.

“I’m gonna give you a sentence, and you repeat it back to me in the past tense. Then we’re gonna do the same thing in futuro.”

You sulked, “How come you don’t have to memorize anything? You said you don’t even study.”

He gave you a blank, ‘are-you-stupid’ look.

“I speak Spanish.”

“No duh, I mean in every other class. You know the whole periodic table front-to-back.”

“Huh? Oh, photographic memory. I only need to read something once,” he tapped his forehead, “then it’s locked in.”

Stunned, you could do nothing but lean back in your chair and slowly shake your head.

“Absolutely ridiculous.”

The rest of that week had you repeating the same song and dance of trudging into Sanchez’s classroom and running drills with Miles and his impromptu conjugation charts. For every wrong answer, Miles made an incredibly irritating sound that was meant to imitate a game show buzzer, which forced you to pay more attention to minimize how often you had to hear it.

You hated to admit it, but at some point you began to retain the tenses with more ease than before and noticed a steady increase in your quiz grades as a result. 

Thursday after school saw you arrive at an empty auditorium, thirty minutes before rehearsal. Any normal student would spend this extra time studying or doing homework, but you had seen enough flashcards and charts to last you a lifetime. Instead, you pulled out your highlighted copy of the sheet music for ‘Chip on My Shoulder’ and began rehearsing as a one-man ensemble.

Your singing today felt more difficult than usual; the lyrics suddenly felt heavy on your tongue, the notes coming out strained and forced. In the middle of a line, the double doors swung open just as your voice cracked.

“Damn, were you lip-syncing this whole time? You sound rough.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course it had to be him.

Miles sounded nearly out-of-breath as he strolled past you, his uniform rumpled shirt and un-tucked, as if he’d just put it on. The band-aid on his forehead was joined by another, more colorful one on his cheek. 

“As if you could do better,” you scoffed as you watched him toss his bag onto an empty chair two seats away from where you sat.

He looked up with a mischievous grin.

“I could.”

“Oh?” You smirked and shoved the sheet music into his face. “Try it, then.”

Miles squinted at it before pushing it away.

“Pfft, this song is lightwork. I don’t need that.”

“Alright, then recite your lines. I’ll start,” you inhaled deeply and held up the lyrics. “ ‘You came out here–’”

“‘To follow a man? Harvard Law was part of that plan? Man, what rich, romantic planet are you from?’”

Startled by his near-perfect pitch, you stuttered, lowering the sheet of paper a bit to give Miles an odd look. 

He continued, “ ‘Instead of lying outside by the pool, you stalk some guy to an Ivy League School’...et cetera.”

You blinked in utter disbelief. Miles’ voice had a tone as clear as a bell, and flawless diction to match. If he had auditioned, he would’ve been a shoe-in.

“...Huh. You sing? Like, actually?”

He shrugged, “I used to lead the choir at church, but not anymore.”

Just as he finished his sentence, Sarah followed by a handful of tech kids began trickling into the auditorium.

“Oh, sweet, you guys are early!” Sarah nodded, making two check marks on her clipboard as her bag hung off of one shoulder. “Miles, d’you wanna help figure out the lighting situation for the show? Josh said you were good with color.”

“Sure, not a problem.”

“You’re amazing, dude. I don’t know how we would’ve gotten those sets done without you.”

“All in a day’s work!”

[moonstruckme]

Congrats on 1k love!!! Im so happy for you, you deserve all the love 🩶

Could i request a ravenclaw!reader who's a little volatile (i suppose like dark acadameia) that the slytherins have kind of adopted (because shes volatile not violent and they think its cute). But shes been in a relationship with Remus on the down low and they realise at a halloween party?

I imagine Remus as an angel while reader is a devil and the slytherins were already concerned by the costume but then they notice you and Remus and just loose their marbles. Barty's having a meltdown, evans im shock and Sirius is cackling because Regulus is trying to stand tall but Remus is so much bigger than him its just impossible.

Anyway, tysm for your wonderful self and feel free to twist this however fits you, love!!

Hi lovely, thank you so much! I'm assuming you meant this to be for the Fade Into You part of the celebration since it's a specific reader, and also I don't know the Slytherin boys very well so I feel like my characterization could be wayyyyy off but I hope this is alright!

join the party

Remus Lupin x Ravenclaw!reader ♡ 930 words

You’re dancing with your friends when your drink is plucked suddenly from your hand. 

“Hey!” You spin around to find the thief, and then your tone changes completely. “Hey, Remus, you came!” You crash into him, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. Remus hugs you back the best he’s able, a drink in each hand. “And you wore your costume!” You grin as you pull away, resting a hand on either side of his face to admire how soft and sweet he looks in seraphim white. “Is that glitter on your cheeks?”

Said cheeks grow warm under your hands. “That’s Sirius’ touch.” 

“You look very pretty.” He grins, and you stand on tiptoe to whisper sweetly in his ear, “Now give me back my drink, pretty boy.” 

Remus’ smile doesn’t waver, but he becomes a tad more serious about the eyes. “How many have you had?”

“Oh, don’t be such a drag, Lupin,” Barty pipes up, coming up behind you to sling an arm around your shoulder. “She’s fine, and not that it’s any business of yours, but we won’t let anything happen to her.” 

“She just seems like maybe she’s had enough,” Remus replies, and his tone is far from unkind, but there’s an edge of admonishment to it that has Barty bristling noticeably. He turns back to you, voice softening. “What do you say, lovely, want to go sit down for a little while?”

You look at Barty, who raises an eyebrow at you. Behind him, Reggie stands with his arms crossed, looking bored with the whole thing.  

“I won’t be gone long,” you say in apology, and Barty scoffs disgustedly, but releases you. 

“Fine, go play with your costume buddy,” he says. “We’ll be here when you get sick of him.” 

You take Remus’ hand in one of yours, flipping Barty off with the other. 

“Are we really going to sit down?” you whisper hopefully, and Remus chuckles. 

“Yeah, we are. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re not exactly walking in a straight line right now.” 

You grin, tugging at his hand playfully. “That’s just ‘cause I’m a rebel. The boys would never let me hang out with them if I walked the straight and narrow.” 

“That so?” Remus hums, pulling you down onto a couch beside him. “Have I mentioned how nice you look yet? You really do.” 

“I’m not supposed to look nice.” You roll your eyes, shuffling closer to him. “I’m a devil, Rem. I’m supposed to look hot and salacious.” 

Remus graces you with a smile, brushing a piece of hair from in front of your eye. “You do look hot, but you look nice too. I don’t think you can help that one, dovey.” 

“Yeah?” You bat your eyelashes, moving into his lap. Remus’ eyebrow quirks up slightly, cheeks glittering with the movement, but he doesn’t stop you. “Is it just that I radiate sweetness?” You kiss his jaw. “And patience?” Remus’ cheek is faintly pink where you press your lips. “Innocence, certainly,” you tease, breath hot on his ear, “but what else?” 

“Dove,” he whispers, “I think your friends are watching.” 

“Hm?” You look up, and sure enough, Regulus, Barty, and Evan are standing just a few feet away by the punch bowl, expressions ranging from bewilderment to abject horror. “Oh. Oops.” 

“I—I can’t,” Barty sputters. “I can’t be seeing this. Are you plastered? Get off him.” 

You don’t, but Remus does it for you, standing and setting you on your feet as Regulus stalks forward. He stops with his arms crossed in front of the two of you. 

“Is this who you’ve been ditching us for lately?” he asks you. 

You start to reply, but Barty talks over you. “No.” He shakes his head. “No, there’s no way. There’s no way.” 

Others have started migrating toward you to watch the show, among them Remus’ friends. Normally you wouldn't care, but Remus is beginning to squirm, so you try to calm things down for his benefit. 

“You guys are overreacting,” you say, as peaceably as you’re capable of. “As if it really matters what house my boyfriend is in.” 

“Boyfriend?” Barty despairs, and you should have known better than to think anything could quell his dramatics once they’ve begun. “God, as if the costumes weren’t bad enough, you have to throw lovey-dovey terms like boyfriend around.” 

A peal of laughter sounds from somewhere nearby, and you look around to find Sirius, eyes already wet with mirth as he watches his younger brother. “Reggie,” he manages between giggles, “are you trying to look taller than him?”

Reg raises an unimpressed brow, and anyone who didn’t know him well might not notice the flicker of embarrassment in his gaze. “Don’t be stupid,” he says, but his posture is better than you’ve ever seen it, his neck elongated in an attempt to look Remus in the eyes without having to tilt his head. 

“Reg.” Sirius swipes under his eyes. “You may be taller than me, but you’re never gonna get all the way up there.” 

“Alright,” you say decisively, taking Remus’ hand and proceeding to push past Regulus’ stiff form. You shoot Evan a half-apologetic look as you go by, still standing frozen like he’s been stupefied, and Barty follows your movement with eyes blown wide. “Just for that, we’re going back to you guys’ dorm, Black. And we’re going to fuck, loudly, all night.” You shoot your most winning smile in his direction, even as Remus’ face takes on a fiery hue beneath the white glitter. “I wouldn’t recommend coming home. Goodnight!”

[emjayewrites]

Sakura Dreams 🌸🗼🇯🇵 • Jules Koundé (5/6)

SYNOPSIS: It was supposed to be a guys’ trip to Japan after a disappointing ending to the Euros, however, fate had another thing in mind.

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x fem!blackOC (Ayo Pratt) (faceclaim @/joie.ade)

WARNINGS: cursing, poor google translations, football b.s & drama, flirty!jules, eventual smut. MINORS DNI!!!

TAGLIST: @hopefulromantic1 @lettersofgold @sinflowersugar @mauvecherie-writes @queenshikongo3 @perfecttrashface @alika-4466 @peyiswriting @leilaxaliel @serpenttines-library @certifiedlesbianbaddie @niahxo @julescpu @jack0357 @chaoticcoffeequeen @greedyjudge2 @yeea-nah @saturnville @taytropicana @trentswrld @cranberryjulce @vile-harlot @2serenity0 @elyseesarchive @peaceiswonderful

A/N: Jules was in Japan, so of course I had to make a short series about it. Also, if you’re a Jules girl, please let me know and I’ll tag you in more chapters. This one is fairly short because the final chapter will be long af.

Jules woke to the familiar warmth of Ayo beside him, sunlight streaming through his hotel window in Osaka. Their group arrived late last night, exhausted from the journey but content. As usual, Jules wasted no time in having yet another sleepover with Ayo, and they spent most of last night fucking each other's brains out. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, memorizing the feel of her skin.

As if sensing his touch, Ayo stirred. "Mmm, what time is it?"

"Early enough," Jules murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Want to get breakfast?"

She nodded sleepily, and they began their morning routine - a dance they'd perfected over the past days. Jules watched as Ayo got ready, struck by how natural this felt, how easily they'd fallen into sync with each other.

"I know this cute café near Dotonbori," Jules suggested, pulling on a white linen shirt. "They have amazing croissants."

Ayo emerged from the bathroom, looking fresh and radiant. "Croissants, huh? Very on brand for you."

Jules laughed, catching her around the waist and pulling her close. "What can I say? Some stereotypes exist for a reason."

They made their way through Osaka's already bustling streets, their hands naturally finding each other. The café was tucked away in a quiet corner, its windows steamed up from fresh-baked pastries.

Over coffee and croissants, Jules decided it was time to address what had been on his mind. "I want to talk about what happens after," he said carefully, watching her reaction.

Ayo paused, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. "After?"

"When you go to London. When I go back to Barcelona." Jules leaned forward, his eyes intent on hers. "I know we haven't known each other long, but this... us... it feels different."

Ayo set down her cup, her expression thoughtful. "Different how?"

"Like something worth holding onto," Jules replied softly. "London and Barcelona aren't that far apart. And with our schedules - your modeling, my football - we could make it work."

A small smile played at the corners of Ayo's mouth. "Are you saying you want to date me properly, Jules Koundé?"

"I'm saying I want to try," he admitted. "Unless you were planning to forget about me once we leave Japan?"

"As if I could," Ayo murmured, reaching across the table to take his hand.

They spent the rest of the morning walking around the neighborhood, their conversation flowing easily between serious topics and playful banter. Jules found himself constantly drawn to her - the way she laughed, how her eyes lit up when she discovered something new, the gentle squeeze of her hand in his.

"You know," Ayo said, "I wasn't expecting this either."

"What's that?"

"Finding someone like you. Feeling like this." She turned to face him. "It's kind of scary, actually."

Jules pulled her closer, understanding exactly what she meant. "Good scary or bad scary?"

"Good scary," she assured him.

They made their way to Kuromon Ichiba Market for lunch, sampling various street foods and local delicacies. Jules couldn't help but notice how comfortable they'd become with each other - the casual touches, the shared looks, the way they naturally gravitated toward one another in crowds.

"Our friends may think we're crazy," Ayo mentioned between bites of takoyaki.

"For what?"

"For thinking we could make this work after the trip."

Jules considered this. "Maybe we are. But I'd rather be crazy than wonder 'what if.'"

Their phones buzzed simultaneously - their friends wondering where they'd disappeared to. Reality intruded on their private moment, reminding them that their time wasn't entirely their own.

"We should probably head back," Ayo sighed. "Symone's been wanting to check out this karaoke place."

Jules nodded, but pulled her in for a kiss before they left. It was soft and sweet, full of promise. "Just remember," he murmured against her lips, "whatever happens after this trip, you're mine."

Ayo smiled, her fingers tracing the new bracelet on her wrist. "And you're mine."

They rejoined their friends at a karaoke bar in Namba, where the night dissolved into laughter and terrible singing. Jules watched Ayo perform a duet with Symone, her joy infectious, and felt his heart swell. He caught Wilhelm's knowing look and shrugged. His friend was right - he was in deep.

Tomorrow would bring new adventures, and more memories to cherish. In a few days, their paths would go their separate ways - him to Okinawa with the guys, her back to New York to prepare for her move to London. But for now, they had this moment.

Ayo lounged on Symone's bed in their Osaka hotel suite, half-listening to her friends' chatter as she reminisced about her time with Jules thus far.

"Ayo!" Nikki's voice cut through her daydream. "Girl, you are sprung."

"Seriously," Gigi laughed, flopping down beside her. "One taste of that French dick and you're speaking in oui oui's."

Ayo rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile. "Y'all are ridiculous."

"Are we wrong though?" Symone raised an eyebrow. "You've been glowing ever since Kyoto. And don't think we haven't noticed you sneaking off to his room every night."

"You better start learning French," Nikki teased. "Can't have your man whispering sweet nothings and you not understanding."

Ayo threw a pillow at her. "He's not my man…"

"Yet," all three girls chorused.

"But seriously," Symone said, her tone softening. "Are you going to try to make it work?"

Ayo touched her bracelet again, remembering Jules' words from their date. "Maybe. We talked about it yesterday actually. He wants to try."

"And you?"

"I think… I think I do too."

The girls squealed, piling onto the bed in a group hug. "Our little Ayo, falling in love with a whole footballer!" Gigi exclaimed.

"Speaking of which," Nikki checked her phone, "we need to start getting ready. The sumo event starts in two hours."

They scattered to their rooms to prepare. Ayo chose a purple dress that hugged her curves, pairing it with strappy heels. Her hair was styled in a low bun, and she kept her makeup minimal but striking.

When they met the guys in the lobby, Ayo couldn't help but notice how handsome Jules looked in his fitted black pants and matching shirt. His dreads were pulled back neatly, and his cologne hit her as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Tu es magnifique," he murmured in her ear.

The sumo arena was packed, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. Jules kept his arm around Ayo as they found their seats, his thumb absently stroking her shoulder.

"Have you ever seen sumo before?" he asked.

Ayo shook her head. "Never. You?"

"Once, years ago. It's quite something."

As the matches began, Ayo found herself captivated by the ritual and ceremony of it all. Each bout was preceded by elaborate traditions, the wrestlers throwing salt and performing ceremonial moves.

"It's beautiful in its own way," she whispered to Jules.

He nodded, pulling her closer. "Like a dance."

The power and skill of the wrestlers was impressive, their matches sometimes lasting mere seconds despite the lengthy build-up. Ayo found herself getting caught up in the excitement, cheering along with the crowd.

After the event, they headed to a high-end restaurant for dinner. The conversation flowed easily, everyone sharing their impressions of the sumo and their plans for the remaining days in Osaka.

"You two seem closer now," AK commented, nodding at Jules and Ayo.

Jules just smiled, his hand finding Ayo's under the table. The gesture was small but intimate, making her heart skip.

As their food arrived - a stunning array of sashimi, wagyu beef, and other delicacies - Ayo felt a warmth spread through her chest. Looking around the table at their friends, at Jules beside her, she realized how much she was going to miss this when it was over.

The night wound down with drinks at a rooftop bar overlooking the city. The Osaka skyline twinkled before them, a perfect backdrop to their laughter and conversation.

Jules pulled Ayo aside at one point, leading her to a quiet corner. "Dance with me?" he asked softly.

There was no proper dance floor, just a small space near their table, but Ayo didn't care. She melted into his arms as they swayed to the gentle music, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I could get used to this," she murmured.

Jules' arms tightened around her. "Good. Because I'm not planning on letting you go anytime soon."

Their friends watched from the table, exchanging knowing looks.

Later that night, as they walked back to the hotel hand in hand, Ayo felt a sense of certainty settles over her. Back in her hotel suite, Ayo sat at the vanity removing her makeup while Symone lounged on the bed.

"You know," Symone mused, scrolling through the photos from the night, "I've never seen you like this with anyone. Not even Jamaal."

Ayo paused, cotton pad pressed to her face. "It's different with Jules. He doesn't try to control me or my career. He actually gets excited about it."

"Plus, he fine as hell," Symone added with a grin.

Ayo laughed, throwing her used cotton pad at her friend. "That too."

Her phone buzzed - a text from Jules: "Already missing you. Breakfast tomorrow?"

"Look at you, blushing over a text," Symone teased, catching Ayo's soft smile.

"Girl, shut up," Ayo replied, but her heart fluttered as she typed back a quick "Yes please x"

As she got ready for bed, Ayo's mind wandered to their conversation at the café. The idea of trying to maintain something with Jules after Japan had seemed impossible at first. But now, with each passing day, it felt more and more within reach.

"What you thinking about?" Symone asked, noting her friend's contemplative expression.

"Just... everything. How crazy this all is. Two weeks ago, I was focused solely on my move to London. Now..."

"Now you're planning weekend trips to Barcelona?" Symone waggled her eyebrows.

"You're impossible."

"But am I wrong?"

Ayo smiled softly. "No, you're not wrong."

Her phone buzzed again - another text from Jules with a photo attached. It was from earlier at the sumo event, capturing a moment when she was laughing at something he'd said. She looked happy, radiant even.

"Mon bébé," his message read. "Sweet dreams x"

Maybe my friends were right, Ayo thought as she climbed into bed. Maybe she did need to learn some French. Because this thing with Jules? It definitely wasn't ending when they left Japan.

And for once, that thought didn't scare her at all.

The sun had barely risen, casting a soft, early glow over the room, and the whole place was still. Jules shifted on the bed, blinking sleepily as Ayo moved downwards, her skin illuminated by the soft morning light sneaking through the curtains.

Not wanting to wake anyone else, he’d texted her to slip over early, just before sunrise, when no one else would notice. And now she was here, in his room on the cusp of giving what he'd known to be the best morning head of his life.

Ayo moved closer, hands warm as they slid up his thighs, pulling the sheets down slowly. Jules’ pulse quickened, and he watched her with a mixture of anticipation and restraint, knowing they had to keep quiet. She lowered her head, her mouth brushing against him, sending a shiver down his spine. He clenched his jaw, stifling the urge to let out a groan as her tongue flicked over the tip of his cock, teasing and slow.

Her eyes flicked up to his, her mouth curved in a soft, mischievous smile. She was savoring every second, and he could barely keep his breathing steady, every nerve on edge. The pleasure built, his body responding to her with every touch, every flick of her tongue, every warm, gentle pull. He leaned his head back, biting his lip, fighting the sounds that clawed at his throat.

"Ayo...," he whispered, a hint of desperation in his tone. She only hummed in response, which made him throb even more, the vibrations adding another layer of intensity he hadn't expected. He knew he had to stay quiet, that his friends were only a few doors down, but the way she moved, her mouth soft and eager, her hands firm against his thighs—it was driving him mad. His hips jerked involuntarily, and he gripped the sheets, breathing through clenched teeth to stop himself from making a sound.

Ayo didn’t break eye contact, letting her movements speak for her as she adjusted her rhythm, her lips and tongue working him with skillful confidence. She hummed again, sending vibrations straight through him, and he couldn’t stop a low groan from escaping his lips.

"Mon Dieu…putain," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, his hands now gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. The sound of his quiet, raspy breaths filled the room, mixing with her soft sucking sounds. "You're... too good at this." A hint of a smile breaking through despite his struggle for control. She only chuckled softly in response, and the sound sent another shiver down his spine.

He reached down, fingers threading through her hair, both guiding and grounding himself, needing something to hold onto. The thickness of her hair, the warmth of her, everything felt too good, too intense. Ayo responded, adjusting her movements just enough to match his silent cues, and he felt himself growing even closer to the edge.

"Ayo…fuck I'm going to come, ma belle," he said, his voice strained, filled with the unspoken plea to both continue and give him just a moment to breathe. She pulled back slightly, giving him a teasing look, and he felt a mix of relief and longing. Just when he thought he could regain control, she moved again, leaving him breathless all over.

Finally, as he felt himself nearing his limit, he gently pulled her up to him, meeting her gaze with an expression that was both gratitude and need. He drew her into his arms, capturing her mouth with his, letting himself get lost in the kiss, savoring the taste of himself on her lips. Ayo smiled, clearly satisfied with the effect she had on him.

"Couldn’t keep quiet, could you?" she teased softly.

He chuckled, catching his breath. "When you’re that good, what do you expect?" He flipped her over with ease, settling in the apex of her thighs as she lay beneath him. There was no space between their naked bodies and Jules pulled away briefly to grab a condom from his bedside drawer. He ripped the foil packet open before sheathing himself. "I need to fuck you, bébé."

With that, he guided himself inside her, and he had to bury his face in her shoulder, breathing in her scent, grounding himself as she started to move. He started off slowly at first, then faster, his hips rolling with practiced ease, her legs bracketing his waist. The rhythm was perfect—just the right mix of urgency and control—and he felt himself melting above her, the intensity overwhelming.

He whispered her name again, a quiet rasp of a sound, as his movements picked up. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her breath hot against his ear, and he knew neither of them would last much longer. With one last thrust, he finally let go, his body shuddering, his fingers pressing into her waist as he tried his best to muffle his own sounds against her skin.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck," he grunted as he spilled into the condom, breathless and slick with sweat. After some moments to regulate his breathing, he planted a tender kiss on her cheek then rolled off of her, a hand running through his locs. "Goddamn woman. You're trying to kill me."

"I could say the same 'bout you," Ayo giggled, cuddling closer to his side.

Jules shook his head, letting out a scoff, and pulled her flush against him. "Yeah, yeah. Just go easy on me next time, alright? I want to make it to my twenty-sixth birthday at least." He glanced at the clock next to him and cursed softly. "Merde, it's almost nine."

"Everyone will be up soon," Ayo murmured against his chest.

Jules ran a hand down her back, conflicted. They needed to eat, but he also didn't want to let her go just yet. "About breakfast..." he started.

"Skip it?" Ayo suggested, already reading his mind.

"You know me too well already." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Meet up with everyone later instead?"

"Sounds like a plan."

They dozed off for two hours before they finally got up. After parting ways to shower and change, they met their friends at the famous Osaka Castle Park, where they spent the afternoon exploring the grounds and taking photos.

"Look who finally decided to join us," AK teased as Jules and Ayo approached hand in hand.

Wilhelm shot them a knowing look. "Long morning?"

Jules ignored their jabs, focusing instead on how beautiful Ayo looked in her casual sundress, her hair pulled back in two puffs. She caught him staring and winked, making his heart skip.

Later, they made their way to Shinsaibashi, Osaka's premier shopping district. Jules watched Ayo browse through racks of vintage clothing, admiring how she could make even simple shopping look graceful.

After dinner at a local ramen shop, they wandered through Amerika-mura, Osaka's youth culture district, taking in the street art and fashion. Jules kept Ayo close, occasionally stealing kisses when their friends weren't looking.

"You're addictive," he murmured in her ear during one such moment.

Ayo smiled up at him. "Pot, meet kettle."

"I've been thinking," he said, his hand resting on her lower back.

"Dangerous," she teased.

He laughed softly. "I want you to come to Barcelona. After you're settled in London. Come see me play."

Ayo's eyes widened slightly. "Really?"

"Really. I want to show you my world."

"Okay."

Jules smiled at her answer, dipping his head to kiss her once more.

The night continued with more food, more drinks, and more laughter. Jules couldn't help but marvel at how much had changed in just two weeks. He'd come to Japan looking for a distraction, a way to shake off the disappointment of the Euros. Instead, he'd found something - someone - that made everything else fade into the background.

accordingtoayo • posted on her story 5 hours ago

accordingtoayo - Osaka, Japan

liked by jkeey4, symonenotbiles, pas_complique, and others

accordingtoayo: arigatō japan. you've shown me so much beauty, taught me patience, and encouraged me to take all that life has to offer. these last two weeks have been nothing but magical...

view all 350 comments…

jkeey4: you're the best travel partner. you're gonna be amazing in london. can't wait to see you again

nikkigal: this is so beautiful...loved spending this time with you.

symonenotbiles: my bestie!! can't wait to see you take over london!

gigithegreatest: i love you ayo!!!

pas_complique: it was nice meeting you and the girls in japan! when's our next trip???

The Osaka airport buzzed with early morning activity as the girls prepared to check their bags. Ayo felt a mix of sadness and excitement churning in her stomach - sad to leave Japan and Jules, but excited for what lay ahead.

Jules kept his arm around her waist as they waited in the check-in line, his thumb tracing small circles on her hip. Their friends gave them space, pretending to be absorbed in their phones while stealing obvious glances.

"I'll be in New York before you know it," Jules murmured in her ear. "Two weeks until I’ll see your gorgeous face and spend time with you before my training in Annapolis."

Ayo nodded, leaning into him. "Seems like forever though."

After checking their bags, the group lingered at the security checkpoint. Hugs were exchanged all around, promises to keep in touch, and phone numbers swapped.

Finally, it was just Jules and Ayo.

"Text me when you land?" he asked, pulling her close.

"Of course." She breathed in his scent one last time. "Have fun in Okinawa."

His kiss was gentle but thorough, making her toes curl. "Au revoir, ma belle."

The next two weeks passed in a blur of texting and FaceTime calls. Jules sent daily photos from Okinawa - him on the beach, exploring temples, trying local food. Ayo spent her days packing up her Lower East Side apartment and navigating the bureaucratic maze of the visa process at the British Embassy.

Jules: *photo of sunset* Missing you Ayo: Missing you more. How's the beach? Jules: Would be better with you here Jules: 12 days until NYC

Each day, his countdown continued: 11 days until NYC 10 days 9 days…

Ayo found herself checking flights to Barcelona while sorting through her closet. The distance seemed both overwhelming and manageable. A two-hour flight from London. They could make it work.

Jules: How's stuff with the visa? Is it figured out? Ayo: Yes! Just got my UK work visa! Jules: Look at you, being international Jules: 5 days until NYC

The day of Jules' arrival, Ayo surveyed her nearly empty apartment. Most of her stuff was already in storage or shipped to London, but she'd kept enough to make it homey. She'd spent the morning at the salon getting flexi rod curls that she knew wouldn't survive the night.

Jules: Through customs. 45 minutes x

Ayo turned on her oven, shaking her head at herself. "Look at me, cooking for a man," she muttered, but couldn't stop smiling. The simple pasta recipe she'd found on TikTok seemed foolproof enough.

As she pulled the roasted tomatoes, garlic, and basil from the oven, her doorbell rang. Frowning, she checked her phone - no way Jules made it through NYC traffic that fast.

Opening the door, she froze. "Jamaal?"

Her ex stood there, looking too comfortable for someone who wasn't invited. "Hey, baby."

"What are you doing here?" Ayo glanced down the hallway nervously.

"You blocked me. Had to come see you." He leaned against the doorframe. "Can't believe you went off to Japan without telling a nigga. What's up with that?"

"Jamaal, why the hell are you here?" she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Came by to talk to you. Thought we could work things out. Y'know how you get sometimes."

Ayo scoffed. "Are you smoking crack? We're never getting back together."

"Come on, baby, don't be like that. What we had—"

"Ma belle, who's this?"

Ayo's face lit up at Jules' voice. He stood in the hallway, looking fresh despite his long flight, a bouquet of flowers in one hand.

"Baby, I missed you!" She moved toward him instinctively.

"Missed you too." Jules kissed her softly before turning to Jamaal. "You didn't answer my question."

Jamaal drew himself up. "I'm her ex. We're working things out—"

Jules raised his eyebrows, amusement playing across his features. "Are you?" He looked at Ayo. "Is that what's happening?"

"He was just leaving," Ayo said firmly.

"Ayo, baby—" Jamaal started.

"She said you're leaving," Jules interrupted, his voice still pleasant but with an edge of steel. "So leave."

Jamaal cocked his head to the side, giving Jules a thorough once-over. "Aren't you that nigga that was in her comments?" His eyes scanned over to Ayo. "You let some random ass guy hit while you were in Japan?"

"Didn't she say you were leaving?" Jules bit in again, yet this time his voice was clearer and deeper, and he stepped towards Jamaal with his shoulders taut. The two men held each other's gazes in an intense impasse for several beats, sizing one another up.

But eventually, Jamaal stepped back. He looked between them, realization dawning. "Whatever," he muttered, turning to go. "This ain't over."

"It's been over," Ayo called after him before pulling Jules into her apartment.

As soon as the door closed, Jules had her pressed against it, his kiss hungry and possessive. "Missed you so much," he murmured against her lips, kicking his suitcase to the side and dropping the bouquet onto the floor.

"Missed you more."

Jules lifted her into his arms, and she instantly wrapped her legs around him. "Was that nigga trying to take my baby away from me? Didn't I tell you that you're mine?" Ayo nodded quickly, moaning into their kiss before it dissolved into a yelp as he slapped her ass. "Use your words."

"I'm all yours, baby. All yours."

"Good girl," he grinned wolfishly, carrying her toward the bedroom. "Now I'm going fuck you senseless."

Ayo melted into him, all thoughts of dinner forgotten. They had one week before she left for London, before he returned to Barcelona. But right now, at this moment, they were just Jules and Ayo, finding their way back to each other.

And maybe, she thought as he plopped her onto her bed, that was enough for now. Everything else - distance, careers, complications - could wait until tomorrow.

For tonight, it was all about them.

TO BE CONTINUED....

[apocalypseornaw]

Wanna be Yours (Pt 2/5)

Sam Winchester x Reader

Sam's starting to develop feelings for you, the problem? He's certain you and Dean are something

@lacilou 's idea

Sam watched you out the corner of his eye. You were sitting cross legged in the middle of Dean's bed in the most recent motel the three of you had stopped at. You'd gotten this case first and had called him and Dean in for the assist. You'd ran across a rather large nest and they were dropping bodies fast.

You had vials of dead man's blood laid out around you and were sharpening machetes. Dean had went to do a quick drive by of the place the nest was held up in which left just you and Sam. The plan was simple, the three of you go in and clear them out then hit the road.

You glanced up after a moment and smiled when you caught his eye. After Hayley's death you and him had become fairly decent friends, you'd call him when you needed to talk about the heavy stuff and he'd confided some things about his own losses.

You were one of the smartest hunters he'd ever met, beautiful and sarcastic enough to rival Dean. You were sweet to those you cared about and any victims you ran across but also fierce as hell when it came down to it. He was beginning to feel things he thought had been buried with Jess, the problem? You were Dean's.

The two of you weren't overly obvious and maybe not even exclusive but the way you two were around each other? You and Dean moved as a unit on hunts, not having to speak to seemingly know what the other wa thinking, he'd say it was a thing of beauty if he wasn't jealous on some level.

He hadn't meant to develop feelings for you, he truly hadn't but it was nearly impossible being in close quarters with you and not.

---------------

You defended him at moments Dean had doubted him, when he got hurt on a hunt you'd patch him up and at bars you'd drag him out on the dance floor laughing like a mad woman when Dean would tease "C'mon Y/N! Don't break Sammy"

He would say he wished he'd met you first but considering you met Dean when you both were nineteen, that wouldn't have changed anything since that would've put him and fifteen.

--------------

He hadn't realized he'd sighed aloud until you spoke his name. He looked up again and you smiled "You good honey? Kind of need your head in the game. Me nor Dean would want anything happening to you"

He nodded "Yeah Y/N, I'm good. I promise" you didn't seem to fully believe him but nodded nonetheless "Ok, ya know you can talk to me. I might not be Dean but I do care about you too" that made him smile more genuinely "I know" before either of you could say anything the door opened and Dean can walking in "Y/N, sweetheart you know how to pick cases don't ya?"

Sam fell back while you and Dean went back and forth teasing each other about past hunts gone weird. The banter between you and his older brother was so damn easy. After a minute you let out a whistle and when he looked up you were standing a little in front of him holding his machete out handle first "Freshly sharpened Mister Winchester" "Thanks Y/N"

"Dammit" you grunted under your breath. There were a few more vamps than you or Dean had thought. "CIRCLE UP" Dean shouted. You and him knew how to move together on hunts as did him and Sam so it was becoming a natural thing for the three of you to move together. The best plan for a nest this large? Keep a tight circle and don't let any between the three of you and make heads roll.

You reached out with your left hand and felt Sam's shoulder. "Well cmon then!" A flurry of movement came next. You would place bets on the three of you over anything, any day.

---------------

Within a few heartbeats the last vamps head was separated from its body and rolling across the floor. You leaned over with your hands on your thighs looking over the carnage surrounding you, blood was smeared across your face but it wasn't yours. You did a quick visual once over of both Winchesters, clocking the bruising starting on Sam's face and Dean favoring his side because him and you both had caught a decent kick to the gut.

All in all the three of you had faired decently enough "Well boys I say we skedaddle a couple counties over and grab some motel rooms then grab some food or some alcohol" "Or both?" Dean added and you winked at him "Reading my mind again Winchester. Tell ya what? I'll race ya for the county line. Winner picks the restaurant and the bar" "On you're on!" He laughed.

Sam shook his head "We gotta clean up after this first you two" you pointed towards him "and that's why he's the Stanford boy. He remembers shit we forget about too quickly" he grinned at your words as the three of you started arranging the bodies to torch the place.

---------------

You stumbled when you grabbed a large body and nearly fell, had Sam not lurched forward to grab you before you could face plant in a puddle of blood. You braced one hand against his chest and he had an arm around your waist to steady you.

You raised an eyebrow at him before saying "Well damn Sam knew you were cute but didn't know you had the whole Disney prince sweep em off their feet thing going on" and was rewarded with a light blush gracing his cheeks before he said "It helps when the princess is slipping on vampire blood" you laughed at the quick come back "Good point"

Dean walked in the room and chuckled "Well what do we have here" Sam looked from you to Dean, his eyes widening "She slipped. I just caught her before she fell.." he made sure you were steady on your feet then quickly let go of you. He grabbed the body you slipped on and disappeared from the room before you or Dean could ask why he was acting weird.

@lacilou

@foxyjwls007

@nelachu2423

[mastermindmiko]

Blood traitor

Pairing: Sirius Black + fem!reader

word count: 5149

summary: Y/n Avery has always been best friends with Regulus, and so by association, she’s also been around Sirius a lot. What she didn’t know is why he always liked to annoy her. 

Trigger warnings: Misogynistic views, Voldemort, kissing, shouting, disgusting men. let me know if there’s anything less. 

A/n: I’ve intended for this to be a two part one shot, but I’m not really sure. If I do decide to make a part to I’ll put a link for it here. Let me know, if I should do another one. 

my masterlist

Requests are open

She sat next to Regulus as you watched the older pureblood couples dance and talk. She didn’t know why she had to be at this function, there were no other kids her age but Regulus, and he didn’t seem to be having a good time either. She could feel the tight material of her dress poking her skin and she reached a hand to her arm where the dress was clinging, hoping to pull it a bit, so it would release its tight hold. The words of her mother echoed in her ears, “Leave that dress alone, and stop fussing.” 

Her hands fell back to her lap, but she couldn’t help but shuffle in her seat. The older kids were talking about their schools. She could see Bellatrix, Narcissa, Lucius, Crabbe, Corban, Antonin, Amycus and Alecto, and of course, her older brother, Avery. They were all from either Hogwarts or Drumstrang, being ten meant that she listened intently to the fascinating stories about the teachers, the houses and the curriculum. Her whole family’s been sorted to Slytherin her whole life and so, she listens to them as they talk about the amazing house of emerald green and silver. 

“Where’s that cousin of yours?” Her brother asks Bellatrix, and she turns around to scan the room, notices Narcissa then answers, “You mean that filthy red blood traitor? He’s no family of mine.” 

Narcissa places a hand on her sister’s shoulder and says in a soft voice, “Now, Bella, he could still do great things, we all know that the sorting hat makes mistakes.” 

Bellatrix only scoffs, and then Lucius supports his almost finance, “It does make mistakes we all know it was created by that awful Godric Gryffindor, and all gryffindor’s are idiots, we must assume that he was the origin of that idiocy.” 

There were a few laughs from the rest of the group, and Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she leaned to her side, closer to Regulus and asked, “Why are they calling Sirius a blood traitor?” 

Regulus re-focuses away from the group, and looks at her to whisper, “Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor and not Slytherin.” He explained, simply, but she still didn’t understand. She asked another question, “What’s so wrong about Gryffindor?” 

“It’s not Slytherin.” Regulus replied, and she pursed her lips as she leaned back into her chair. She scans the room again and looks around at all the people there, laughing, drinking and talking. She didn’t want to do any of those things, and so her eyes found the clock, 7:30, it read. She slumped back down further as she let out an annoyed huff, still a long way to go till the end of the night. 

A loud shout was heard and for a split second the whole room went quiet till it erupted once again into loud chatter. She looked at the stairs where Walburga Black walked down, she paused near the end of the staircase, brushed a strand of her hair out of her face, puffed her chest out and plastered a wide smile. She walked towards the groups of people huddled together, no doubt either talking about the Dark Lord or the ministry. 

A few seconds after that, sirius wobled down the stairs with his arms folded in front of his chest. His expression screamed, ‘not amused’, and he had his eyebrows knitted together. He walked down a few more steps then saw her and Regulus sitting together. He looked at the group of older kids, then decided he wanted to be with them, or at least she assumed so, since he started walking towards her. 

He pulled out a chair loudly, and it screeched against the marble floors, causing a few near-by adults to grimace at the sight of him. He huffed down on the chair and sagged against it, his hair - that was longer than the last time she saw it- cascaded over his face and he blew it away with a huff. She was about to say hello, when she was forced to straighten up by two strong hands on her shoulders. Her face fell into a frown as she noticed the way her mother fixed her posture and leaned down to whisper, “A lady never sits with an arched back, and especially not in front of guests.” 

“Now…smile.” Her mother ordered and she tried to force a grin to her face. Her mother gave her a satisfied look and then walked back to her dad where she placed her hand on his forearm and smiled at the others. The smile fell off her face as soon as she was out of her mother’s sight, and she felt Regulus pat her shoulder sympathetically. 

“Getting used to your future life, now, are we?” Sirius said with a teasing smile on his face. He pushed his arms back, behind his neck where he could unclip his bow tie then slam it on the table. He rubbed his neck and sighed gratefully as if the bowtie was choking him. She both warned and advised, “You should wear that or your mother will have your head.” 

“My mother will try to have my head either way, so it doesn’t matter, and besides worry about Regulus over here, he isn’t wearing one, and you wouldn’t like to have a husband with no head now, would you?” Sirius said in an arrogant tone, as he then smirked when she blushed at the word husband. She looked to her side to make sure that Regulus wasn’t wearing a bowtie, and he was not. She turned to Sirius, “Regulus wasn’t instructed to wear one, unlike you.” 

“And we’re not married yet.” Regulus says in a shy voice, his cheeks also coated in pink. The reminder caused her cheeks to also turn pink, and she leaned back into her chair, then she fixed her posture quickly as if she was burned. Sirius darts an eye over both of them, noticing her expression then he says, “But that’s the thing, dear brother…yet.” 

Their attention gets stolen by the sound of someone tapping their less than half full glass with a spoon. The sharp noise causes the chatter to die down, and people turn their gaze to the source of the sound. From one corner of the room, her mother and father stood up, with their arms hooked and their faces smiley. Her father started, “We have an announcement to make.” 

“Our son, Avery will transfer to Drumstrang due to their interest in the dark arts which will help our son in the near future when becoming a death eater.” Her father continued, and she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, she didn’t know anything about that. Regulus leaned closer to her with a similar expression and asked, “Did you know anything about this?” 

She shook her head then hushed him, softly, so she could hear the rest of the announcement. Her mother explained, “We will be moving to the far north of Europe where Avery could easily attend Drumstrang.” 

A few happy noises were heard from the crowd happy with the news while y/n’s eyes widened as she tried to take in the news. Regulus seemed to be struggling as well, so he took her hand in his and squeezed it tightly. He was thinking that maybe that would ground her. Her mother opened her mouth to continue her speech when she was bombarded by several questions about the news. She sat back down along with y/n’s father and they answered all questions with a delighted smile. 

Y/n was shocked to hear the news, and she wondered if she would be attending Drumstrang as well. She was only ten, and so she might be going there next year, but that would mean moving, moving away from Regulus, and that was a thing she didn’t want to do. Regulus’ grip on her hand didn’t falter which showed her that he didn’t want the same thing. Sirius’ expression was plank, it showed nothing about how he was feeling. She ignored him, but a part of her felt sad that he didn’t care at all about the fact that she was leaving. 

“You’ll write to me?” Regulus asked in a small voice and she turned to him quickly, she couldn’t believe that he ever doubted that she wouldn’t keep contact. She took his other hand in hers and she reassured him, “Of course, I will! Every day if I can.” 

They embraced tightly and she moved her head to the side, to see that Sirius had left the table. He really didn’t care at all. She ignored how she felt and hugged Regulus tighter. She could feel her eyes brimming with tears and they started to sting. She blinked them back, hoping that it wouldn’t ruin her makeup that her mother put on for her to hide her imperfections. 

Someone cleared their throat from beside them and they broke away to look at who it was. Her mother was standing with her hands on her hips, her mother always exudes confidence, and she was envious that she didn’t have that. Her mother had a slight grin on her face, and she said, “You’ll have time for that later, come.” 

Her mother didn’t give her a chance to say anything before she twirled around, the elegant dress following behind her and walked away. Y/N shuffled quickly to stand up, and she moved around her chair to try to follow her mother, from the corner of her eye she saw Regulus bring a hand to his eye. He cared and that’s what mattered, she thought as she noticed Sirius sitting back down at the table, already starting to tease his brother. 

Her mother stepped into a small corner far enough from anyone who could overhear, and she waited for her daughter. She looked at Y/n sternly when she hadn’t caught up and she frowned. Y/n moved quickly to a jog as she reached her mother. Her mother’s frown didn’t move as she whispered heatedly, “Ladies don’t run.” 

Y/n’s face fell to the floor and her face sank more, if possible. Her mother leaned down, so she could speak and no one would hear them. She started, “Listen to me, and focus. The Blacks have been kind enough to let you stay with them, and so you will be a near angel when it comes to repaying them. You will help with the chores and you will do as they say. You will show your interest in the young boy and ignore the heir, we wouldn’t want any of his ideas getting into your head. Don’t embarrass us.” 

“I’m staying here?” she asked, hopefully, eyes wide. Her mother rolls her eyes and pulls her in by her shoulders, tightly. Her mother continues, “Yes you will, and you will attend Hogwarts, Slythein of course, and you will be successful, I’ve already asked that the Narcissa keep an eye on you.” 

She nodded her head quickly, and her mother then released her, going back to her full height. Her mother takes in a deep breath and then straightens out her wrinkle free dress, walking back to the centre of the party. Y/n waits till her mother is far away and then she starts running to her table. She notices a few older ladies looking at her, and she immediately slows down her pace, reminding herself that ladies don’t run. 

She walked quickly, trying to keep the excitement at bay while she sat down at her chair quickly, not even making sure that her dress was straight. Regulus watched her bright smile with confusion until she said, “I’m not moving, I’ll be staying with you!” 

“And you’ll be going to Hogwarts?” he asks and when she nods, he beams beside her. He barely gets the chance to open his arms before she nearly throws herself on him, wrapping her arms around his torso. She giggles lightly, and then sits back down. She hears, “That’s good news.” 

She realised that Sirius said that and she pursed her lips and ignored him. He didn’t care in the slightest that she was leaving, why would it be good news to him? She turned back to look at Regulus and he said, “There’s an empty room in front of mine, maybe that’ll be yours.” 

“Maybe!” she said, excitedly. She couldn’t wait to spend all of her time with her best friend, and they could play games and have fun together. She wouldn’t have to wait till her parents prepare a sleepover once every few months, everyday will be a sleepover. Regulus asked, “Do you know when you’re moving in?” 

“I don’t know.” 

***

“Oi! Y/n” Someone from behind her whispered, a voice she knew all too well. She pulled the potions book closer to her chest, and started to move a bit faster. She could hear his footsteps pick up and she started to jog, but damn him and his long legs, reaching her in a second. He placed a hand on her shoulder and spun her around. She sighs, “What do you want Sirius? I have to get to class.” 

“Slughorn wouldn’t mind if you were a few minutes late.” He said and the rest of his group trailed after him. She rolled her eyes, and shoved his hand away. She said, pointedly, “He wouldn’t, but I would.” 

“Come on, darling. I just need-” He starts, but she said, quickly, “Let me guess, you just want my help, but I am not going to give it to you, and I’m not your darling, see whatever girl you’ve got stuck to your side this week, and call her darling, not me.” 

“What if I want you to be my babe for the week?” he said with a flirty grin on her face as he leaned closer to her face. She ignored the fluttery feeling in her stomach as she put on a grimace. She lifted her pointer finger at him and stuck it to his chest. She seethed, “Then I would tell you that Potter’s been made headboy because that’s as likely as me being your babe.” 

She could see Potter lift an offended hand to his chest, in feigned hurt, but Lupin smacked him on the head which then got them both to start bickering. She rolled her eyes at their childish behaviour. He grabbed her wrist that had the finger that was glued to his chest. He leaned in closer, too close for her to feel calm, hoping that he wouldn’t see the pink tint on her cheeks. He whispered, “I think you’d love it, but the only way you’re going to get it is by telling me the password for the snakes’ common room.” 

“Watch it. And you must’ve hit your head hard, if you think I’m going to give you anything.” She hisses at him, and he becomes less amused. His expression became humourless, but there were still bits of mirth in his eyes. He whispers, “You have to start being nice again because…” 

He moves a hand towards her hair, and twirls bits of it around his finger. “Your hair’s been looking intact lately, it’s been a while since I’ve pulled it, huh?” 

She scrunches her face in anger, and she takes a step away from him. She grips her book tighter and says, “You should know that your silly little threats have become futile. I don’t care if you pull my hair, steal my fries or make fun of the way I talk or walk. You don’t affect me.” 

“Pads! Just give it up. We have to mess with Filch, he's close.” Potter says from behind them and Sirius doesn’t take his eyes off of her. He waits for a second then he moves back to the ‘marauders’, and finally leaves her alone, but not before looking back to take a second glance at her. 

She turns back to her original direction and moves to her class, hoping that Slughorn hadn’t already explained much yet. 

***

“You’ll find someone.” Regulus reassures her as they sit in the library, going over their charms notes for their exam in a few days. She huffs and flips one of the pages of her book angrily. She dips her quill in ink for the fifth time in the past two minutes. She writes an answer to one question from the practice exams book that she found, then she places her quill back down again, the excess ink already dripping down on the table. 

“I just don’t understand how everyone already has a date, but me? Slughorn’s party is in a week, I can’t go alone, I’ll be bored, miserable and humiliated. You just had to say yes to Pandora.” She says, exasperated. Regulus rolls his eyes and gets ready to answer to the same words for the millionth time, “I said yes because she needed to make Lovegood jealous.” 

“You could’ve given me a two weeks’ notice.” she huffs with her arms folded in front of her chest. She leans on the table, and she says, “We’ve always gone to Slughorn’s dinners together, what am I going to do now?” 

“You could always ask someone.” Regulus says, in a know-it-all tone and it makes her roll her eyes. He presses his quill to some parchment and writes a definition of something. She replies, “Regulus, you should know by now that the first half of Hogwarts finds me repulsive because of my house or my family, and the other half think I’m off limits because of you. No one I would ask would say yes.” 

“Except for one…” Regulus says reluctantly as his eyes fixate on something behind her, and she turns around to see what he’s talking about. Her face falls when she sees what he’s seeing, Lupin reading and revising while Potter plays with a snitch he owns and Pettigrew and Sirius playing a game of exploding snap. She plays dumb, “Potter’s already too obsessed with Evans to go out with me.” 

“Not that one, idiot.” Regulus replies while rolling his eyes. She purses her lips and tilts her head to the side with an innocent expression on her face, if there’s one thing that annoys Regulus it’s when people are being moronic. She hums, “Who else then? Pettigrew is too short for my liking, and Lupin is gorgeous, but-” 

“Sirius!” he nearly screams, “If you asked Sirius, he’d say yes.” He sinks in his chair when a few annoyed gazes fall on him, as people note the now disturbed silence. He gulps and he continues to write down his notes, avoiding everyone’s gaze. She leans in closer to him and whispers, “He wouldn’t say yes, Sirius hates me with every fibre of his being-” 

“Only because he thinks you do.” Regulus says and then continues writing as something from behind her causes him to stop. She furrowed her eyebrows at his answer, and before she had a chance to continue. Sirius says, “You called.” 

“Actually we didn’t.” She turns and replies, quickly. He folds his hands over his chest, and he pulls a chair from beside her, much to her dismay. She groans when he sits down, and puts her head in her hands. He says, “I’m pretty sure I heard my name.” 

“Well, you heard wrong.” she replies, hoping that it would shut him down, lifting her head momentarily from her palms. He cocks his head to the side and he says, “That doesn’t matter, now. A little birdie told me that you don’t have a date for this weekend.” 

“Who told you that?” she snaps, lifting her head to look at him. He smirks, glad to have her attention. Sirius intertwined his fingers together and brought them dramatically on his lap. He shrugs his shoulders and says, “That doesn’t matter, what matters is what you’re going to do about it.” 

“That’s none of your business.” She says, with a flush on her cheeks, she didn’t want him to know about her misfortune when it comes to dates. She could see Regulus watching the interaction, carefully, she hated how Sirius didn’t acknowledge him. Sirius interrupts her train of thought, “I think it is, since I happen to be available this weekend.” 

“Why would that matter?” she says, ignoring his hints. He grins, amused, it frustrates her to no end. He leans in closer to her and he says, “Because if you were to ask me, the probability of me saying no is very slim.” 

“Now, why would I want to go with you?” she says, ignoring the pleasant feeling in her chest at what Sirius was hinting at. He purses his lips and the words fly out of his mouth before he registers them, “Because no one would want to go with you.” 

A sharp pain flies through her chest as she sucks in a deep breath and she grabs her books haphazardly. She shoves some in her arms and the other in her bag. She swings her bag over her shoulder, and looks at Regulus, “I’ll see you later-” 

She turns around and leaves the library. She ignores the way she feels her eyes stinging a bit at Sirius’ words. 

***

The dinner was boring…as always. However, it was even more boring without having Regulus beside her while they commented on everything that was being said around them. She would’ve not gone in the first place, but Narcissa would’ve told her mother about her failing to do her duties and a howler was something she didn’t want. 

Goyle was beside her shoving some type of food she didn’t care about down his throat. Sirius was wrong about what he said, there was someone that would go with her, unfortunately, that someone was Goyle. She resisted to grimace as she acknowledged his obvious lack in table manners. Regulus was seated at the other side of the table, on his right was Pandora and right in front of them was Lovegood and some Hufflepuff girl that she didn’t know.

Slughorn asked Goyle about something related to his parents while she tried to ignore who was only a few feet away from her. Sirius and an older Ravenclaw girl who was his flavour of the week. She really tried not to be bothered by their presence, but it was hard while hearing her incessant giggling as he whispered in her ear. Y/n rolled her eyes every time her giggles would get louder. Occasionally, she could see Sirius press a few kisses on the girl’s neck and the way she would blush every time as if she hadn't already shagged him. 

They were disturbing the otherwise calm and professional atmosphere. She didn’t even want to be here, and when Goyle slurped on some snail’s juice beside her, she decided it was time to go. She stood up, abruptly and the chatter died down around her as all eyes turned to her. She flushed under the attention, and turned to Slughorn to say, “I apologise, Professor, but I’ll have to cut my stay short.”  

“Completely fine. Are you well, my dear?” Slughorn asked, and she noticed that the giggling finally stopped. She resisted the urge to sigh from relief. She nodded her head with a small smile, “Yes, excuse me.” 

She moved out of her chair, and walked out of the room, finally feeling calm when the door shut behind her. She slumped against the wall, then wobbled to the window seat that was opposite to her, ignoring the pain from her heels. She sat down and pressed a hand to her face as she tried to get rid of the memories of her horrible night. “You didn’t stay for the dance.” 

She didn't have to lift her face out of her hands to know who it was, she sighed, “I didn’t want to stay for the dance.” She plucks her heels off of her feet and sighs in relief. She didn’t know what made him sit down beside her, but something did. She wasn’t in the mood for his antics and so she turned to rest the side of her head on her hands while she said, “Don’t you have that Ravenclaw waiting for you inside?” 

“She can fare well without me for a few minutes.” Sirius said, and he shuffled closer to her, prompting her to move to stick to the wall beside her to remain far from him. She didn’t say a word as she tried to suppress the noise of Goyle’s munching that had engraved itself inside her brain without her permission. Sirius whispered, “I didn’t mean what I said…at the library.” 

She didn’t say anything, but she looked away from him. She toyed with her fingers on her lap, and bit her lip. Sirius took this as a sign to keep talking, “It was out of line, and I’m sure that many-uh many people would love to go with you.” 

She gulps and Sirius stands after a sigh, and he says, “I don’t know what I was expecting you to say, you hate me anyways.” He starts to retreat back to the room when her voice stops him, “It’s because you hate Regulus.” 

“He called me a blood traitor.” Sirius says as if it were obvious and turns to look at her. She stood up and said softly, “Lucius was standing.” 

“He could’ve not done that, he could’ve stood up for himself.” Sirius said, and she pursed her lips, both the Black boys were hopeless in their own ways. Neither of them could admit that they missed each other. She bent down to grab her heels, and then she replied, “Not all of us are Gryffindors, Sirius.” 

***

She had been drenched in water from head to toe. Her hair was completely wet and her robes were soaked along with her. Her Transfiguration book was ruined and her socks were soggy. She was already late for her lesson, and now she wouldn’t even be able to go. She knew just who was behind this. She screamed, “Sirius!” 

From behind one of the pillars, Sirius and James stood with shocked expressions on their faces. The prank had backfired, it was supposed to be for any other Slytherin, they didn’t expect her to be the Slytherin who would fall victim to their prank. James patted Sirius back and rushed off down the hallway. Sirius shouted, “Traitor.” 

He walked from around the pillar and he was in her line of sight. She rushed towards him as soon as he appeared and she stood a few feet away as she shouted, “You idiot! You ruined my book and my clothes and now I’m never going to get to my lesson.” 

“It wasn’t meant for you-” 

“You’re lying. You’ve always hated me and wanted to annoy me any chance given. You knew that I would be the one to come out.” She screamed as she brushed a wet lock of hair out of her face. He held both his hands up in surrender as he said, “It really wasn’t-” 

“Why the hell do you hate me?” she shouted as she took a step closer to him, grimacing at the scrunch that her shoes made as she moved. She poked his chest with his finger as she continued, “Ever since we were kids, you teased me, you made fun of me-” 

“I-” 

“You annoyed me and you pull my hair and you always steal my stuff back at the house-” she continued, “You turned my room upside down and you hate me.”

“Would you just-” 

“Why do you hate me? I was so kind to you, and you were only ever mean to me. Why do you hate me, Sirius? What thing about me infuriates you so much that you hate me and make my life miserable?” She rambles on while he tries to get a word in. 

“Stop!” he shouts and it makes her mouth shut. He keeps talking, angry, “Would I hate you if I made sure that every prank I’ve ever made never touched you? Would I hate you if I always tried to go to every one of stupid Slughorn’s dinners just to see you in a pretty dress? Would I hate you if I’m the one who convinced my parents to let you stay with us? If I hated you, do you think I would still be hurt every time I remember how you’re engaged to my brother and not to me-” 

Sirius didn’t get to keep talking as she cupped his face and kissed him. Sirius’ face comforts into shock before he melts into her touch. He places his hands on her drenched waist, and pulls her closer to him. The action makes the pre-existing butterflies in her stomach erupt. His taste was addictive to her and she couldn’t help but keep kissing him until the air ran out of her lungs. 

She parted their lips with her chest heaving and her heart beating wildly. She noticed how one of her hands fell against his chest and she could feel his heart doing the same. She looks up at Sirius to find his face expressionless. His body stings her and she brings her hands back to her body. She rambled, “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-” 

He crashed his lips to hers again and it took the breath out of her lungs. She finally understood why there were always so many girls wanting to be with Sirius even if just for a few days. He was absolutely intoxicating and a wonderful kisser. She brought her hands around his neck and pulled him closer to her. His hands slipped down to her hips and it made her heart jump up to her throat. 

“Meet me at the astronomy tower tonight?” he whispers, his breath hot against her lips once they moved away. She could only hum in agreement as she continued to kiss him.

[totothewolff]

Season of Love (3/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

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Dances with Wolff Arc Chapter 3: Can you feel the traction?

Emilia Romana

After spending days away in Monaco, you had enough time to clear your mind and go for a Toto detox. You felt you needed it after all those weeks of having him near you and being too fixated on him; it came to a point where all your mind did in its free time was wander to him, along was also that other bad habit you developed of texting him daily beside making dumb excuses to go to him in the paddock and spend time with him outside business environments; like some sort of loyal puppy following his owner everywhere begging for his attention and some pat. 

Of course, no one knew about this; you two preferred keeping it private.

No one knew about that one time you two went to grab dinner by the bay in Baku. He looked extra handsome that night while waiting for you, leaning against that ridiculous Mercedes vintage car that for sure gave his team a headache to get it there, making your heart skip when you saw him in that expensive-looking three-piece suit, wearing his reading glasses on and smiling fully at you as you approached him down at the entryway of the luxury hotel you were staying at, you looked gorgeous and elegant yourself too wearing a stunning Zuhair Murad golden sheer-embroidered dress. Toto couldn't contain himself from staring you down as you effortlessly went down the stairs and reached him, and you couldn't avoid sniffing him - as discretely as possible - when he hugged you hi; you loved his scent; that Paco Rabanne cologne of his was beginning to get impregnated in your mind. 

Or about those long walks on the beach in Miami in the early hours to enjoy the sunrise together before heading to work. One of those days, you walked by the sea in comfortable silence, hands touching, just enjoying the view and yourselves, feeling the warm sun on your skin. The following day, you acted all playful on the beach. You had the most fun time pushing him towards the ocean to get his bare feet wet and teasing him to get him to sink in, not expecting Toto to chase you on the sand, run after you, and pick you up to bring you inside the water with him. You tried to ignore the dirty thoughts you had when Toto manhandled you with such ease and when your bodies brushed and bumped against each other in the wave's movements. 

Toto did his very best to avoid getting aroused by the sight of your wet clothes tight on your skin, drawing your curves and muscles and how tiny your waist felt between his arms. You wanted so badly to take off his shirt and to draw the veins on his arms with your fingers while running a hand all over his bare chest, and Toto wanted so badly to run his hands up your thighs and ass, to make your beach dress go up and get it out of the way.

Your attention didn't seem to bother him since Toto didn't push you away, but neither pushed you closer, which confused you. It's like he wants you by his side, yet nothing ever happens at the end; this makes you feel needy and a bit desperate, which you hate. Both are falling into a grey area that could be potentially dangerous or hurtful, and action is needed: either you risk it or let it go.

So, you arrive at Imola with a new mindset; you will try to go cold turkey on him. It would be best for the two of you to go back to business only; the Hungary GP is near and will require all your mind and strength. It's vital for your plan's success; you will not fail! No, after years of waiting for this chance!

-

It's pouring rain. The cars don't even hit the track when all teams must leave the garages. The skies are all grey and full of clouds, and a gloomy mood sets in as everyone is taking shelter at their team's motorhomes and hospitalities, making you all feel isolated in a desert-looking paddock.

You observe, from high above, a few people rush to cross from one side to the other underneath their heavy jackets, taking cover from the cold heavy rain while trying to dodge slipping in the large puddles on the concrete lane, looking through the panoramic windows, inside your warm office on the second floor of the W building as you finish discussing safety with your team and drivers, waiting for the FIA updates on the direct line, free practice gets postponed till further notice. 

Then you notice your phone buzzing like crazy on your large black marble desk.

The interior design and architecture of your office and the Williams building combines brutalism and minimalism with industrial touches, light grey concrete walls, avant-garde furniture, dark wooden and polished concrete floors with very expensive-looking boucle tweed rugs strategically placed under fantastic lightning, creating several different but cohesive ambiances between spaces. "Rich people and their quirks," you used to say, till you developed yours, which was having artists design the lightning of your rooms, a refined and expensive acquired taste.

You pick up your phone to find out what's going on. It wasn't your personal one. Yes... You owned three iPhones: personal, business, and a secure line. It was the business one, so you rule out a real emergency.

Lando Norris added you to the group chat.

—"Get a grip, loca🏎!"? Really? —Charles asks.

—What's this? —George questions.

—We should have called ourselves "Silverstoned🚬" —Sam adds.

—Does Sebastian have a phone? Send number —Lando texts.

—Yes, he just got a smartphone, but I wonder if he knows how to use it —Lewis answers.

Toto Wolff left.

—Are you serious?! Get his ass back in! —Lando complains.

—I don't think it's a good idea! How did you get Toto's number?! —Sam replies, honestly impressed and a bit surprised.

—Guys, what's this for? —Carlos inquires.

—I'm a very talented and famous driver, Sam! Of course, Toto asked for my number years ago; he has been following me closely! JK, my manager got it. What's Millie's number? —Lando texts.

—There, I sent it to you —Mick answers.

—Why? Are you leaving too? —Lando finally replies to Carlos.

—No, you idiot! But you aren't telling us.

—Hi! Who is this? —Seb enters the chat.

—Well, with this weather, I'm not planning to go from building to building to ask you if we are going out this week. What's the plan?

—Is she in?! —Lewis questions. No need to write down your name.

—Of course she is! Lando made this group. Do you think she's not in?! —Sam jokes.

—YES, I'm reading you, guys! My phone was vibrating so hard on the surface of my desk that it made me feel jealous of the marble —you joke. —Lando deceived my assistant and got my number out of her. Let's gather after free practice, if weather permits, at that sad and forgotten table behind the hospital wing to plan. Game? —you enter the conversation.

—GAME! —lots of bubbles appear.

—Game, but who is this again?! —Sebastian asks once more.

—And what if the weather doesn't permit it? —Charles jokes.

—We get there by yacht! —Lewis adds.

—Should we invite anyone else? —Sam asks.

—Checo!

—Riccardo!

—Seriously, who is this?!!! —Seb texts, one last time, to everyone's amusement.

-

The weather improves. FP1 goes as plan, just an hour and a half later. Unfortunately for you, the press conference also goes ahead. So there you are, sitting in front of the cameras, microphones, journalists, other team principals, some team owners - more like Stroll and you - plus a couple of FIA's big names. 

You are placed in a sandwich between Horner and Michael; to Horner's right is Toto. Handsome as ever. You feel his eyes set on you but choose to ignore him, trying to stick to your plan.

Before opening the mic for in-person queries, the moderator starts the conversation and asks the preselected fan questions they received on the F1 official Twitter account. Not a single one has been address to you, thankfully, yet.

—This one is for Y/N —the bombshell moderator - a beautiful redhead - turns your way.

Oh God. You talked too soon.

—Kelly, age 7, from Kensington, UK, is asking if you could tell us a fun fact we don't know about each team principal now that you know them! She attached a draw she made of the Williams team; Millie looks quite square, and Mick has a Dorito face; you agree with Kelly that the uniform looks better with purple glitter and teddy bear tape.

You make a face that has the entire room laughing. —Well, let's see. I guess I will go in the order they are sitting —you smile and make an "I'm thinking" gesture.

—Play nice —Christian says. You wink at him.

—Well, Mattia sure loves Starbucks! Every time I cross him on the paddock with my venti in hand, he stops me to tell me how much of a fan he is —Mattia nods with his head smiling, knowing you are mocking him. He still doesn't get how you drink that most hideous thing regularly; Mattia even once invites you to drink real coffee, in his words, at the Ferrari hospitality because he couldn't bear it anymore. —Ah!... Gunther... Gunther... 

—Fuck sake...

—Just here between us —you say softly, covering the corner of your mouth with your hand and addressing the journalists. —I think Gunther is a bit unprofessional. He is always on the phone with this Gene guy, you know. Gene this, Gene that. It's a bit of a codependent relationship if you ask me. I mean, when is this man working?! Half of Hass's budget goes on his phone bill. Oh, wait! Gunther, wink if you are in an unhealthy relationship?! Is he controlling you?! Gunther!

He turns on his chair, giving you the shoulder.

—Who's next? Toto! Toto is a very sensitive guy.

Everyone laughs.

—A true softie, look at him —Christian adds while glancing at him. Toto shrugs his shoulders a little bit, smiling.

—Yes, a softie! He cries watching Cars; Toto loves reading us poems and always brings cake or cookies for everyone at the meetings; he bakes —you smirk at him.

—Christian. That guy is a menace —you let out a massive sigh. The room laughs. —I don't know what Paul (Pole) —you imitate his British accent and voice —Did to you and why you are always chasing him. If I were him, I would ask for a restriction order. He is so obsessed with this Pole guy!

—OH MY GOD —Gunther giggles.

—Fred NEVER shuts up! He is a man of many words. Please! If you see him around in the paddock, approach him; he loves talking to people! Make him a five or ten-minute conversation —Fred covers his face with his hand, not saying a single word.

—Michael never takes my calls. He is always busy signing photos of himself and rearranging his trophies; I don't know why he insists we travel those around. Poor Mick has to change in the hallway; those things take up all the room in the garage. Do I have to keep going or...?

-

When you join, the group is already gathered at the table behind the medical center. As you approach, you hear their laughs and chats; those sounds warm your once-cold heart.

—As the Titanic lady said, it's been 84 years! —Millie greets you.

—Apologies, apologies! That press conference took forever! I would revolt if I was forced to hear Zack one minute more. Any plans or ideas yet? —you start hugging everyone.

—You tell us! —Carlos and Lando agree with you.

—We all voted for the wine-tasting tour —Checo informs you.

—No clubbing after the Sunday race, this time! —Lando confirms.

—Count me in! Sounds great!

-

Toto is typing...

"I tried to reach you on your way out of the press conference. You really walk fast! You are faster than a Hass; in a second, you were gone. I had no luck at the paddock or pitlane, either. Cinque Terre is just a jet ride away. Let me know."

Toto feels you are acting more cold and distant towards him this time. He wonders if you, too, had given it a thought about your "friendship" during the short break. This triggers him and sets his alarms on. He will not lose your interest.

Be strong, be strong, don't fall for it! You keep repeating yourself. Oh god, this is so hard! You let yourself drop on the bulky mattress of your gilded-style bed, phone in hand. 

You are hiding in your vila at the five-star baroque Italian resort after spending hours also hiding at your office. Avoiding Toto is hard and sucks! 

You look out of the balcony window in your room; the sun is setting behind those tall cypress trees and old-timey stucco buildings. A natural bright orange light bathes the space.

Twenty minutes later, another text from Toto comes through.

"I see. Dinner at Cinque Terre is not convincing you. What about in Ristorante Grotta Palazzese? It's inside a natural cave with sea views; it sounds like our type of place."

"Our, our, did he really said our? Who am I kidding? I'm not strong enough. I want Toto."

"Sounds great," you text him back right away.

"There are you! The chauffeur will pick you up at 7.00 p.m. Is that good?"

More than good.

-

The chauffeur arrives on time; you board the silver Mercedes SUV, but Toto is not in there. The driver heads to a runway outside town. 

You cross many narrow and ancient red brick streets at speed. Your eyes observe the beautiful Romanesque, Baroque, and Gothic buildings on your way there. Magical moments like this make you feel blessed with your present. You can never avoid the sad thought of what would have been of you if things had stayed their course.

When you arrive at the destination, a jet awaits you. The chauffeur opens the car door for you and helps you up the jet stairs. Once inside, there is still no sight of Toto. 

When the stewardess closes the door behind you, you feel totally confused till you turn around, and Toto waves hello to you from the pilot's seat at the cabin.

—Should I have signed my will? I have many things to inherit to Sam —you poke fun at him, getting what is going on, and he laughs. —Hey! Where is your uniform?! 

Pilot Toto is a sensual idea.

-

You make it alive and well to the restaurant. Your night-out locations are getting progressively more romantic and unique each time. Toto wasn't kidding; the beautiful venue is on a scenic cliff overlooking the sea; a couple of candles light the small round table, and a gorgeous bouquet of flowers scents the place. The natural stone of the cave surrounds you; it doesn't feel cold or humid; the air is warm and a bit salty.

—Is all good between us? —Toto takes you by surprise; his voice is earnest and calm as you both get comfortable in your chairs.

—Yes. Why?

—We haven't spoken in a couple of weeks.

—Oh, that! Sorry, yeah, feel free to reach out whenever you want to. I just moved to Monaco, and you know it's being cra-

—Really!? Where in the city? I live in Monaco, too! —Toto seems so happy about the news.

—At Mareterra near the marina. 

—I'm not that far away!

—How is it that we didn't see each other? It's a small town!

—Yeah, it is! I was at Brackley. It's not much of a break for me. Usually, these weeks are full of stress and work.

—You're right; it's different for you guys. Sam says I have a fake job and that team owner shouldn't count as one. 

Toto laughs and agrees; you soft-puch his arm jokingly.

—Have you explored the city yet? I have so many places to show you.

—Yes! I have been enjoying the sun, sea, and the local cuisine; I love it there —And guess what? I live with Charles Leclerc now! That's something you don't dare to say.

—It's better than Wallonia's weather, for sure! —Toto lets out. Shit! Now you will know he gossips about you with Sam.

You let it slide, but you notice. Interesting.

-

A bottle of Petrus goes empty as you two share the night away; once more, you aren't sure if it's the wine or the Mediterranean breeze, but the atmosphere feels different. Until you notice Toto is acting differently; this time, he flirts back, and this time, he seeks your touch.

-

Sam was so right. You were all the things she described and more. 

She said great.

And you became this positive force in his life.

Strong.

And you earn your place against all expectations and comments. Leaving Toto in awe.

Intelligent.

And you give him the best advice; you make him feel his burden less heavy.

Kind.

And you always have encouraging words when he needs them.

Fun.

And you make him smile every day like it is your duty, and you make him feel life is in full color.

And so damn hot. 

And there you are, a step away in front of him, wearing that tight black Mugler mini dress, waiting for the elevator. Toto was a true gentleman and walked you to the elevators once back at your hotel. When the doors open, you turn to him, pushing the hold button. An open invitation for him to join.

That's all you need to know. And that's all I'm telling you.

And yes, that's all he needed. Toto takes action.

-

You two kiss, making up for all those minutes and moments you have held back since you met once the elevator doors of your hotel room open up. You are eating each other mouths while French kissing, tongues exploring every corner, biting each other lips; it feels hot, wet, and sexy. Hands caressing everywhere, exploring your bodies.

Toto picks you up and wraps your legs around his waist. Then he places his hands on your ass, securing you, as he takes you to the bedroom.

He places you on the bed slowly, rubbing your whole body against his as he drops you down. You are left on your knees on top of the mattress, almost at the corner of the bed. Then he pulls you closer by the waist as you are licking his lips; one of your hands is around his neck, and the other is on his chest, caressing it.

Toto's hands trail your thighs up to your ass, pulling your dress up as they pass by, revealing your tiny sheer black lace Brazilian thong. —Fuck —he lets out. And he squishes your ass tightly. You let out a moan and soon start unbuttoning his shirt. He moves to kiss your neck and finishes pulling off your dress, taking it over your head and tossing it to the side; it falls to the floor.

You also finish undoing his shirt, and you start kissing his naked chest. Biting skin as you get down. You reach his groin; he is getting hard. So you trail one of your hands - with two fingers in a V shape - from the middle to the tip of his cock, applying pressure as you trace his length. Making him grunt. You open the button of his pants with your mouth and bite down his zipper. He quickly finishes pulling his pants down and removes his shoes and socks.

Then Toto takes off your bra, releasing the girls, and takes a lustful look at them. He slowly lays you back against the mattress and starts kissing you down, stopping for a good while to lick and bite your nipples while massaging your breasts with his hands. You are getting wet. He continues his way down, kissing your belly as he passes by. Then, Toto takes his time to caress and kiss your inner thighs, making you moan more. He sucks on the sensitive skin and starts licking with his tongue all the way from your outer to your inner labia lips. You squint and tremble at the sweet contact; then, Toto focuses on massaging with the tip of his tongue, in small circles, every single spot of your pussy. He is eating you so good, having fun playing with your clit, and biting your popped-out lips. 

—Ougng, unff, ughhh —you moan out, fuck, he is good. With the palm of his hands, he pushes your legs up over his shoulders and pulls you closer towards him, burying his head and tongue even deeper into you; you orgasm. 

—You moan so beautifully —he lets you know with a rough voice. You feel weak in the knees. Toto stops eating you up to lick his right-hand thumb finger and, with it, pets your clit, in hoops, every lap adding more pressure. It feels heavenly. Then with his left-hand places two of his fingers inside your mouth for you to lick them; when he gets them wet and warm enough moves them to stroke your clit in oscillatory movements, every time faster. God, you feel so much pleasure.

Toto is so hard under his boxers, so you start caressing it. You couldn't wait to pull that fat cock out, so you get to it. You start incorporating, and he gives you the space to make the next move. You reach for his underwear and slowly pull it down; his dick wiggles a bit with the friction of the fabric before curving. Fucking lucky girl you are. 

—Umh —he moans as you wrap your hand around his length and start jerking him off, moving your hand from outside to inside movements and pulling from the balls to the tip. His moans get so guttural. Fucking hot.

You commence licking his dick before placing the tip of his cock inside your mouth, it is warm and firm, and you love the sensation of him on your tongue; after a couple of minutes of sucking him, he points you to the floor. Of course, that is a more comfortable position for the two than your current one; he offers you a hand to step down. You slowly get to your knees in front of him and start blowing him up deeper and harder, resting a hand on his muscular thigh. You are licking him nonstop like his dick is your favorite lollipop. He moans more.

A moment later, Toto, with his left hand, starts caressing your chin, tracing it. And pulls his cock out of your mouth. Placing it instantly over your lips while you kiss it, giving him small kisses on the head, you two lock looks. From his perspective, it is a fantasy scene having you like this. God, what a view. With his other hand, he parts your mouth open and pushes himself back in and deeper down your throat this time. You hold him there for as long as you can. He pulls himself out again, making a soft pop sound, and does the same movement several times more. It turns you both so much.

You two can't wait a minute longer. Foreplay was so much fun, but you needed Toto inside you as soon as possible. And he wanted so badly to be inside you and to pound that pussy hard. He puts on a condom, offers you a hand to get you on your feet, and in a quick movement, he lifts you once again and takes you to the bed, this time placing you against the headboard and holding you over his hips. You instantly wrap yourself around him. You expect him to drop you down like before, but he doesn't. 

Toto adjusts himself and, in that position, slowly enters you. You let your head tilt back in pleasure. He starts fucking you like that, so you lean against the headboard while he slides you up and down on his cock, his fingernails burying in your ass, rocking you, both moaning every time his dick hits the spot. As the rhythm gets faster, he can't take off his eyes from your bouncing tits. He is so so hard you feel being impaled. You both are a mess of panting and moans. Fuck, you are so close to cum.

—Toto! ungh! fuck, fuck, fuck!

—A bit more, baby girl, fuck, hold it a bit more. I need you more.

—Toto, I can't, unf, baby.

—I don't want to stop, fuck, you are the best feeling in this world —he thrusts you hard. Skin hitting on skin very loudly. —You are so addictive.

You keep rhythm in that position a bit longer; you both are warm and sweaty till you orgasm loudly. You two stop for a second and go back to kissing each other. Toto tenderly places you on the bed. You take advantage of the movement and your upper position to slowly push him back against the mattress. Now, it's his turn. He lays there looking up at you; his eyes are full of lust, desire, adoration, and love; he knows you are about to ride the fuck out of him. 

You place yourself on top of him, one hand on his chest, the other sliding his cock inside you. You take him fully in; his dick is all the way inside you. You shift and adjust a bit, making him grunt. Then you start rocking your hips in semi-circles, slowly fucking him, making him moan for more. You could feel his hand grabbing your ass, caressing your thighs and your bend legs, then move to your neck and tits. You start bouncing on his cock, jumping on it several times before riding him harder, now in oscillatory strong movements for both your pleasure. Your pussy feels really warm. And you feel his body tensing up beneath you.

In a quick, solid move, Toto bends his legs, pushing them up, provoking you to tumble towards him, making you place both your hands on his chest to avoid falling over his upper body and face; he grabs you by the waist with a strong grip, his big hands cup your tiny waist, his fingers sink on your skin.

And he starts giving it to you so hard. He was rapt with the sensation of his thighs slapping against your ass and his balls slapping your pussy. You feel your body trembling and your tits bouncing violently.

—Toto, I'm so close, uuuughh —You can barely speak coherently. You feel like he is about to break you in two or that antique bed. —You are hitting it so good. Ugh, Toto, I'm about to, I, I-!

You cum all over your thighs and on his cock with a massive moan. 

—Fuckkkk —Toto lets out. You look like a hot mess.

In that position, he pulls you towards him, and you lay on his chest, burying your head on his neck; he can feel your hard nipples rubbing against his skin; you feel him fucking you a bit more with powerful deep strokes, slowing down, till he bursts out inside the condom among passionate kisses from you. The sound you provoke him when he comes fulfills you so much.

Even though you two are athletic, you are so out of breath and covered in sweat.

-

Yesterday, you two were at a fancy restaurant dining author's cuisine. Today, you were eating street pizza and sharing a massive 5-euro slice of Margherita on your way to the circuit entrance. 

Toto takes a big bite while you hold the pizza near his mouth as he rolls his shirt sleeves and adjusts his uniform. You are in a rush. 

It turns out Toto is the world's most comfortable pillow; you were all warm in his embrace that he had to drag you out of bed against your will and get you into the shower you two shared that day to wake you up. 

It was almost midday, and you two were running late for Qualy. Why can't you ever make it to Qualy on time?

-

Definitely, this week was one to remember, not only because of your private life. Also, because Millie finally fulfilled her dream of winning at Monza. She grew up a Ferrari fan, and this track meant so much to her. Another Grand Prix was in the bag, and Millie was closer to winning the driver's championship. She wanted to make HERstory.

You discretely caress Toto's hand as he watches the podium ceremony beside you. Amidst champagne rivers, screams, and jumps from the crews supporting their drivers, he looks at you and only you.

In that moment, you fall in love, true love.

-

Monaco

—Toto.

—Yes? —he turns his gaze away from the cool sculpture he is checking out in the gallery where you two are and looks your way. You had many errands to run that day, and he chose to join you as soon as he got free time.

—I need your help. Come, quick. —You tell him, and then you address the sales lady. —Are you sure the painting is two meters tall? Sweetie, stand there, please.

Toto moves near the Sterling Ruby painting exhibit on the wall.

You compare proportions and turn to nod the saleslady yes. Yeah, you are buying it! It was the perfect piece for the apartment foyer!

—Did you use me to measure?! —Toto complains to you. —Like a ruler?

You smile at him as big as possible, looking all silly and adorable.

—You will be the death of me. 

You come close to Toto to kiss him softly, standing on your tiptoes.

-

Day 23, and Charles still needs to learn how to park. His car is all crooked, invading, as usual, your parking slot, making it a whole task for you to park your brand-new grey Lamborghini Urus in its place.

—You brought the vinegar chips? —he asks you as you enter your apartment's living area, without even moving his eyes away from the screen before him. He is so into that PlayStation game. You have to admit, he is like your teenage son at this point and a very spoiled one.

You pull the bag of chips out of the paper grocery bag with one hand and up in the air for him to glimpse.

—YEIH! —he makes a happy sound and stands up to get them. Wincing and stretching, first. —I forgot I had legs! I tried pulling my Monster can closer with your stick, but I failed!

—You know it is a sculpture, right? —you are referring to the piece on the table next to the couch where Charles was melting in.

—One that looks like a stick and feels like a stick. Please don't tell me it is abstract and that I don't get it —Charles opens the bag of chips with a loud bang, bursting all the air out of it. He was doing all you usually found annoying, yet you were all smiley and happy. Uhm, very suspicious.

—You guys fucked —he figures it out as he places a chip into his mouth and crunches it very loudly.

—WHAT?! —you go all red.

—Yeah, you did! —Charles looks so ridiculous in those oversized pajamas; what did Lewis and Murakami think when designing that thing? —You have been all smiley and glowing lately. I mean, I'm really happy for you guys! Oh, come on, don't try to deny it! I know you have feelings for Toto. I'm a professional driver, with quick reflexes and good sight, you know.

—Is it way too obvious?! —you start to panic and ask helplessly.

—Not really. It is just that Sam and I know you too well —he pauses. —Well.. I kind of know you.

—Charles, I wish I could...

—I know, I know, no pressure —he rubs your arm.

—So is it official, then? You and Toto?

—I think so? We haven't spoken about it, really.

—As the king of toxic relationships, I must advise you to not pressure yourselves. Let things take their natural course.

Oh God... If that was the case, that course was full of rapids and rocks and was meant to crash.

-

Lewis invites you to dinner at his place. As you enter his apartment, you greet Angela and Roscoe while holding the tofu and plant-based charcuterie board you brought. Roscoe goes after you due to the smell of it. Lewis giggles.

—It's never enough food for him! —Hamilton adds.

—Help! He is giving me the eyes.

—Be strong! —he tells you with a commanding voice.

You follow Lewis to his entertaining kitchen area. Delicious vegan delicacies are on display on the marble island counter.

—All looks and smells so good! —you compliment.

—He cooked it all by himself —Angela jokes. You all laugh.

—It's a lot of food, isn't it? —Lewis shrugs his nose.

—I was thinking about texting Toto to join us. He is my neighbor, you know? He lives in the twin building —Lewis points out the window to an identical building in front of his, just on the other side of the large pool. —But Sussie is there with him. I think they need time alone for themselves. Things are rocky with those two, so I heard —he informs you.

Sussie is staying at his place?! He didn't mention you she was in town. Okay, that took you off guard, but you play it cool. —It must be weird having your boss next door —you smoothly switch topics; you are a pro at that art.

—I have an excellent relationship with him. We are not like close friends, but we make a great team; I owe him a lot and vice versa, so we are essential and supportive of one another —Lewis shares with you.

You are not the only one holding essential and sensitive information back. You don't know if this makes you feel better or worse.

Your friendship with Lewis is one that you weren't expecting to happen, but you felt so blessed it did.

—I need to know all about Shakira. Lewis, we can't fail this!

He laughs really hard.

-

Monaco is the only race you were hoping for your team to lose.

Only because you knew how important it was to Charles. So when he loses control of his car on the chicane and outs himself, you feel your soul leaving your body before grabbing it in the air and getting it back in. 

It's going to be a rough night, and he will need all your support.

-

Charles cries in silence as you two observe the vast sea on that cliff you went to weeks ago. It took you to drive Charles there this time.

Toto is nowhere to be seen after the race and on a radio silence on the phone. Now you knew why, but your problems seemed small when your dear friend was sorrowing next to you.

—This is so embarrassing —Charles says, wiping his tears. —There are countries at war, and I'm here crying because I broke my "vrum vrum" car at the races —he jokes.

—No problem is too small —you tenderly pat Charles's shoulder. —And the better way to heal is to cry. I know a thing or two about it —you say very frankly. He turns to you with red eyes still.

—You got really hurt. That's why you shelf yourself and avoid bringing the past to your present —Charles points out. Sometimes, it freaked you out how much he got you and how perceptive he was.

—Yes. I have been through a lot, enough for five lifetimes, I must admit. That's why I chose to build up walls millions of meters tall. But at the end of the day, violence hurt me way less than love did. I hope one day to be able to tell you all. And I hope one day to see you on that podium here. I'm really sorry for how it went —you two tightly hug.

—Is there any chance your walls are guarded by dragons or trolls, too? I ask for an Austrian guy who might like to know this information.

You laugh. Only by a Belgian ice knight in shiny armor, you think.

-

A phone call enters your secure line around 3 a.m. that night. You violently wake up, immediately recognizing the ringtone; you walk fast to the drawer where the iPhone is and pick it up, pulse-raising.

Moments later, Charles catches you trying to leave the apartment while attempting not to make a sound, holding a duffel bag in your left hand. It is very dark, and all the lights are turned off.

—What's going on? —he asks you, a bit sleepy, taking you by surprise.

—I have to leave —he notices how serious your voice sounds.

—You know you can trust me —Charles assures you, detecting this was different; this was deep.

 And you really, really wish you could.

—Are you in any danger? —He looks so truthfully concerned. 

If only he knew. You don't answer his question.

—I can go with you! —He offers you when he glimpses you moving towards the door; he is so pure. Of course, you don't want him near all this!

You deny with your head and start heading down the hallway; he follows you up close.

—Charles —you turn to stop him. He looks taken by how harshly you act. He has never seen you like this before. —Give me time, just trust me. I will let you know —you recover your composure. —Listen, I won't be around for a bit. Only Sam knows. Just don't mention anything of this to anyone, word? Can I trust you? Charles, can I trust you with this?

—Word, yes, yes, of course. Y/N, take care, please —he grabs your hand, and you squeeze his.

 —See you soon.

-

Canada and Spain

You miss the two following Grand Prix without notifying anyone. 

You just disappear, taking the entire group and Toto by surprise. Sure, he was pissed you weren't answering any of his texts and calls at first, but then he got really concerned as the days passed by, and he got no news from you. He was just a day away from visiting the Interpol offices himself.

Until an envelope with a statement arrives at the FIA offices, which they make public, claiming your absence was due to business trips that you couldn't reschedule. Michael gets a variant of the same letter, which everyone buys it.

Well, almost everyone.

—Is there any word on her? —Lewis asks, still concerned, sitting at the table where all you gather behind the medical center; it doesn't matter in which paddock or circuit; it's now your official meeting spot.

Lando shakes his head. —She's not answering my texts either.

—Well, that's not new! —George jokes, lighting up the mood.

Charles remains quiet.

—It sits weird with me. Why just vanish like that? —Sebastian adds. Making himself room next to Lewis, an inch away from sitting on his lap.

—Yeah, why not answer?! —Lewis agrees.

—She didn't mention anything to me —Sam lies as Carlos's eyes set on her.

—For sure she is very busy! It's just a pair of business trips, guys! Why are we all concerned about this? —Charles sells them the idea.

—Maybe, yeah —Millie enters the conversation, leaning against the building wall, arms crossed and slightly serious.

Sam looks directly at Charles, wondering if he knows.

Then Millie walks to Sam. —You are such a bad liar, auntie. Good thing they don't know you well enough —Millie whispers softly near her ear. —Whatever it's going on, I hope Y/N is okay. —Then she helps them change the subject. —SO, MICK'S BIRTHDAY PARTY? Strip club or what?!

-

Belgium

A very tired-looking you sip a cup of hot tea in a manor miles away, inside what once was a drawing room centuries ago, getting comfortable in that bulky armchair, rubbing your bare feet against the large hand-knotted rug on the floor.

Along with your bedroom, this is your favorite room; you never tire of looking up at the vaulted ceilings, painstakingly hand-painted with murals of the Wallonia flora, fauna, and bird life. A beautiful, old, large chandelier hangs at the center, sparkling on the walls.

A massive window overlooks the back garden and into the forest, currently hiding behind thick fog. You try to get warm with the crackling fire on the period-style fireplace handmade with the finest marble; the weather was brutally cold that morning, which didn't lift your mood. 

14-foot-high mirrors and wood panels cover the walls, and antiques and paintings give character to the room. You know every piece by heart and all its stories. They were your company most of the time.

All you wished at the moment was Toto's embrace to keep you from this cold and to chat with Charles instead of that bust of Ser Everard, which makes you sound more delulu than usual.

You miss the paddock buzz and your friends' laughs filling the air instead of this dead quietness.

-

He looks at you from afar, leaning his fit body against the big double door frame of the drawing room, with compassionate eyes, knowing quite well you wish you weren't there. 

You look sad, but there is little he could do. He was happy to have you back at the house where you once belonged, even if your heart and mind were elsewhere.

-

He kept this room as you left it and asked his staff not to move a single thing. When you entered it for the first time after a while, you felt like you had left yesterday. It was preserved in time like one of those time capsules or like a museum.

There has been so much going on that you two barely had time to talk. It was better that way. You don't lie to him, but you don't feel like letting him know about your place in Monaco; he still thinks you are staying at Sam's or sharing any details about your new life with him. 

Then you notice him standing there looking at you; that man has the skills of a cat.

—Ready, mon cher? —he asks you softly.

—YES! Super ready!

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

[romione-trope-fest]

Finish

Fic Title: Finish

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Weasley Weddings

Brief Summary: Ron and Hermione find time on the horcrux hunt to finish what they started at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Word Count: 1859

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: none

***

It feels like she has packed and repacked this bag a hundred times since the start of the summer. Even with magically infinite space to bring whatever they need, Hermione has second and third and fourth guessed this book and that potion and everything in between. Sometimes she worries that the beaded bag and its contents are all she’s contributing on this mission, and she wants to get it right.

As she reaches in again, her fingers snatch onto floaty fabric that she recognizes by touch alone and after a moment’s hesitation, Hermione pulls out her dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding, letting the chiffon unfurl toward the dark and dingy floorboards. What a perfect day that might have been if not for—well, everything. Spending the reception dancing with Ron was a bright spot in an otherwise mostly dreary day, from the Minister’s visit that morning to the uninvited guests that crashed the post-wedding party. But even that…

She thought she knew how Ron felt about her, thought that they were making strides toward something more than friendship. But even though he had snagged her away from Viktor to dance, showcasing a jealousy that reminded her of fourth year and the only other time he had seen her so dressed up, there had been nothing more. He hadn’t kissed her, he hadn’t told her how he felt. Of course, she hadn’t done those things either. There’s a war coming—it’s here, really—and what the hell are they waiting for?

Hermione tosses the dress over the back of the sofa and reaches back in for Ron’s dress robes. She’s not sure why they’re still in the bag anyway, why she hasn’t hung them up in a closet somewhere under a preservation charm to keep the dust off. Of all the things that they might or might not need hunting horcruxes, she thinks it’s fairly safe to assume that her dress and his dress robes are a do not need. But they’re also the only things they have with them that remind her of a happier time. Everything else in the bag is so…tactical.

“Hey.” Ron’s voice jolts her out of her thoughts, and he raises a quizzical eyebrow at her as he enters the room. “What are you doing?”

“Packing. Unpacking. I don’t know.” She motions to the pile of clothing draped over the sofa she’s been sleeping on every night, her fingers entwined with Ron’s. That means something, doesn’t it? “I don’t suppose we have any need for these anymore.”

“Probably not.” Ron trails his fingers down the sleeve of his robes. “It’s a shame that we didn’t really get to finish the wedding.”

Hermione shrugs. “It was a lovely ceremony. Fleur looked beautiful, and at least we made it past the cake and everything before the Death Eaters showed up.”

“Oh, er…I meant us,” Ron says, and Hermione’s breath catches in her throat. “We didn’t really get to finish the wedding.”

What is he saying? Did he have plans for them that evening? Was that going to be the night, before everything fell to pieces and they were running for their lives?

He smiles at her, that lopsided grin that’s been melting her heart since she was fourteen, and suggests with a laugh, “We could always get dressed up again, and have our own little celebration here.”

Hermione chuckles too. As much as she would love to do that—to know what exactly they didn’t finish the night of his brother’s wedding—they have more important things to focus on. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh. Yeah, alright.”

“I just meant with the mission—”

“No, no, you’re right.” Ron gives her a tight-lipped smile. “I’m gonna go see what I can round up for dinner.”

He leaves her alone in the drawing room without another word, and Hermione sighs, wondering how she always manages to say the wrong thing to him.

She gathers up the clothing, but rather than put the pieces in a closet, she folds them carefully and places them back into her beaded bag.

Maybe one day we can finish what we started.

***

Ron’s feet are heavy as he trades places with Harry, who’s about to finish out the night watch. The winter air outside is nothing compared to the frostiness inside the tent. Not that he’s surprised. Not that he doesn’t deserve it. But he and Hermione are both as stubborn as they come, and her resolve is stronger than his.

She’s barely said five words to him since he returned to the hunt, so the sight that greets him behind the tent flap hits him harder than a stunning spell: Hermione, wearing that tantalizing lilac dress from Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

Obviously, she’s gone completely round the twist.

Ron takes a step forward into what he now realizes is a suffocating heating charm on the tent, mimicking that same stuffy August evening. Before he can raise any questions, Hermione thrusts a bundle of fabric into his arms. “Put these on,” she instructs, her tone clipped as her lips set into a thin line.

“My dress robes?” Ron asks as he examines them. “Hermione, are you feeling alright?”

“Peachy,” she snaps, the only response he’s apparently going to get. After a loaded moment without further instructions, Ron takes a step toward the loo.

“Uh…okay. Be right back.”

Hermione’s request makes absolutely no sense, but he’s not really in a position right now to deny anything she asks of him. If putting on his dress robes will get her to talk to him, it seems a very minor sacrifice to make.

He puts the robes on as quickly as he can and then heads back out to the main area of the tent, where Hermione is waiting. They’re a pale echo now of themselves from that night—clothes hanging loose from months without proper nutrition, both a bit scraggly and in need of a haircut, and a shave in Ron’s case—but she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Her expression is one of grim determination, but her brown eyes are wide and bright as she looks up at him.

“You said we never got to finish the wedding,” Hermione says softly.

“You want to now?” Ron asks incredulously, shock winning the battle against common sense. He had suggested this, only sort of joking, back at Grimmauld Place and she had shut him down. The conditions now are even less ideal, and he’s flabbergasted that she’s bringing it up.

“I need to know if I’m crazy,” she answers, and though Ron has some thoughts on that at the moment, he wisely keeps them to himself, “or imagining things. I need to know what we didn’t finish that night.”

“Hermione—” She holds a hand up, silencing him instantly.

“Show me.”

Stubbornness grips them both again as they stand frozen, eyeing each other across the room, neither willing to look away. She doesn’t know what she’s asking. She doesn’t know that he had every intent of pulling her out to the back garden to tell her how he felt, to maybe finally steal a kiss, but a combination of having fun dancing and debilitating nerves at the idea of taking that step had kept him putting it off for one more song. One more glass of champagne. Until there was no more music and no more champagne, only fear and chaos, and their focus had been forcibly shifted to other things.

She doesn’t know any of that, so what does Hermione think they’re finishing?

Sod it. She’s the brightest witch of their age. Maybe she does know.

Ron crosses the room to the wireless and gives it a couple of taps with his wand until it’s playing the soft, slow song that had been the last one they heard at the wedding. He turns back to Hermione, who holds her hand out in invitation. “Come and dance?” she whispers his own words back at him, her voice shaky as her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

He takes her hand and wraps his other arm around her waist, pulling her in close, and Hermione’s head settles against his chest as they barely sway to the music. Even before he left, they haven’t been this close since the wedding, and Ron never wants to let go again.

“Do you really want to finish this the way I wanted to at the wedding?” Ron asks softly as the song ends and then starts over. “You’re hardly even speaking to me, let alone—” He cuts himself off with a sigh. Despite Hermione being the one to initiate this, kissing her feels like a boundary he shouldn’t cross. 

Hermione pulls away to look up at him, but holds onto his hand. “When you left, it made me question everything I thought I knew about you. About—us.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “So yes, I want to know. I need to know. Unless—”

She stops, and Ron braces for her rejection. Maybe he should’ve just kissed her and not second-guessed himself. Hermione bites her lip anxiously and drops his hand, and his fingers dangle uselessly between them, still half-reaching for her. “Unless what you want has changed since the wedding because in that case there’s no point in pretending that—”

Whatever else she’d intended to say gets swallowed up by Ron’s lips. What he wants hasn’t changed at all, only gotten stronger, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer to show her.

Hermione melts against him, her hands finding their way into his hair, and kissing her feels like coming home. Every brush of her lips against his is a taste of forgiveness, and he drinks it in like he’s dying of thirst.

He doesn’t stop kissing her until he tastes salt, and he pulls away to find tears streaming down Hermione’s cheeks. She leaves her hands tangled in his hair to keep him close, though, and presses her forehead to his to whisper in anguish, “Why did you leave, then? If that’s what you wanted, Ron, why did you leave?”

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He never expected it to be. Ron sighs. “That’s a story for a different night, I think,” he replies, and at that Hermione does let him go with a hollow laugh.

“Of course you’re not going to tell me,” she scoffs. “Why would this change a damn thing between us?”

Ron reaches for her again, tugging at the chiffon that hugged her body like a glove four months ago but is now loose enough for him to grab an entire handful. “I just meant—not this night.” He motions to their outfits, to the purple dress and the navy robes that aren’t yet tainted with thoughts of the locket. “Let’s get changed, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Hermione trails her fingers down his lapel as she looks up at him. “Promise?”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily. All he’s wanted to do since he got back is tell her the truth; he’s just been waiting for her to want to hear it. “I promise.”

[onceonafullmoon]

Hi, could you please tell us a bit more about Tsundere/Yandere Fumus? I saw what you wrote about Tsundere/Yandere Fumus, and I was curious if you had thought of anything. I really like your writing and I hope I'm not bothering you. Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language.

Me when I get to talk about an awful man: 😈 (also these are leaning more towards yan then tsun, so sorry about that)

Yandere Fumus x GN! Reader HCs

Tw!! Violence/torture towards reader and other characters, manipulation (guilt tripping) and non-con mentions

Well, firstly, you’re fucked. But you already knew that, didn’t you?

You’d probably meet through being affiliated with someone else, like Satanick or Taffy, rather than meeting Fumus head on.

See, he’s a bit of the asshole curious type like that, always wanting to know what his toys are amusing themselves with.

When you think about it, it's kinda like a child who only wants to play with his peers toys, but more unhinged and fucked up

Either way, despite their wishes, he’ll either stumble across you or go out of his way to visit you.

You wouldn't think much when you do meet him, he's not outwardly threatening compared like others you might have met. In fact, with the way he seems to disregard your presence enirely, like he's above you, you'd probably just think of him as some typical asshole, the only unsettling thing about him bring those piercing violet eyes of his.

Its only when you turn to see your affilates reaction of utter horror and dread that you realize something is terribly wrong.

When he leaves, you try to pry into what they're so worried about, but whether through straight dismissal (Taffy) or dancing around the topic (Satanick) neither will answer you head on.

Anyways, with Fumus's growing interest in you, you can't really afford to worry about either of them, his visits growing more frequent and that same oppressive feeling growing greater as they do.

It won't be long until you find yourself in his domain, the stench of cleaning products permeating the air.

And is that blood you see in the corner?

Your first few visits will ineviably end in screaming and crying, blood splattered on almost every surface of his office, the same loving treatment Fumus gives all his toys.

You might try to reach out to find help during this time, only to be dismissed entirely by Satanick with a helpless grin or a rather unfortunate response of "it never hurts as much the first time" from Taffy.

You could also try to escape... but running from a God is pointless, which you'll find out through bruises, or if you're particularly unlucky, broken bones.

Meanwhile, Fumus is going through somewhat of a... crisis... on his part as well.

See he only meant to play with you out of curiosity... but now... maybe its your sweet crying face, or the withering glares you send his way... there's just something about you that he can't get out of his mind.

And at first he doesn't think about it, he'd always been a bit obsessive with his toys anyways

But then he sees you talking with one of his angels, a small smile on your face, and he can't help the surge of fury that courses through him.

Both because he hates the idea of you with anyone else and because he realizes what this jealousy means for him despite his self insistance of not wanting a "relationship".

Albeit this notion of a relationship is highly onesided.

That afternoon, he's very busy with his scissors, repeatedly plunging them in and out of the poor angel's body.

And that night, he finds himself busy helping himself to your body too, albeit in a different way, despite your protests and struggles

Distantly he wishes he could take a picture of you, looking ruined for him, until he realizes he could have this sight every night if he choosed so.

Luckily for everyone else, and unfortunately for you, at the discovery of his newfound "feelings", he spends more time tormenting you.

Albeit this time his methods are more... pleasureable than his previous ones, though you might find that worse than being tortured based on how you see it.

Its simple enough to keep you from leaving him consequently, even without him having to exert his power.

Just a simple, playful, remark about how lonely he'd be if you left, that he'd have to subsitute you with his precious little angels, and suddenly you're hesitating on carrying out that escape plan.

Not that it would have worked anyways mind you... perhaps next him he catches wind of a new plan he'll just invite you to watch him have fun with Taffy.

In all, attracting Fumus is the worst mistake you could have unknowingly commited, and now you have to deal with the torture of being damned to a god.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Talking About It

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You talk about the kiss. Warnings: N/A Series Masterlist | refers to this

The soft glow of early evening seeps through the window, casting long shadows across your bedroom floor. It's a quiet time, one where the world outside begins to slow and the reality of your circumstances sinks in deeper.

You flex your fingers, feeling the twinge of pain that reminds you of what you are. Today it has been constant, a throbbing echo of your body's betrayal that pulses with every heartbeat. The pain comes in waves, each crest higher than the last until you think you might drown in it. But you've grown accustomed to it, haven't you? You manage, just like you always have. Only now, it's not so lonely with them by your side.

Remus sits on the edge of your bed, legs crossed at the ankles, a book resting unopened in his lap. He's a solid presence, an anchor in the storm that rages within you. His eyes are trained on the pages before him, but you know he doesn't see the words—they're just a blur of ink against paper.

The silence between you stretches, comfortable yet charged with an energy that's hard to ignore. It's been two months since that night when everything changed—when James, Sirius, and Remus admitted their feelings for you. Since then, there's been stolen kisses and soft admissions of love, times when the world seemed perfect despite its imperfections. But tonight, something lingers in the air, a question left unanswered, a conversation left unfinished.

You know it’s time to talk about it.

You watch him, noting the way the lamplight softens the lines of his face. His eyes flick upward, catching yours with a familiarity that holds both warmth and silent understanding. But there's something else, too—a shadow of caution that wasn't there before.

"Remus," you begin, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You clear your throat, steeling yourself for what comes next. "There's something we need to talk about."

A slight frown creases his forehead as he sets the book aside, giving you his undivided attention. "Of course," he says, his tone steady. "What is it?"

Your heart skitters in your chest, but you push past the nervous flutter. This conversation can't wait any longer; you've been dancing around it for far too long. "Do you remember after the full moon last year? The morning after, you were in my bed and you—"

The words hang heavy in the air between you, but you don't need to finish. Recognition flashes across Remus's features, his expression shifting subtly. Something guarded appears in his gaze before he looks away, releasing a slow breath.

"I thought I had dreamt that," he whispers, and there's an undercurrent of vulnerability in his voice that tugs at something within you. "I've been questioning my own sanity since, wondering if it was real. But you never said anything, so I didn't either."

That small admission strikes a chord in you, resonating with your own fears and doubts. He sits rigid, as though bracing for some blow yet to come, and you feel an inexplicable urge to reassure him, to bridge the space between your shared uncertainties.

You roll your wheelchair from the window, moving closer until you're by the bedside. Reaching out, you place your hand over his—a tentative touch meant to comfort, but also seeking solace. His fingers are warm beneath yours, grounding you to this moment, to the truth you've both avoided for too long.

"It was real," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "You did kiss me. But you were half-asleep, and you didn't seem aware of what you were doing... I thought you believed I was Sirius or James. That's why I convinced myself it meant nothing."

Remus's grip on your hand tightens, his eyes reflecting a deep, unspoken sadness. He lets out a small, humourless laugh. "I can't really blame you. Kissing you while half-asleep hardly counts as a declaration of love."

His words land softly, yet they carry the weight of a blow. A dull ache spreads across your chest, and you swallow hard, blinking back tears. "When you told me that day... that you'd been in love with me... how long had it been?"

Remus turns to look at you, his gaze steady but filled with an openness that takes your breath away. "Two years, perhaps more. James and Sirius—they knew before I did, I think. They saw it, but I..." His voice trails off, the confession hanging between you two like a tangible thing. "I was afraid. Afraid of ruining what we had, and I thought... I believed you could never feel the same."

You close your eyes briefly, taking in his words. Two years—more, even. All those months of silent yearning, of stolen glances and unspoken confessions, mirrored in him. The boys knew, of course they did. They were always so attuned to each other, the three of them. Now the pieces fall into place, moments you'd misread, the silent exchanges that you hadn't understood.

"I was already falling for you," you admit, your voice shaky with the magnitude of the revelation. "Falling for all of you. But that day, when you kissed me… I couldn’t let myself believe it was real. I didn’t think you could ever feel the same way about me."

A sigh leaves Remus's lips, a sound that carries the weight of his regret. He moves to touch your hand, fingers barely grazing yours in a tentative gesture. "I didn't think I deserved you," he admits quietly, his eyes reflecting the pain of self-reproach. "It seemed selfish to want more when you'd already given me so much just by being my friend. I couldn't ask you to give up something that wasn't mine to take."

Your heart clenches at his confession, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You shake your head, words spilling forth in a desperate attempt to mend the rift between past and present. "Remus, you were never taking anything from me. I would have given you everything."

His swallow is audible in the silence that follows, the muscles in his jaw working as he fights to keep his own emotions in check. For a long moment, neither of you move, the spectre of what might have been looming large over the reality of what is. Then, slowly, he reaches out, his touch feather-light as he cups your cheek and brushes away a single tear that has escaped down your face.

"I'm sorry," Remus whispers, the words barely escaping his lips. "For that day, for not coming forward sooner... I should have told you how I felt. I shouldn't have let you deal with it alone."

You lean into his touch, the ache in your heart both painful and strangely comforting. You can feel the love for him—and the others—swelling within you, filling the spaces that fear had once claimed. "We were both scared," you say, your voice steadier than you thought possible. "But we're here now. We have each other."

He nods, his gaze softening even further, drinking in the sight of you. Then, he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. The contact is electrifying, grounding, a silent promise wrapped in a simple gesture. "We do. And I love you. I've loved you for a long time."

The words, though you've heard them from him on multiple occasions, strike you anew with the force of a stunning spell. Their warmth seeps into your veins, chasing away the chill that has clung to your heart.

"I love you too."

For what feels like an eternity, you simply exist there, holding each other close. The silence that stretches between you is no longer filled with tension; instead, it's thick with understanding, with acceptance. Finally, the moment breaks as Remus leans back slightly, his eyes meeting yours once more. This time, when he kisses you, there's no hesitation, no ghost of a doubt that this is something both of you want—need.

This time, it's real.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

hey love!! im so excited for this summer series! i’m gonna throw my hat in for either “matching swimsuits” or “picnic” with sejanus plinth! (you can pick, i think either one would be cute!!)

thank you and hope you have a lovely day :))

I’ll link the picnic prompt here when it’s posted ;)

2024 Summer Blurbs

Finding joy in the little things is the easiest way to live, in your humble opinion. When all life does is beat you down, why not smile at babies and pet animals and enjoy wildflowers? The simple things in life are often the best, and learning how to find that pleasure makes life go a little bit smoother. Its not as though you’re completely optimistic all the time, but you’re able to make yourself feel better when you feel sunshine on your skin or the breeze in your hair, feeling lucky for simply existing.

You feel especially lucky to exist at the same time as your favorite people.

It might seem silly, but sometimes you’re overtaken with joy by the fact that you are lucky enough to live at the same time as Lucy Gray and Maude Ivory and the rest of your cousins. And, although you haven’t know him for nearly as long, you always feel incredibly lucky to know Sejanus, to have him as a friend and companion, with his sweet, caring nature covering his determined interior. He’s also breathtakingly beautiful, which only makes the fact that you get to spend as much time as you please with him seem even more impressive.

Sejanus is compelling to you, two sides that are intertwined so completely it’s easy to miss them both. You’ve seen him let bugs crawl onto his hands in the forest, seen him delicately snap the stems of wildflowers to pass you a carefully crafted bouquet, but you’ve also seen him look like he’s about to fight a man who’d knocked into Maude Ivory or like he’s about to start a brawl when someone yells awful things to Lucy Gray on stage. Those two sides are both so completely him, that it’s impossible to have one without the other, and you’re lucky to know him, all parts of him.

Your favorite side of him is still that shy, deeply caring boy who had asked you to dance all those nights ago, and who you’ve been spending increasing amounts of time with. It’s so easy to spend hours and hours with him, talking or just sitting in silence and enjoying the company.

“I have something for you,” he says with a giant grin as he sets something onto your table, and you’re so enamored with the way his eyes squeeze shut with the force of his smile that you don’t even try and peek into the bag. Maude Ivory, however, is curious about everything, and you have to shoo her outside so she doesn't ruin your surprise.

Reaching into the bag, your hands close around some fabric, and you pull it out quickly, your curiosity and excitement finally taking over.

“A swimsuit?” You ask, looking down at the clothes on your table and wondering why exactly he’d been so excited. It's a nice swimsuit, high quality with a delicate flower pattern, but you can’t figure out how this could cause that wonderful smile of his.

“Keep going,” he insists, so you reach back into the bag.

It’s another swimsuit, in the same exact flowery pattern, but it’s clearly meant for Sejanus, and you can’t help the giggles that escape you.

“This is wonderful,” you tell him with a grin, “and a little bit ridiculous.”

“I thought the same thing,” and the two of you are giggling, looking down at the matching swimsuits before looking back at each other, prompting another exchange of smiles.

It’s silly, but it’s so incredibly thoughtful, and you know from the feel of the fabric that it was expensive. Even just the thought that Sejanus thinks about you enough to go out of his way and buy something, and then buy something for himself to match, makes your heart melt a little. It’s worth the laughter of your cousins when you and Sejanus reveal your matching swimsuits at the lake, because you can’t think of another time you’ve ever felt so light, so happy.

[charlottesbookclub]

king of all birds – chapter four

king of all birds masterlist

Summary: alistair and amice discuss their father's odd behavior; alistair experiences a moment of overwhelm

Warnings/Tags: references to suicidal ideation, description of a panic attack (could also be read as an autistic meltdown)

Words: 1382

Helpful Terms:

Matins – prayer in the morning, around daybreak

Vespers – prayer in the evening, around sunset

Author’s Note: I don't have a ton of rambling meta commentary to share before this chapter lol 😅😅 I really wanted to do a scene that demonstrated just how suffocating his family's expectations are to alistair, so I tried to do that here. I based his panic attack/autistic meltdown on my own experiences (I often can't tell the difference between one or the other since for me they often occur simultaneously from the same stimuli), but I tried to introduce a stimuli/trigger that I thought would be particularly difficult for him, which in this case is the idea of being constantly watched or observed. this is def a bit of a heavier chapter, but (spoiler alert!) he gets to go hunting in the next one as a little treat ☺️☺️

In the wake of Jocosa’s rapid departure, the silence in the room was thick and heavy. The tapestry-covered walls pressed in from all sides, and the heat from the fire was suffocating. Finally coming back to himself, Alistair collapsed onto a chair. Head in his hands, eyes closed, the hurt that had been ripping at his skin had flown off in the sudden scuffle, leaving nothing but a dull ache in its place.

“I should not have said that.” Alistair muttered into his palms. The words were not for Amice’s benefit; he knew that she was likely just about to tell him as much herself. It was something more akin to confession – a hope that some higher power would hear his sins and forgive him for his transgressions. 

“Yes, but she should not have said that either.” Amice’s words were softer than Alistair had expected. He removed his face from the confessional of his hands and chanced a look at his sister. She was now seated across from him, leaning forward in a mirror image of his defeated position. 

“Just because she should not have said it does not make it untrue.” Alistair watched her face carefully as she processed his words.

“Alistair,” she reached out to grasp his hands in hers, “no one wishes you dead.” He shook his head minutely, trying to decide how Amice would receive his honesty if he chose to bestow it upon her. In the flicking firelight, her features were chased with sadness like one might chase armor with glittering gold. 

“Sometimes…” he faltered for a moment, needing to look away in order for the heavy words to finally escape his mouth, “sometimes I do.”

“Oh my dear brother,” were all the words Amice could manage before she pulled him into a tight embrace. The motion, though he understood it was meant to be comforting, was foreign to Alistair, but he allowed her to hold him for a moment before he gently pulled away.

“Please do not speak of this to mother,” he entreated in a whisper. Amice merely nodded. They both knew such information would only shatter their mother’s broken spirit further, and she was only just beginning to climb out of the moat of her grief over Oliver’s death. Silence reigned in the room again, though lighter this time. The fire crackled, and Alistair watched as its dancing light set the figures on the tapestries into motion. Squadrons of soldiers marched around the room as vines twisted and flowered in the corners. On one wall, a group of hunters dove after a thrashing boar, while on the opposite a wedding procession wound its way through gates and towers. Alistair scowled. 

“I must know,” he began quietly, “are there serious discussions as to my betrothal? And why was I not made privy to them?” The wound stung a little, but Alistair did his best to ignore the pain. Amice sighed deeply.

“Jocosa spoke out of turn.”

“When does she not?” Alistair rejoined. This earned a small huff of laughter from both of them.

“What I understand of the matter is that Mathilda’s family feels we still have a viable arrangement to uphold, since they are still willing to provide their daughter along with her dowry, and we still have a male heir.” Alistair snorted in displeasure. “Mother fears that we risk further harm to the family’s reputation if we were to renege on the marriage agreement that was drafted between Noll and Mathilda. She did not want to mention it to you until she understood more of the details, as it was father who outlined the terms and who is presently unwilling or unable to continue his involvement in the matter.”

“It seems he is presently unwilling or unable to continue his involvement in any matters.” Alistair snorted in frustration, pushing himself upwards to stand again. Amice followed his movement with her eyes, but made no motion to follow.

“Has he spoken to you at all?” she asked quietly. “I have heard almost nothing from him since…” she let her words trail off, knowing Alistair would take her meaning. He shook his head.

“We’ve exchanged a few brief words here and there, but nothing of import.” He ran a hand through his hair, measuring his next words carefully. He didn’t want Amice to trouble herself more than he knew she already did, but he also greatly desired her thoughts on what to make of their father’s strange behavior.

“I have, however, noticed odd movements from him of late.” Amice’s eyes flicked up to his face, silently entreating him to continue. “As you well know, I myself keep unusual hours,” he allowed himself a small smile, and Amice chuckled. 

“The early falconer gets the quarry, is that not the saying?” she teased, eliciting a small laugh from Alistair. “But please, tell me what you have seen,” she gracefully steered the conversation back to the topic at hand.

            “Oft lately when I am with my birds before Matins, I see him returning to the estate.”

            “From which direction does he ride?”

            “From London.”

            Amice stood then, hands clasped tightly together. She took up Alistair’s former post before the great fireplace, pacing slowly back and forth, the hem of her gown shushing softly against the floor as her slim form cast new shadows upon the embroidered figures that silently peopled the room.

            “What business could he have in London if he attends to no matters here?” she pondered, partially to herself and partially to her brother. “And at what hour must he be leaving to return so early in the morn?”

            “After Vespers,” Alistair offered. “I made a point to linger with my birds in the tower far later than is my custom in order to see him depart.”

            “There can be no dealings in London that would require such hours.”

            “There can be no honest dealings in London that require such hours,” Alistair added.

            “And you know no further details of his doings?” Alistair merely shook his head in response.

            “I know only that he rides out alone with barely a word to anyone.”

            Amice’s lips pressed into a firm line as she continued her slow pacing, her mind clearly far from the tapestried room. Alistair fidgeted. The woven eyes of the figures the covered the walls seemed to fix upon him. Hunters and knights, lords and ladies, boars and birds, royalty and wildmen turned their gazes to him, observing his every movement as he fussed with the cuffs of his shirt that suddenly felt too tight. Was this what Noll must have felt upon the executioner’s block – standing before all, pierced by eyes from all angles, invisible arrows driving into his flesh? For perhaps the first time since he had been told the news, Alistair’s heart stirred with pity for his elder brother. To be so exposed – so observed – would make even the brashest soldier feel like flushed quarry. The very knowledge of so many eyes upon one’s form pierced the skin and cut to the bone before the killing talons or the fatal sword ever found their mark.

Even though they were made of thread and fabric and not of mortal flesh, the multitude of eyes upon him sent sickly patterings up and down his skin as though thousands of tiny mice were crawling upon him. He rubbed at his arms compulsively, the fabric twisting uncomfortably against his skin, making the tips of his fingers burn and itch, yearning to rip the offending garment from his body. Beads of sweat formed at his temples and slipped down his back. The heat in the room must have reached a stifling new height, as Alistair’s throat seized, and his breaths would not come as he bade them. The only thought left in his mind was that he must flee. He heeded this impulse and bolted from a room, leaving a confused Amice to wonder at his sudden and unannounced departure. However, this was not the first time he had absconded from an interior room so suddenly, and Alistair was certain that Amice would correctly deduce his destination. As he fled gasping from the suffocating walls of the estate, Alistair’s feet led him first to his falcons, and then on to the cool, deep green of the forest.

[arvensimp]

Not a request! I just wanted to talk about the boy. I kept thinking abt Arven when listening to Everything She Wants by Wham. Not because I think hed relate but because he'd probably hate the song to the core. It was probably reminiscent of his parents' dynamic with each other. That and George Michael would be a great voicecast for Arven cause retro guys with blonde hair and a dramatic air to them??? Cmon!!!! I just know he has a smooth voice. Its not soft or inaudible either, I just think his voice would be a little breathy and velvety. Not to mention if you heard those noises wantonly oh arceus

OOOOO I like this. Again I still think j groff is the best fancast but I can absolutely hear George Michael!!!

Also leave it to THE catbed0 to inspire me to write. This is small and dumb but I hope it makes someone laugh.

Thoughtless Murmuring

Arven x reader, arven pissed you off and he's gonna try to do something about it. No gendered pronouns used to describe reader

"Hey! Hey, over here!" Nemona waved frantically from her booth in the corner of the bar as you and Arven entered.

The moment you saw her, you turned and made a beeline to her, completely disregarding your boyfriend who seemed to unsuccessfully reach for your hand.

You plopped down into the booth with a huff, displeasure evident on your features.

"What's got you upset?" Penny asked as she sipped from her drink.

"Don't wanna talk about it." You retorted, biting back most of your current frustration.

Nemona and Penny shared a look between them for a long moment before shrugging and letting the subject drop, so they could return to their previous conversation.

Just being near them helped dissipate some of your anger, and slowly you began to relax and join in.

That is, until Arven returned from the bar, a drink in each hand. One for himself and one for you.

You took the glass without a word or a look, and promptly went back to ignoring him, much to his dismay.

"So..." Nemona asked, trying to keep things cordial. "Think you're up for karaoke tonight?"

You rolled your eyes at the thought. "Absolutely not. No one ever sounds good doing karaoke anyw-"

"Up next," The DJ interrupted you over the speaker. "We have...Arven! Come on up, Arven! Your song is queued and ready to go!"

You let your head fall into your crossed arms on the table with an exaggerated groan as your boyfriend gave Nemona and Penny a grin, standing to go over to the karaoke stage.

He took the microphone in his hands and nodded to the DJ. Only then did the music begin, a saxophone solo reverberating through the bar.

Arven crooned the opening melisma before the lyrics began in earnest. True to form, he didn't sound exactly like the original artist (how could he anyway without a studio? Karaoke isn't fair.), but he did a good enough impersonation that folks nearby shouted their approval.

He sang a line about taking your hand and leading you to the dance floor, going as far as to leave the stage, mic in hand, to reach for you, but you huffily turned away, not playing his stupid game.

Arven wasn't deterred, continuing to sing through the chorus, lamenting that he'll never dance again due to his guilt.

Through the instrumental breaks, the crowd cheered him into dancing those stupid dances his does in the kitchen sometimes, where he sways his hips in a rocking kind of motion that's anything but sexy, but with this song? Ugh. What a fucking ham.

You hid your face again, having momentarily forgotten your anger while watching him.

Nemona and Penny were both enraptured by the performance as Arven belted out lyrics meant just for you about how he'll never get over his guilt.

The crowd yelled for more as the music eventually faded, and Arven took his bow, returning the mic to its stand.

He slid back into the booth next to you, jostling you playfully. "C'mon... You can't be that mad after a performance like that."

"Really!" Nemona agreed enthusiastically. "What'd he do anyway that's got you so pissy?"

You grumbled into your arms.

"What was that?" Nemona asked. "Speak up."

"He stole my fucking garlic bread."

---

(if it wasn't abundantly obvious, this is the song he sang lmao)

[h0n3yk1tt3n]

🐝 spare me a dance(in this never ending misery)

Ok before I get into the fic idea I want to highlight a fic my friend did for L2C way back in 2021 bc this title reminded me of it. It was so funny to see my insta followers run around screaming bc I refused to confirm if it was canon or not lmao, but now that the fic is out I can confirm that it's a what-if scenario

NOW FOR MY IDEA(s) FOR THE TITLE

The first one is also L2C related, and could probably be a chapter in Tales From The Lagniappe wherein everyone is on the boat and trying to find ways to keep themselves sane, considering they've been on the water for a few days and they can only play so much Uno before they have to do set the game down.

They can't exactly pull up spotify seeing as they have no service, but there is a record player with a couple of vinyls. They use it pretty sparingly to avoid getting sick of the same twenty-something songs too quickly, but they have a fun time dragging each other around the room to Sinatra in a pitiful display of "dancing." It doesn't change how horribly things have gone throughout the Green Flu, but it does bring some reprieve and comfort that they couldn't get nearly as much of when they were jumping from safe room to safe room.

My other idea... got really long lol

In this one Michael and Jeremy don't reconnect right away and it's full of all this "I wanna see him but idk if he wants to see me, idk if I'm ready to talk abt everything, blah blah blah" all that fun stuff.

Eventually we get to the sweethearts dance (valentines themed), so it's not a Huge Deal like prom but hey it's still a school dance. It's girls choice (classic high school heteronormativity) so Jeremy basically shunts away any idea that Michael will be there. He debates on even going at all but Christine frames it as an excuse to hang out with everyone, and if he hates it they can all just bail and do something else.

Everyone's "dates" are exactly who you'd expect them to be: Chloe took Jake, Brooke took Rich, Chrissy took Jeremy. So they're at the dance. There's music. There's friends. It's a pretty ok time. But this is technically a couples dance and Jenna hasn't shown up yet. How is she getting in? She texted saying she's on her way so she must've gotten someone to come with her. But who did she get on such short notice?

Jeremy gets his answer when he sees her come in with Michael.

Oh shit.

Did everyone else know this was her plan?? Was it part of the plan the entire time??? He's so unprepared oh my god she's bringing him over Michael can also tell whats going on theres no hiding from this fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck the music is so loud the gym is so crowded Michael's right here in front of him and all his friends are retreating and its-

Michael follows him pretty quickly after. They get to talking on opposite sides of the bathroom stall. They never meant to avoid the other for so long, they were just scared, they want to see each other again.

It's a slow song. A slow dance. People are pairing up. It's just the two of them in front of each other. Michael is actually dressed up in front of him in a pink-lit gym with a slow song playing and Jeremy can't tell if the pounding in his chest is anxiety or something else.

But Michael reaches a hand out to him and he can't find it in himself to stop him from swaying him around the room. Jeremy's head is screaming at him to say or do something but nothing comes of it every time he tries. Michael's mouth keeps opening and closing but he's not saying anything either until he finally just whispers "I've missed you."

And Jeremy runs out of the gym into the bathroom. It's too much to see Michael look at him with such a heartbroken expression. Jeremy did that. He caused it. How could he. What kind of a friend was he that he would leave Michael alone to wallow in misery for so many months.

The two of them bail. Jeremy texts Christine to let her know and naturally she's understanding. They continue to talk as they walk back to Michael's place ("Jenna was my ride." "We carpooled."), mostly about how neither of them were too keen on going to the dance but were talked into it. Jenna had openly framed it as a way for the two to reconcile while Jeremy had been left in the dark.

They talk more when they get into the basement. They go more in depth on all the squip stuff and it's the catharsis they need to hug and cry it out. It's at this point that they realize they've yet to change out of their dressy clothes and put on a record to have their own dance. Michael offers Jeremy a hand and, despite the lack of floorspace, share a slow dance that they can actually enjoy.

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 28

Chapter 27

Masterlist

Now we see Aemma travel to the Continent where she is soon to discover beings and characters that are familiar to those who know the Witcher games.

Aemma found herself in a palace, not sure how she even arrived here in the first place. She might have come here on her dragon, but last she remembered she had Cirillia fly her off to the Continent.

Instead of her riding leathers and gloves, she was dressed in simple white, and the dress was designed with the finest laces and silks. Not quite what she would wear for whatever gathering was happening in this palace at this moment; if her family had been invited, she would've worn a dress of black and/or red, to reflect the colors of her house. 

Nobles had gathered and began to mingle and dance. Aemma did not recognize any of them, and many of them spoke in languages she did not understand. In addition, they all seemed to ignore the princess, and when she did attempt to reach out to them, her hand went right through them like she was a ghost.

Time seemed to move forward suddenly as the scenes before her became blurry. In the confusion, Aemma could see what she thought was a night approaching the main table of the ball room, speaking to a woman who had a queen's bearing. On the woman's left was another woman, younger and blonde, and the right was a man with white hair and gold eyes.

Aemma's eye's widen in confusion as she knew who the man was. She was prepared to pull out her dagger, ready to confront him, but her weapon was not where it was supposed to be. One of the nobles approached the knight and pulled his helmet off, revealing the knights face to resemble that of a hedgehog.

Aemma stared in shock, as did everyone else in the banquet hall. The Targaryen princess felt she's seen this somewhere before...no, not seen, heard. It felt like she was living a story she remembered Rhaenyra on told Aemma, Jace, and Luke at night before either would go to bed.

A cursed knight who had fought his way past numerous guards to claim the hand of the princess he loved, much to the dismay of the princess's mother, the queen.

"Slay this beast!" Aemma heard the queen order her knights, but the cursed knight fought them back. It seemed like a hopeless situation, but the White hair man stepped in and defended the knight from the others.

Time moved forward again, and Aemma saw the cursed knight speak to the queen and the princess profess her love for the knight. She could see the queen pull out a dagger in an attempt to assassinate the knight, but the princess cried out in anguish and desperation that felt almost primal...

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

-------------------------------

Aemma jolted awake from what turned out to be a really deep slumber when she had meant to take a light cat nap. Flying across the sea to lands far away, this was the longest she had been on dragonback ever. She could still remember how only mere hours ago, she snuck into the dragon pit when its keepers were busy tending to the dragons that still inhabited the enclosure. She remembered Cirillia being caught off guard by her presence, but after calming the dragon down, Aemma was able to mount and ride the beast as quietly as they could out of the pit and across the Blackwater Bay.

While flying off, Aemma remembered her last conversation with Aemond, about him basically proposing to her, to marry her once he came of age. She remembered the look on her cousin's face, how happy he was to finally confess his love to her, something she never he possessed for her. In that moment, Aemma had felt immensely guilty, especially since she left without giving Aemond any hint or even bother to leave him a note that she did not intend to stay in King's Landing, or even in Westeros for a moment longer as she had questions that needed answers, questions that concerned her mother. She also hoped by learning more, she would be able to interpret the dream she had of her mother running with this strange horde in dark armor. And above all, Aemma desperately needed closure over her mother and father's relationship both to her and to each other, she needed to know that story her father had been telling her the last ten years was the true story and not the one the rest of her family would have her believe.

When Aemma awoke after having been asleep on Cirillia who was still flying, she wondered what that dream of hers was about. It felt so real; even though it felt like she was merely there in passing, it felt like she was part of it all the same. It was the story of the cursed knight and his princess made real. The same story she's heard Rhaenyra tell. Aemma never knew it was a Continental story, her cousin never said anything about its origins. And Rhaenyra certainly never said anything about the White Wolf having been there.

It didn't make sense to Aemma; the witcher saved the knight from being murdered by the wicked queen of the story. Why would he do something like that? He was supposed to be the monster of her mother's story, and here he was being the hero of another. It was all confusing.

In her contemplation, Aemma then looked down to see she and Cirillia were no longer flying over water. It was indeed land...or at least that was what Aemma assumed was land. Something about it didn't feel right. There were trees, but the ground below, what she could see, looked wet and mossy. It was what she had imagined the River lands back in Westeros would look like, but less...ominous. There was something about the swamp below that made Aemma feel uneasy, and this same uneasiness appeared to be reflected in Cirillia, who also seemed determined to keep as far away from the ground as possible. Still, despite all this, Aemma felt herself being drawn to the ground, like someone or something was out there calling for her, almost by name. But how was that possible? Who was out there, and how did they know her? Being focused on bringing her dragon to land down below, Aemma failed to realize how agitated Cirillia was becoming. The she-dragon started to protest, bringing Aemma's attention back to reality, "Cirillia," she scolds, "Dohaeres, Cirillia. Lykiri. Lykiri! Cirillia! Dohaeres!"

As the dragon and her rider pushed and pulled between landing and continuing their flight, neither noticed branches arise from the trees and wrap themselves around the dragon's legs. Cirillia's abrupt stop in flight, nearly caused Aemma to fall off her saddle and both her and her dragon tumbled towards the ground, crash landing into the marshy swamp.

The impact then caused Aemma to fall off and land in the mud. While the princess was getting her bearings back, Cirillia managed to get back up and shake herself. The dragon started to roar and screech, and before Aemma could do anything, her dragon took off. "Cirillia!" Aemma calls out, running after her dragon, "Cirillia! Daor! Come back!" But the dragon did not listen, and she was soon out of sight, and Aemma was out of breath from running.

Aemma huffed out, wondering why and how could her dragon just take off without her, and why she wasn't even listening to her. The she-dragon had been bonded to the princess since they were babes, when Aemma was still in her crib and Cirillia had just hatched from her egg. This had been the first time Cirillia had ever disobeyed Aemma; frankly, Aemma never believed that was actually possible, especially after the bond between the two was fully formed. 

A twig snapped, seemingly out of nowhere, alerting Aemma as she frantically looks around to see who or what was out there. The bog was eerily quiet, much to Aemma's discomfort. She looked ahead and saw a figure the size of a child in the distant. "Hello?" Aemma calls out. The figure turned and ran. "Wait, come back!" Aemma calls, running after, "I won't hurt you. I just want to talk. Can you tell me where I am?"

Aemma ran until she tripped over a tree root. "Ow," she groans, trying to get back up. She felt pain in her knee and lifted the skirts of her rider made dress to see blood on her knee with scrapes. This must've happened when she fell off her dragon, she realized. 

A screeching sound draws her attention back to her surroundings. Out of the water sprang up monsters with sharp teeth, and claws, and what she thought were fins. They growled and approached her in a predatory fashion. Aemma stepped away as slowly as they approached, dagger in her hand. Remembering what she learned from her books, these monsters must be necrophages of some kind. Their shaped resembled that of drowners. Silver could deter them, but Aemma knew she was outnumbered and knew little to no sword skills. So she turned and ran away, the drowners giving pursuit.

The princess ran, hoping to the gods the drowners would tire out and cease the chase; these things prefer to feast on carrion, they couldn't chase her forever if it was too much effort for a single square meal...surely.

Aemma continue to run, and seeing a small mound, she attempted to jump over it, but she fell face down on the other side. With the amount of times she's fallen down, Aemma's outfit was starting to get caked with mud; already she could hear Alicent's voice scolding her about how reckless she was being, how she could get killed, and would insist the princess take at least two baths to scrub the dirtiness off her.

In the present, Aemma could hear the drowners still chasing after her. She feels a small hand grab her arm. She gasped and turned to see the small child-like figure was behind her. A boy...or at least she thought it was a boy, and one dressed in rags and twigs in his hair. He placed a finger to his lips to signal to be quiet and guided Aemma into the entrance of the mound, which looked more like a burrow. Aemma was reluctant, but if this boy was offering shelter from the monsters, she didn't have much of a choice. Especially since Cirillia was not here to protect her. She followed the boy and stayed hidden, holding her breath as the drowners continued to search for her, for fear they might hear her.

It was a close call, but eventually the drowners gave up and continued their search elsewhere. Once the coast was clear, Aemma crawled out of the hiding spot and stood up, still feeling pain from her scrapped knee. "You should get that cleaned up," the boy speaks, "don't want it getting infected, do ya."

Aemma gasped and turned at the sound of the boy's voice, "you...you can talk," she simply states in surprise. "Course I can talk," the boy answers like it's obvious, "what, did you think I was a mute?" "You never know," Aemma shrugs, "you...saved me back there. Why?" "You were running, looking scared," the boy answers, "Not that I blame you. Those drowners are nasty things, they are. They eat anything dead or alive. It didn't seem right to leave you defenseless and on your own. Not if I could do anything about it. Could've been worse. At least they weren't a water hag...or Rotfiends."  

"Well, in that case, thank you," Aemma nods, "my name is Aemma, by the way. Do you have a name?" "Folks around this part of the world call me Johnny," the boy answers. "What is a child doing out in a swamp on his lonesome, Johnny?" Aemma asks. "I be no child," Johnny scoffs, "I am a godling. Surely you've heard of my kind before." "A godling?" Aemma's eyes widen, "you mean like the Children of the Forest?" 

Johnny frowned a bit, "haven't been called that before," he says, "only time I've heard of them, it was...you're not from around here are you?" "No," she simply answers. "So, I wasn't seeing things," the godling realizes, "you came flying into this bog, atop a dragon." "You saw?" "It was kinda hard not to," Johnny points out, tilting his head slightly, like he was examining Aemma, "wait a second. Silver blonde hair...and violet eyes. And riding a dragon. I know what you are. You're ones of those dragon riders. What do they call them? Valyrians! I've heard of you lot before. Dragon lords, they call you. I thought your kind were wiped out after the Doom."

"How do you...never mind," Aemma shrugs it off, "were you the one that caused those tree branches to grab my dragon from the air and force her into the ground?" "That couldn't be me," Johnny shakes his head, "dragon scare me, they do. What would I want one anywhere near here?" "Then...what caused it then?"

"I...might have an idea to what," Johnny tells her, "or more specifically...who." "Who was it?" Aemma asks. The godling remained silent, like he was hesitant to give out the answer. "Who was it, Johnny?" Aemma presses. "That kind of magic, to subdue a dragon, especially one of your owns size. I reckon that be the work of the Crones." "Crones?" "The Ladies of the Wood," Johnny explains, "as old as the forest, they are. Cruel and vindictive too. They're not to be crossed." "How cruel are we talking?" "Might take a man's voice...might take his life. Depends on their whim. Though in their own way, they care for these lands, and its people. Supposedly they keep their word, but you must be careful what you ask of them."

Aemma thought about it. If what Johnny said was true, these Ladies might be the ones who were calling out to her. At this moment, the princess was wondering if they could have the answers to the questions she had. If they did indeed know her by name, maybe they could help her. It was a big risk, but who's to say when next Aemma would be given such a lead, especially when she didn't even know where to start in the first place. "Can you take me to the Crones, Johnny?"

"I could," Johnny answers, "but I won't. You should stay away. I told you, the Ladies are not to be trifled with." "If they're the ones who caused those branches to move about, then were probably expecting me," Aemma points out, "maybe they want to talk to me." "All the more reason you should stay away," Johnny counters back, "If they want to talk to, that would be even worse. There's no telling what they'll want to do to you." 

"Please, Johnny," Aemma pleads, "I...I came to this land for a reason. I have questions that need to be answered. And if no one else other than the Ladies can answer my questions, then it's imperative I speak to them. Regardless of the risks."

Johnny let out a sigh, knowing this was not going to end well, "well, since you're adamant about it. Fine, I'll take you to see them. But it's best you stay on your toes. Be quick on your feet if you must flee. And when you do ask them your questions, be sure to word them carefully." 

Aemma nods and allows the godling to lead her to the Ladies of the Wood.

Chapter 28.5

[tonydaddingham]

I am actually curious your thoughts on Aziraphale and accountability as, and I really don't mean this is as an attack (❤️), several of the meta I've read recently have seemed rather uncharitable towards Crowley, and not how I generally perceive his character at all. Which, having certain biases for characters is fine, but I am curious your thoughts on Aziraphale and that 😊

hi anon!!!✨ definitely not seen as an attack; im aware that i do talk a lot about crowley and a good proportion of those opinions/interpretations are definitely more critical than most. and i realise that a good amount of that comes across as biased, but the only thing i can say that i promise i don't mean to be, and tbh - i just find aziraphale so much harder to analyse (and as such, what follows is basically word vomit im sorry)

there are equally multiple instances, in aziraphale's case, where he doesn't appear to acknowledge his own accountability in situations when he arguably should.

to labour on a longstanding example; he lies to crowley about where the antichrist is in s1. i think personally it's important to note why i think he lies; crowley's solution is to either kill a child (specifically, have aziraphale do it) or to run away to alpha centauri and sack off humanity altogether. neither of those options are reconcilable to aziraphale, and i think he keeps the location of adam to himself in order to safeguard him - he similarly gets bad vibes from the archangels, and lies to them too. but when he tries to reach god, fails, and then finds out that the metatron - the next best thing to god and, we're told, is her voice - is absolutely in support of the apocalypse, the first thing he does is ring crowley, and immediately tell him he knows where the antichrist is.

now, im not saying, at all, that aziraphale is apologising by calling crowley, because he isn't. he doesn't admit to having lied, having not trusted crowley (no matter how justifiable that decision might have been at the time), and for leaving crowley in the dark. as far as crowley's aware, from his perspective, aziraphale never lied in the first place. but from the audience perspective, it can be read like aziraphale admitting that crowley was right, and making amends. yes, it's born out of panic that heaven is no longer a solution, and the de facto, last-resort solution needs to be crowley (which comes with its own implications, but again, things have to be pretty dire for aziraphale to even risk the option of killing the child), but it also feels like a silent, 'you were right, you had it right all along, and i see that i was wrong to trust heaven. let my actions speak for me.'

but that's tenuous at best, right? i agree. so, id like to look again at the apology dance, and the circumstances that put them there - the So Did I argument. i have multiple thoughts, that im going to repeat a lot of before, but writing it out sometimes helps me work out what im (eventually) trying to say!

crowley isn't wholly forthcoming/truthful with why he doesn't want aziraphale to help gabriel; it's a bit more than the simple fact of gabriel wanting to throw aziraphale into hellfire. crowley's personal adversity to gabriel are the words he said (as he later admits). it would have been incredibly vulnerable for him to do so, but had crowley spelled out for aziraphale in the So Did I argument why he was so vehement against sheltering gabriel, it may not have changed aziraphale's mind but it would have at least put them on a level playing field. aziraphale, i think, shows crowley exactly why he wants to help him - kindness and compassion, with no ulterior motive than the fact that gabriel just simply doesn't have anyone else.

that being said, aziraphale appears to remain completely ignorant to, or have intentionally disregarded, what the boundaries of 'our side' actually is, especially in crowley's eyes. crowley has only ever meant it to be the two of them, and noone else gets a look-in. i think it's fair to say that aziraphale's perspective is less cut-throat, and more blurry, than that - that he still considers that there should be room for Everything Else. i can imagine that has to feel like a big betrayal to crowley, and in that context it's understandable that he then seems to retract the idea of 'our side' altogether. the heated lines that ensure then detail the conversation entirely:

crowley then storms out, and what aziraphale is left with is the feeling that he is doing the Right Thing, helping someone selflessly, and crowley is refusing to do that (and therefore 'in the wrong'). he's also left with the sense of abandonment; he told crowley about the Something Terrible, that he needed help (something that aziraphale doesn't do often/at all - hence why 'i need you!' hits so hard in the final fifteen imo), and crowley still walked away

so when it comes to the apology dance - crowley is on the back foot purely because of the BOL threat. there's no way he's going to walk away this time, now that aziraphale has been directly threatened - essentially, crowley is trapped into whatever aziraphale wants from him, even if he'll put up a bit of a fight before doing it - aziraphale is steadfast that he deserves the apology dance this time*, that he's in the right

but the one thing they don't do is literally discuss why the dance would be needed in the first place - there's no discussion whatsoever that would even begin to unravel why either way party would be hurt by what the other did. the dance is a farce, one crowley performs with an ulterior motive in mind, but aziraphale only sees it as crowley apologising for the fight.

but what aziraphale doesnt stop to consider is that he may have had a part in it; aziraphale is a highly analytical character, and the equation that he arrives at is, 'argument' + 'crowley doing the dance to mark the unspoken apology (good enough)' = 'crowley was wrong, i was right'. *it doesn't even cross his mind to think beyond the words that accompany the dance, and consider that he had a part in it too. the two of them, for all the lessons that we see them experience in s2, seem to think rather a lot in absolutes - and aziraphale most of all.

i dont think aziraphale magically reaches any kind of epiphany about what he said/did that hurt crowley, and what he therefore needs to take accountability for... unless perhaps we count this?

this is all speculation, of course, but does aziraphale clock that crowley has agreed to help hiding gabriel, have performed the joint miracle, but he might have done it only for aziraphale? it definitely doesn't seem that crowley has suddenly found a hidden, altruistic facet to himself, and he hasn't done it because he considers himself gabriel's friend (quite the opposite, the vehemence in his voice would attest). so, does aziraphale's look signify his realisation that crowley has come back purely for aziraphale himself? that he hasn't retracted 'their side', like aziraphale possibly feared he had, and they are still a team of the two of them? does aziraphale then think that perhaps this is crowley's real apology, and reflects that he needs to reexamine his part in the argument, and how crowley perceived?

as im writing this, it does all feel a bit of a stretch - but it can't be denied that aziraphale then spends the rest of the series, in his very unique (and i say that tongue-in-cheek) way trying to demonstrate to crowley just what 'their side' means to him, what crowley means to him - even if it doesn't quite land 😬 he might not have apologised out loud, but his actions thereafter seem in to suggest that he's aware of what he did wrong. but, in typical fashion, he's trying to speak to crowley in the language that crowley uses with him - he tries to show crowley, when crowley could do with being told.

i think special mention also needs to be paid to the fact that both of them - but especially aziraphale - are absolute terrors when it comes to fucking about with humans. i don't think i necessarily need to wax lyrical about this, but through a combination of messing about with maggie and nina's relationship, fucking about with the two guys in the edinburgh graveyard, the couple in the pub, the whole-ass ball... s2 in particular is a disaster when it comes to aziraphale toying with autonomy and agency, with free will, without any conscience - he doesn't recognise that it's wrong. LWA has pointed out that aziraphale does reach that assessment in the airfield scene of the book, but its pretty clear from his continued behaviour in s2 that this hasn't exactly translated into the show!canon in the same way.

he recognises at the airfield that he was wrong to assume that adam needed to be 'good' in order to make the right call, rather than being simply 'human', but that's not the conclusion that he ought to reach that would indicate that he accepts full responsibility for his actions. this is particularly telling in these two statements:

aziraphale operates in the rather blissful state of mind, in the security, that he is intrinsically good; ive discussed this concept a lot, strangely, when it comes to looking at the metatron and how he might view himself (and speculating on his character being explored in s3), but if aziraphale labours under the same misapprehension that he is completely good, without room for nuance, how can any of his actions therefore be wrong? what does he have to apologise for, if he's always been in the right? (which tbh adds another layer, for me, re: his pissed-off mood when recounting all of the times he did the dance)

i do think he starts to accept the part of himself that contradicts this - his comment on him being light grey in 1941, but also his bashful expression at the end of s1 ("just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing") - but if we consider his inability? reluctance? to admit fault or error, we could surmise that he still largely holds this mentality... until, perhaps, here in ep6? when he realises through the medium of another couple, another angel and demon, that the sides literally do not have to exist?

idk if this has answered your ask sufficiently, anon, and reading it back im wincing at all the bits where im straying once again into the aziraphale bias, but i promise ive tried to be as balanced as possible!!!✨