#not sure if I just tagged it wrong or what

[winwintea]

mutual affection

PAIRING ↬ physics student!park jisung x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ FLUFF!!! the cheese is so cheesing here, way too many physics puns, you might cringe but here it is, i love park jisung, love love love him

SUMMARY ↬ sometimes, love isn’t theoretical—it’s proven, one note at a time.

WORD COUNT ↬ 2.6k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ wow i’m a nerd. MEERRY CHRISTMAS @polarisjisung THIS ONE IS FOR YOU MY LOVE <33

PLAYLIST ↬ rhinestone eyes - gorillaz; swan - miyeon; song 2 - blur; missing you - ftisland;

JISUNG TAPPED HIS PEN AGAINST HIS NOTEBOOK RHYTHMICALLY,

pretending to take notes as the professor droned on about Schrödinger's Equation. It wasn’t that he disliked quantum mechanics—he loved it—but today, the equations felt heavier than usual. His eyes wandered to the person sitting next to him—you.

You were furiously scribbling in your notebook, not writing notes but...drawing? Jisung squinted. Was that a...cat? No, two cats. One inside a box labeled "alive" and the other "dead." He felt a grin tugging at his lips before he could stop himself.

A faint chuckle escaped, and he ducked his head, mortified, as you glanced his way. He was sure he’d blown his cover—who laughs during a physics lecture? But instead of being annoyed, your lips began to form a small smirk.

“Like what you see?” you whispered, sliding your notebook slightly closer to him.

Jisung blinked. Was this a test? A joke? Chenle said he always had trouble talking to women. Something about playing too much League and not touching grass. But it wasn’t his fault! And Chenle was wrong. He did touch grass. He hesitated but gave you an awkward nod, his brain scrambling for something to say. “It’s, uh... creative. Schrödinger would be impressed.”

You snorted softly, flipping the notebook his way completely. Beneath the doodle, you wrote:

"Your turn."

Jisung froze. Your turn? What was he supposed to draw? He glanced back at you, but you were already watching the professor again, feigning disinterest, though the corner of your mouth continued to twitch with amusement.

Heart pounding, Jisung picked up his pen. Drawing wasn’t exactly his forte, but he couldn’t just pass up the challenge. He quickly sketched a stick figure version of himself, complete with messy hair and oversized glasses, holding a comically oversized Geiger counter pointed at the box.

Next to the drawing, he added:

“Should I open it or...?”

He slid the notebook back your way, staring straight ahead, willing himself not to blush. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you lean over to inspect his work. There was a brief pause, and then—you laughed. Not just a quiet chuckle but an actual laugh, soft and melodic.

“That’s not bad,” you whispered, your tone teasing. “Stick figures are an underrated art form.”

Jisung risked a glance your way, only to find you grinning at him, eyes bright with amusement. For the first time, he smiled back without overthinking it.

As the lecture continued, neither of you paid much attention to the professor. Instead, your notebook became the canvas for the beginning of a tradition—tiny doodles, puns, and inside jokes that somehow made quantum mechanics infinitely more interesting.

Jisung couldn’t explain it, but as he scribbled out a little equation to accompany his next doodle, he felt a strange, unfamiliar excitement bubbling in his chest. For the first time, class didn’t feel so dull anymore.

It started with Schrödinger’s cat, but it didn’t stop there. For the next lecture, Jisung was prepared. He had a small stack of sticky notes tucked into his notebook, ready for whatever you might throw at him.

You were already scribbling something when he slid into his seat. The professor began discussing wave-particle duality, but Jisung’s focus was on the tiny folded note you flicked onto his desk.

He cautiously unfolded it. Written in neat handwriting was:

“Are you made of copper and tellurium? Because you’re Cu-Te.”

Jisung nearly choked on air, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. He could feel the tips of his ears heating up as he turned to look at you. You were staring straight ahead, pen twirling between your fingers, but your smirk gave you away.

He scribbled back quickly:

“Are you a black hole? Because you’ve got some serious pull.”

You took the note, bit your lip to keep from laughing, and scribbled something before passing it back.

“Careful, Park. You might reach escape velocity at this rate.”

For the rest of the lecture, neither of you could keep straight faces. Jisung felt lighter than he had in weeks.

Two lectures later, during a painfully long discussion on thermodynamic entropy, Jisung felt like his brain was melting. Next to him, you seemed to be having the same struggle.

He noticed you sketching again, your tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. A few minutes later, you nudged his elbow and slid a folded scrap paper toward him.

He opened it to find an absolutely ridiculous cartoon: a dramatic black hole with wild hair and glasses that looked suspiciously like the professor’s. Around it, little stick figures were being sucked into the gravitational pull, textbooks flying everywhere.

At the bottom, you’d scrawled:

“Entropy? More like ENTRAP-Y.”

Jisung clamped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking as he tried (and failed) to contain his laughter. The professor paused, eyes squinting at the two of you, and Jisung froze in shock.

When the professor turned back to the whiteboard, Jisung quickly scribbled a response:

“I think I just lost three brain cells to this singularity.”

You snorted quietly, and for the rest of the class, both of you avoided eye contact to prevent another laughing fit.

It wasn’t always jokes. At some point, the notes started to change.

One afternoon, after a particularly rough group presentation where Jisung stumbled over his words more than once, he slumped into his usual seat next to you, clutching his notebook like a shield.

You didn’t say anything at first, just slid a folded piece of paper onto his desk.

“You did great today. Public speaking is the worst, but you made your point, and honestly, half the class was lost after the second slide anyway.”

Jisung stared at the note for a long moment before writing back.

“Thanks. I always feel like I’m messing up. Group projects make it ten times worse because I’m scared I’ll let everyone down.”

You read it, your expression softening before you wrote back:

“I get that. But hey, if we ever have to do a project together, I’ll handle the talking, and you can handle the math. Deal?”

Jisung’s chest felt warm in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

“Deal.”

It was late in the semester, the kind of day where the sunlight streamed through the classroom windows just right, making everything feel a little softer. The professor was lecturing about particle accelerators, and Jisung was genuinely trying to focus—until he noticed you scribbling on a slip of paper.

You passed it to him without looking up.

“If you could work anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

Jisung hesitated. No one had ever asked him that before—not seriously, anyway.

“NASA, probably. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had this strange obsession with space. It feels like there’s so much to discover, you know?”

You grinned when you read his response.

“That’s so cool. I’d want to be there too. Maybe one day we’ll run into each other in the cafeteria, arguing about quarks over sandwiches.”

Jisung smiled, his heart doing this weird fluttery thing that he couldn’t quite explain.

“I’d argue that up quarks are superior, but I’d let you win. Probably.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, scribbled something back, and slid the note over.

“You’d let me win? Park Jisung, are you challenging me to a quark debate?”

For the rest of class, Jisung couldn’t stop smiling.

Each note became a little window into your world and a bridge into his. It wasn’t just the jokes or the sketches—it was the little truths tucked between the lines. And every time he unfolded a piece of paper from you, Jisung felt a little less like an awkward physics student and a little more like…someone special.

Jisung’s head was spinning as he shoved his notebook into his backpack. The lecture had just ended, and while most of the class was still debating the finer points of entropy, his focus was on the small scrap of paper tucked between the pages of his notes.

It wasn’t supposed to leave his bag. It was just…a silly thought he’d scribbled down late at night when he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

But as he hurried to pack up, the folded note slipped loose and landed on your desk.

He didn’t notice until he was halfway out the door.

You were still sitting, absently flipping through your notes, when your gaze fell on the scrap of paper. You picked it up and unfolded it, eyebrows raising at the messy handwriting:

“I think the Doppler effect explains why my heart races whenever you’re near.”

You froze. The edges of the paper trembled in your fingers as the words sank in, and your cheeks warmed instantly.

“Jisung?” you called out instinctively, but he was already gone, lost in the crowd of students exiting the lecture hall.

Heart pounding, you hesitated for a moment before grabbing your pen. On the back of the note, you wrote carefully:

“Newton’s Third Law says every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I feel the same way.”

The next lecture couldn’t come fast enough.

Jisung didn’t sleep much the night before class. The realization that he’d left that note behind had haunted him. Maybe you’d thrown it away. Maybe you’d laughed at it.

But when he walked into the lecture hall the next day, you were already there. Sitting in your usual seat, you looked up as he approached, and your smile was soft—almost shy.

“Hey,” you said, sliding a small folded note across the desk.

Jisung swallowed nervously, hands trembling slightly as he opened it.

Newton’s Third Law. Equal and opposite reaction.

His eyes scanned the words once, twice, before he finally dared to meet your gaze. You were biting your lip, your eyes bright with anticipation.

Jisung’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “You—You feel the same?”

You nodded. “It’s simple physics, Park. Cause and effect.”

He let out a breathless laugh, hand coming up to cover his face as his shoulders shook slightly. “I can’t believe you’re using physics laws to confess to me right now.”

“Technically, you started it,” you said with a grin.

It was the end of a particularly brutal thermodynamics lecture. Jisung’s brain was fried, and judging by your furrowed brow, you weren’t faring much better.

The professor dismissed the class, and everyone packed up sluggishly. Jisung hesitated as he glanced at you, still scribbling something in your notes.

“See you later?” you said casually, but Jisung didn’t respond.

Instead, he slid a small, carefully folded piece of paper onto your desk before rushing out the door.

You blinked after him, confused, before carefully unfolding the note.

It was a Feynman diagram.

But instead of particle interactions, Jisung had mapped out…you and him.

At one vertex was a little stick figure of him, labeled “Jisung”, and at another, a tiny doodle of you labeled “(Y/N)”. Between the two were arrows labeled “Shared Jokes”, “Physics Puns”, and “Mutual Nerdiness”, and tiny hearts scattered along the connections.

At the bottom, in small, slightly wobbly handwriting, he’d written:

“I like you.”

Your face felt like it was on fire, but you couldn’t stop the wide smile spreading across your lips.

When you walked out of the lecture hall, Jisung was leaning against the wall, clutching the strap of his backpack like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

“Jisung,” you said softly, holding up the note.

He shifted nervously, avoiding your gaze. “I, um…I thought it might be easier to…you know…diagram it out.”

You laughed—a soft, delighted sound—and pulled out your pen.

Carefully, right at the bottom of his diagram, you added a new arrow connecting your doodle to his.

“Mutual Affection.”

You held it up so he could see, and Jisung’s eyes widened. His lips parted slightly in surprise before breaking into the brightest smile you’d ever seen.

“So…you like me too?” he asked quietly, voice trembling just a little.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve reached a stable equilibrium,” you said with a grin.

He laughed—a sound full of relief and joy—and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, smiling at each other in the middle of the crowded hallway.

Physics could explain a lot of things, but this? The way Jisung’s heart felt like it was about to escape his chest, the way your eyes would crinkle when you smiled at him—this felt like a force of nature all its own.

By the time midterms had passed and the days grew shorter, the notes between you and Jisung had shifted. There were still plenty of physics jokes and ridiculous doodles—like the time he drew you both as photons bouncing off a reflective surface—but now there were softer words, too.

Between derivatives and integrals, you’d find little sentences scribbled in his neat handwriting:

“I hope you’re eating enough today.”

“You looked really pretty in the lab yesterday.”

“The universe is expanding, but I think my feelings for you are growing faster.”

In return, you wrote him notes on sticky tabs and slipped them into his textbook:

“Don’t stay up too late studying tonight. Even electrons need rest.”

One afternoon, after a particularly chaotic study session in the library, Jisung passed you a folded note with a tiny sketch of two orbiting electrons, labeled “You” and “Me”, with a little heart in the nucleus.

Underneath, he’d written:

“Stable bond achieved.”

You laughed softly, clutching the note like it was precious cargo.

“Park Jisung, you’re ridiculous,” you whispered.

He grinned, cheeks turning pink. “But you like it, right?”

You leaned over, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I like you.”

Jisung turned bright red and nearly dropped his pen.

The lecture hall was unnervingly silent during your final exam. The only sounds were the scratch of pencils on paper and the faint ticking of the clock.

You were halfway through a particularly frustrating question on thermodynamic efficiency when your calculator, which you’d been using furiously, clicked slightly as you pressed down on the buttons.

You frowned, turning it over—and noticed a tiny piece of folded paper tucked neatly into the battery compartment.

Your eyes darted up to scan the room. Jisung was a few rows ahead, hunched over his paper, completely engrossed in his work.

Heart racing, you carefully unfolded the note beneath the desk.

It was a small sketch, drawn with the same endearing messiness Jisung always brought to his doodles.

At the top, a hand-drawn banner read: “You’re the best experiment I’ve ever run.”

Below it, a sketch of the two of you: you with your hair tied back, him with his glasses askew and a shy smile. Little stars and hearts floated around the cartoon versions of yourselves, and at the bottom, he’d written:

“Hypothesis: Spending time with you improves my mood exponentially. Conclusion: Hypothesis confirmed.”

You pressed your hand over your mouth to hide your smile, your face heating up as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

Carefully, you scribbled on the back with your pencil:

“Conclusion peer-reviewed and verified. Park Jisung, you’re my favorite discovery.”

When the exam ended, and everyone started filing out, you caught up to him in the hallway.

“Hey, Newton,” you said softly.

Jisung turned, his nervous smile flickering into something brighter when he saw you holding up the note.

“Did you…did you find it?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I did.” You stepped closer, holding the paper gently between your fingers. “You know, I think you might be my best result yet.”

Jisung let out a soft laugh, cheeks flushed pink. “Does that mean we’ve achieved optimal conditions?”

You grinned, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. “Definitely. Stable equilibrium achieved.”

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania @spacejip @peterm4rker @viasdreams

[leejenowrld]

11:35

na jaemin drabble

this is my submission for secret santa xmas drabble event. an event i did on discord. i’m secret santa for @marijmin !! check this tag ##ᡣ𐭩—christmasdrabble for all the other drabbles posted !!

The sound of rain against the window was deafening in the silence of the room. You sat curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, a weight pressing on you so hard it felt like you couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter what started it—the way your parents dismissed your dreams as childish, the way your friends told you to “just get over it,” or the way every word you spoke seemed to be met with confusion instead of understanding. It was the relentless ache of feeling misunderstood, of screaming in a room full of people who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—hear you. What mattered was the hollow pit in your chest, the way tears kept falling even when you thought you were done crying.

Reaching for your phone, you stared at Jaemin’s name. You hesitated, thumb hovering over the call button, unsure if you could find the right words to explain the storm raging inside you. But before you could overthink, you pressed it, the dial tone cutting through the suffocating quiet.

“Hey,” his voice came through, warm and soft, like it always was when he knew you needed him. “What’s wrong?”

Hearing him nearly broke you all over again. “Can you come over?” Your voice cracked, low and fragile.

There was a pause, and then he said, “I’m on my way. Don’t move.”

It didn’t take long for him to arrive—he never lived far. The door opened without you needing to get up, and there he was, rain-soaked but smiling gently as he stepped inside. His eyes swept over you, taking in your swollen eyes, trembling hands, and the way you sank further into the couch.

“Hey, angel,” he murmured, shutting the door behind him. His nickname for you was always so casual, but tonight, it sounded like a lifeline. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate, letting him pull you into his arms. He smelled of the rain and his cologne, and the warmth of his embrace was like a balm to your raw, aching heart. He didn’t say anything at first, just held you as your tears started falling again, quiet and endless.

After a while, his voice broke through the stillness. “Want to talk about it?”

You shook your head against his chest. “Not yet,” you whispered. “Just… stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, stroking your hair softly. His fingers worked through the strands, each pass more calming than the last. “Take your time.”

And you did. Minutes passed—maybe hours—with Jaemin cradling you, humming under his breath, his presence enough to dull the sharp edges of your pain. Eventually, when your sobs had quieted and the tension in your body eased, you leaned back just enough to look up at him. His dark eyes met yours, full of concern and something deeper, something unspoken.

“Jaem?” you said, voice barely audible.

“Yeah?”

“Can you… make me forget? Just for tonight.”

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, you worried you’d said the wrong thing. But then his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek in a way that felt too tender, too intimate. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to wake up and regret anything.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly, gripping his wrist like he might pull away. “I trust you.”

He searched your face for a long moment, and then he nodded, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “Okay. Whatever you need.”

Jaemin kissed you like you were something fragile, his lips brushing against yours with a gentleness that made your chest ache. He moved slowly, letting you guide him, his hands never straying too far, his touch featherlight. But the more he kissed you, the more the knot in your chest loosened, and soon you found yourself pulling him closer, your hands tangling in his hair.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and sweet.

“I won’t,” you whispered, tugging him closer, needing him more than you needed air.

He responded with a low hum, his kisses growing deeper, more purposeful. His hands found your waist, steadying you as he shifted you into his lap. The warmth of his body against yours was grounding, and for the first time that night, the world didn’t feel so heavy.

Jaemin’s lips trailed down your jaw, leaving a trail of soft, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His hands were gentle as they slid under your shirt, his thumbs brushing the bare skin of your sides. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. “don’t even know.”

You shivered at his words, your fingers tightening in his hair as he continued to worship you with his touch, his kisses, his everything. He was patient, taking his time to savor every inch of you, never rushing, never demanding more than you were willing to give.

“Jaem,” you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of vulnerability and desire. “I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze searching yours. “Are you sure?” he asked again, his voice soft but steady. “Because if we do this, it’s not just for tonight. I’m not letting you go after.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, all the pain, all the heartbreak, faded into the background. “I don’t want you to,” you said, your voice firm despite the tears threatening to spill again. “I don’t want anyone else.”

His smile was small but devastating, and then he kissed you again, this time with a fire that stole the breath from your lungs. “You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs as he laid you back against the couch. “And I’m going to take care of you. Always.”

Jaemin’s hands moved with a slow, deliberate purpose, his touch igniting a trail of heat as he traced the curve of your waist. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was deeper this time, more consuming, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that left you breathless. His weight pressed into you, grounding you as his body moved against yours, unhurried yet unrelenting. Every touch, every kiss, was a silent reassurance, his way of telling you he was there, fully, completely, and for as long as you needed him.

When his lips left yours, they traveled down the length of your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that made your back arch into him. His hands gripped your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his hips as he settled against you. The first slow press of him inside you was almost reverent, his forehead resting against yours as he stilled, his breath mingling with yours in the dim light of the room. “You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’ve got you.”

He moved with a rhythm that felt intimate and consuming, each thrust deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every reaction, every gasp and shiver. His hands roamed your body, never leaving you untouched, as though grounding you in the moment. The tension between you built slowly, each wave stronger than the last, until it became impossible to focus on anything but the overwhelming heat and closeness. His voice never stopped, murmuring soft reassurances and sweet praises that only made you fall further into the warmth of him.

As the intensity grew, so did the urgency, his movements faster, deeper, more insistent. His grip on your hips tightened as he brought you closer to the edge, his own control slipping with each passing second. “You’re perfect,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips brushing against yours before he buried his face in your neck. When the moment finally broke, it was everything—a release that left you trembling beneath him, your bodies tangled and breathless as the weight of the world faded into nothing.

Afterward, Jaemin held you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He kissed your temple, his voice soft and reassuring as he whispered, “You’re safe. You’re with me.” And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

[aventurineswife]

Heyyy! I would like to request something for Christmas!

baking christmas cookies together and then eating them all at once (this happened to me😔 I couldn't even give a few of them to my dad) you can choose whoever you want for this rq but pls include my glorious king Dr ratio 😋

I hope this rq is good enough for you 🥲 I feel like it's kinda blant

english is not my first language sry if I used the wrong grammar

stay safe and I hope aventurine shows up on your doorstep 🤭

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

Summary: When the holidays roll around, you and Ratio find yourselves in the kitchen, baking Christmas cookies together. What starts as a simple festive activity quickly turns into a blend of precision, intellect, and unexpected warmth. Amid the laughter, perfect frosting designs, and plenty of taste-testing, the two of you share a cozy winter evening, discovering that even the greatest minds can appreciate life’s sweetest moments.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Winter Special, Baking Together, Established Relationship, Cozy Winter Vibes, Intellectual Banter, Christmas Cookies.

A/N: nooo ☹️, maybe this year you could give your dad some cookies! Don't worry, you wrote it perfectly and thank you 🤭🫂🫶💖 i hope he does too🙈(love your Simeon pfp🤭)

The scent of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla filled the air as snowflakes gently drifted down from the sky, coating the ground in a soft, silvery layer. The world outside the windows was quiet, a peaceful hush broken only by the occasional soft thud of a snowflake landing. Inside, the warmth of a cozy kitchen surrounded you and Ratio.

You looked over at him, standing at the kitchen counter with his usual assured expression, his wavy hair falling messily around his face as he concentrated on the task at hand. The kitchen was bustling with ingredients—flour, butter, sugar, and a few mismatched cookie cutters scattered across the counter. The smell of Christmas had already begun to permeate the space, though it wasn’t quite the holiday yet. Still, there was something about Ratio’s presence, even in a moment like this, that made everything feel just a bit more special.

“You know,” you said as you carefully sifted the flour into the mixing bowl, “I wasn’t sure how you would feel about baking cookies. I thought you’d be more inclined to read or teach me a new theory on knowledge.”

Ratio’s eyes, glowing with a tinge of yellow in the low light of the kitchen, shifted to you, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “A fair assumption. However, knowledge comes in many forms. Understanding the delicate balance of flour, sugar, and butter—there’s something to be said for that too.” He paused, glancing at the rolling pin in your hands. “Besides, you’ve proven yourself to be quite the worthy student when it comes to recipes. I shall not let you dominate this culinary field without my… intellectual guidance.”

His tone was as confident as ever, but there was a slight playful edge to it, something you didn’t see often in the rigid, self-assured intellect he normally wore like armor. You chuckled, nodding as you grabbed the eggs.

“Alright, Dr. Ratio. What’s the next step, then?”

He examined the mixture carefully, and with a swipe of his hand, reached for the butter. "The butter must be at the perfect temperature," he began, his voice rich with the authority of someone who knew every microscopic detail. "If it’s too cold, the dough will be too stiff. Too warm, and the cookies won’t rise properly. I’ll handle the butter, as my delicate touch will ensure the right consistency."

You couldn’t help but grin, knowing that his precision was about to take over. But that was part of his charm—his pursuit of perfection, even in something as seemingly simple as baking cookies. As you worked together, the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the warmth of the oven mingling with the warmth between you, a quiet moment of happiness amid the hustle of your usual lives.

An hour later, the cookies were ready to be decorated. You’d created a wide assortment—stars, bells, snowflakes—and now the most difficult part was upon you: the frosting. You’d hoped for a simple, orderly approach, but Ratio’s enthusiasm for intricate details soon led to a cascade of brilliantly intricate designs. Swirling, layered, and meticulously placed, every cookie was an academic masterpiece. They were works of art, the frosting patterns forming symbols and equations that only Ratio could translate.

“Well, this is certainly… thorough.” you said, admiring the beautiful cookies before glancing at him.

He met your gaze, eyes alight with pride. “Only the best for this holiday season.” His voice was smug, but there was a soft warmth in his expression that betrayed his usual aloofness. “Shall we taste our creations now?”

Before you could answer, he took one of the cookies and, with a flourish, handed it to you. “After all, one must taste what they create. It’s a vital part of the learning process.”

You took the cookie, biting into it. The frosting was rich, the cookie perfectly baked—soft with just the right amount of crispness. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“This is incredible. I might’ve underestimated you, Dr. Ratio.”

His grin widened, the usual intensity in his eyes flickering with something more genuine—a flicker of amusement.

“You underestimate me far too often,” he said, before he too grabbed a cookie and took a bite. “I must say, my intellect, as always, has produced a perfect result.”

You both laughed, and then, without warning, you found yourselves nibbling on one cookie after another, laughing and sharing the warm, comforting moment together. The kitchen, now filled with an assortment of delightful cookie designs, began to empty as the two of you devoured them all, not a single one left behind.

After a while, the once neatly arranged cookies were gone, and the two of you sat contentedly on the couch, a blanket over your legs, sipping hot cocoa.

“Next year,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder, “maybe we should try making gingerbread houses.”

Ratio looked at you, his thoughtful expression returning. “We could. But only if we can ensure that the structural integrity of the gingerbread walls is upheld by an intellectual design that matches my standards.”

You smiled, already knowing what you were in for next Christmas.

“Well, we’ve got a year to figure it out.” you said, taking another sip of your cocoa.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, you couldn’t help but feel that, in this quiet, simple moment, you’d found something far more valuable than the cookies themselves.

[niallerspayno]

English Love Affair (frat boy Harry x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Inspired by the song English Love Affair by 5SOS

Request for @purplekimijks: What began as a one-time fling quickly evolves into something more as you and Harry find yourselves seeking each other out for frequent, secretive hook-ups. As Ashton’s sister and a songwriter for 5SOS, the situation grows more complicated by the day. Will you and Harry continue with these fleeting encounters, or will you take the risk and make it something real?

Tags: frat boy Harry x reader, Ashton x sister!reader, smut with plot

Author's note: I unfortunately never really got into 5SOS, which is weird because I saw them open for 1D in 2013 and I'm Australian - just incase I get any details wrong about them

...

The tour bus hums beneath your feet, the steady vibration lulling you into a sense of rhythm as you absentmindedly scribble lyrics in your notebook. Life on the road with 5 Seconds of Summer isn’t always glamorous, but it’s the kind of chaos you’ve grown used to—probably a genetic thing, considering your brother Ashton thrives in it.

Being the band’s unofficial fifth member and go-to songwriter is a role you love. You’re good at it, too—helping the boys find the words to match their stories, giving them the push they need when inspiration runs dry. It’s fulfilling, creative, and keeps you close to your brother.

But if you’re being honest, it’s not just the music that keeps you here.

It’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t know when it started—maybe the first time you met backstage at some award show, his charm disarming and his dimples practically illegal. Or maybe it’s been brewing longer, a quiet fascination that finally burst into a full-blown crush when One Direction invited 5SOS to join their tour.

Now you see him almost every day. In rehearsals. At afterparties. Lounging around during those rare, stolen moments of downtime. And every time, you’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

It’s dangerous territory, crushing on someone like Harry. Ashton would lose his mind if he found out, and you can’t even imagine the chaos if the rest of 5SOS or One Direction caught wind. For now, you’re content to steal glances, laugh at his terrible jokes, and feel the thrill of his attention when his green eyes linger just a second too long.

“Daydreaming again?” Michael’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to find him smirking at you from across the lounge.

“Just working,” you say quickly, holding up your notebook as proof.

“Sure,” Michael teases, waggling his eyebrows. “Working on a song or working on Harry Styles in your head?”

Your face burns, and you throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He laughs, dodging easily, and Ashton walks in, his expression suspicious. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you and Michael say at the same time, a little too quickly.

Ashton narrows his eyes, but thankfully, he lets it slide. “Whatever. We’ve got soundcheck in fifteen. Let’s go.”

You gather your things, your pulse racing as you follow the boys out. In the corridor, you almost run into Harry himself, who flashes you that devastating grin and holds the door open for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does around him.

“Anytime,” he says, his voice low and smooth. His gaze lingers, just for a second, and it’s enough to make your thoughts spiral.

Yeah, this tour is going to be complicated.

…

The music thumps through the walls of the club, loud enough to make your chest vibrate. Ashton and the rest of the boys are deep into their second round of drinks, Michael and Luke shouting over each other about who can chug a beer faster. You should probably intervene before they make fools of themselves, but the atmosphere is charged, and you’re not in the mood to play referee.

Instead, you slip outside, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The alley is dimly lit, the sounds of the party muted as you lean against the wall and take a deep breath.

“You, too, huh?”

The familiar voice makes your stomach flip. You turn your head to see Harry stepping out of the club, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black blazer. His hair is a little messy, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a teasing glimpse of the tattoos on his chest.

“Needed some air,” you say casually, though your pulse quickens when he walks closer.

“Same.” He leans against the wall beside you, close enough that his cologne—warm and woody—lingers in the space between you. “It gets a bit… much in there.”

You nod, unsure what to say. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the awareness of his presence is almost overwhelming.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sounds of the city fill the silence: distant cars, muffled laughter from inside the club, the soft buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Harry says finally, his voice low.

“Just tired,” you lie, forcing a small smile.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you feel like he’s peeling back layers you didn’t even know were there. “You’re not much of a party person, are you?”

“Not really.” You glance at him, trying to keep your tone light. “But it’s a necessary evil when you’re on tour with two bands of extroverts.”

Harry chuckles, the sound soft and warm. “Fair enough. But you do it well. I’ve noticed you’re good at blending in when you need to.”

His words catch you off guard, and you turn to face him fully. “You’ve noticed?”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes your breath hitch. “I notice a lot of things about you.”

The air between you shifts, charged with something unspoken. His gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you’re sure he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t.

Instead, you find yourself closing the gap.

It’s not planned, not even a conscious decision—just a moment of pure impulse. His lips meet yours softly at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when he pulls you closer, his hand brushing your waist, the kiss deepens.

The world fades away, the sounds of the city and the party melting into nothing as the two of you press closer. There’s a heat, a hunger, that neither of you bothers to hide.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Harry’s green eyes lock onto yours, and there’s a playful curve to his lips.

“Well,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “That was unexpected.”

You laugh softly, the sound nervous but giddy. “Yeah. It… it was.”

But neither of you moves to step away. Instead, he leans in again, his breath brushing your ear.

“Think you can keep a secret?”

Your pulse races at Harry’s question, his breath warm against your skin. You should say something—anything—but all you can do is nod, your body leaning instinctively toward his.

“Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

His confession sends a shiver down your spine. The thrill of his words, combined with the tension that’s been simmering between you for weeks, pushes you over the edge.

“Harry,” you manage to whisper, but it’s less of a protest and more of an invitation.

He takes the hint, his hands finding your waist as he presses you back against the wall. His mouth captures yours again, this time hungrier, deeper, as if he’s been holding himself back and can’t any longer. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his blazer as his body pins you in place.

The alley is quiet, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of you. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, skimming the sensitive spot just below your ear. You bite back a gasp, the sound catching in your throat, and he chuckles softly.

“You’re so quiet,” he teases, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. “I was starting to think I’d have to work harder.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back to you.

He grins against your lips but doesn’t argue, his hands sliding down your waist to your hips. The pressure of his touch is firm, grounding, and you feel yourself melting against him.

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, his lips slightly swollen from kissing you.

“Go where?” you ask, your voice breathless.

“Anywhere but here.” He nods toward the club. “Unless you want to risk your brother walking out and catching us.”

The mention of Ashton jolts you back to reality for a split second. This is a bad idea—a terrible idea, really—but the way Harry’s looking at you makes it impossible to care.

“Fine,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “Lead the way.”

He takes your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he pulls you toward the back entrance of the club. The thrill of sneaking off together sends a rush of adrenaline through you, and by the time you make it to his hotel room, you’re both laughing softly, your nerves tangled with excitement.

The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking at each other. The room is dim, the city lights filtering in through the window casting shadows on his face.

“You sure about this?” Harry asks, his voice low but serious.

You step closer, your hands sliding up his chest. “Are you?”

Instead of answering, he kisses you again, and this time there’s no hesitation. His hands are everywhere—your back, your waist, your thighs—pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough. You stumble toward the bed, his jacket slipping off his shoulders and landing on the floor.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall back onto the soft mattress, pulling Harry with you. His weight presses down against you, solid and warm, grounding you in this moment that feels both thrilling and inevitable.

His lips move against yours, hungry and sure, leaving you breathless as his hands slide under your top, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist. The heat of his touch sparks a fire that spreads through your entire body, your senses heightened by the closeness of him—his warmth, his scent, the soft rasp of his stubble against your cheek.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, his voice lower this time, tinged with impatience and raw need. His green eyes are darker now, locked onto yours, the question more of a formality than anything else.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you pull him down to you, crashing your lips into his, fingers tangling in his hair as you take what you’ve both been craving all night. It’s messy, hot, and desperate, and you feel his groan reverberate against your mouth as he presses his body firmly against yours, pinning you to the mattress.

The shift is immediate. His hands are on you, rougher now, gripping your waist and sliding down to your thighs with a possessive strength that sends a jolt of arousal through you. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. You arch into him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he grinds his hips into yours, his hardness pressing against you through the thin barrier of clothing still between you.

“God, you feel so good,” he growls, his voice ragged as his lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to leave marks. You gasp, your body responding instinctively as heat pools low in your stomach.

“Harry,” you gasp, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it only spurs him on. He yanks your shirt over your head in one swift motion, his hands immediately returning to your bare skin. His palms are hot, his touch firm as they slide over your curves, fingers digging in just enough to leave a sting that’s more pleasure than pain.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he pulls back just enough to take you in, his gaze hungry and intense.

You don’t give him a chance to say more. Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, tugging it off him in a rush before your fingers are on his belt, working it open with shaking hands. He smirks, the sight of your urgency clearly fueling his own, but he doesn’t stop you, his eyes darkening as you shove his jeans down his hips.

He’s on you again, his body pressing into yours with a weight that feels overwhelming in the best way. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his lips crashing against yours with a bruising intensity.

Your head tilts back against the pillows as he moves lower, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your chest before his lips trail lower, biting and sucking his way down. Your moan fills the room as he pulls your underwear down with a sharp tug, tossing it aside before his hands are on you again, exploring, teasing, claiming.

When he finally moves back up, his lips find yours again, rough and insistent, and you feel him against you, hard and ready. Your breath hitches as he presses forward, his hand gripping your hip tightly to hold you in place as he pushes into you with one slow, deliberate thrust.

The stretch is overwhelming, and you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your body adjusts to him. He stills for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as he curses under his breath, his control clearly hanging by a thread.

“Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice strained. But the pause doesn’t last long. He pulls back and thrusts again, harder this time, and the sharp cry that escapes your lips only seems to fuel him.

The rhythm he sets is relentless, his hips snapping against yours in a way that leaves you breathless. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, tangling in your hair, pinning your wrists above your head as he takes you apart piece by piece.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice rough, and you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there steals what little air you had left, and you feel the raw hunger in the way he looks at you, like he can’t get enough.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, skin against skin, and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as you surrender completely to the heat and intensity of him.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his lips brushing against your ear as he drives into you harder, his grip on your hips almost bruising. And in this moment, you don’t care about anything else—just the way he feels, the way he makes you feel, and the fire that’s consuming you both.

The tension in your body builds with every thrust, every roll of his hips, each movement pushing you further toward the edge. Your nails dig into his skin as your body tightens, every inch of you alive with the electric buzz of him, the heat between you. You can feel him, deep inside you, moving relentlessly, his breath ragged and harsh against your neck.

"Harry..." you gasp, your voice breaking as your body starts to tremble, your chest heaving with the effort to hold on. You’re so close, so close that everything else fades away, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of him and the burning need for release.

"Fuck, I know," he grunts, his fingers gripping your hips harder, his pace quickening, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His eyes are locked on yours, his face a mixture of concentration and raw desire. "Come on, baby. Let go."

And then, just like that, it snaps. Your body gives way, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, your breath catching as you cry out his name. The world tilts as you lose yourself in him, the intensity of your release leaving you breathless, your body shaking as it waves through you.

Harry’s movements become more erratic, his control slipping as he follows you, his own release tearing through him with a low growl. You feel him pulse inside you, each throbbing wave of his climax pushing you even further into the haze of pleasure, your body still trembling under the weight of it.

He collapses onto you, his chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat, breathless from the overwhelming rush of it all. You lie there for a moment, both of you tangled in the aftermath, the room heavy with the echoes of your connection.

The silence between you is thick, the only sound the frantic beating of your hearts. His hand brushes against your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin there as he raises his head to look at you. There's something almost apologetic in his expression, but also a glint of something deeper—satisfaction, maybe, or desire, or something you can't quite place.

"That was..." he starts, but he doesn’t finish. Instead, he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment, before pulling away slightly to look at you again. "We don't tell anyone about this, right?"

You nod, your fingers lightly tracing the contours of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your touch. "Yeah. No one," you agree, your voice still a little breathless, but with a steady resolve.

His lips curl into a small, almost mischievous grin. "But we can definitely do it again, yeah?" he asks, his voice lowering, as though testing the waters.

You can’t help but smile at the suggestion, your fingers running through his hair as you look up at him, the heat of the moment still lingering. "Definitely," you reply, your voice steady, the hint of a laugh in your tone.

He leans down to kiss you again, soft and slow this time, a promise of more, as both of you settle back into the bed, the world outside forgotten. The night stretches ahead, and in the quiet aftermath, there’s only the unspoken agreement between you—what happened stays between the two of you. But it’s not over. Not by a long shot.

...

You wake up to the soft light of dawn streaming through the window, the quiet hum of the city just beyond the walls of the hotel room. You’re tangled in the sheets, your body still warm from the night before, but there’s an underlying tension creeping in with the awareness of what happened. You blink a few times, the events from last night flooding your mind in vivid flashes—his touch, the way he kissed you, the way your bodies moved together, and the marks he left on you.

You feel his breath on the back of your neck before you even realize Harry’s awake. He’s lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, looking impossibly calm for someone who shared such an intense experience with you.

Your eyes widen when you catch sight of the dark purple marks scattered across your neck, a line of them creeping down toward your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat as you shift slightly, trying not to wake him. Then your fingers trail down to your hips, where you feel the telltale pressure of his hand—the faint outline of bruises, each one a reminder of the night’s wild intensity.

Panic starts to creep in. You have to hide these. You have to figure out how to sneak back to your room without anyone seeing. You don’t even know why it’s bothering you this much; it’s not like you and Harry made any promises, not like anyone would find out. Still, the idea of the band—especially Ashton—finding out makes your stomach churn.

Carefully, you slip out of the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, but Harry stirs slightly. You freeze, heart hammering in your chest, but he simply groans softly and rolls onto his back, one hand draped casually over his eyes, completely unfazed. His deep voice, laced with sleep, cuts through the silence.

“Morning,” he says, his tone as nonchalant as ever, like he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you stand near the bed, searching for something—anything—to cover the marks. Your mind races, fingers fumbling as you search for a shirt or anything that will help hide the evidence.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low but teasing, not even glancing your way as he stretches. He’s acting so casually about it, like nothing out of the ordinary happened, like he doesn’t see the way you’re scrambling to cover up.

“Yeah,” you mutter, forcing a laugh, though it’s thin and awkward. You grab your shirt from the floor, pulling it over your head in a hurry. “Just, uh... need to go back to my room. Don’t want anyone to notice.”

Harry finally opens his eyes, his lips curling into a small, apologetic smile as he watches you. He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, nodding toward your neck and hips, where the marks are still evident. “I didn’t mean to leave them... though, you do look pretty fucking beautiful with them.”

You glance at him, surprised by his tone—genuinely regretful but also teasing, in that way only Harry can pull off. You try not to smile, but it’s impossible not to. The apology, even if wrapped in his usual charm, makes something warm stir in your chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrug, trying to brush it off, even though you’re clearly bothered. You finish pulling on your jeans, quickly tugging the fabric over the marks on your hips. “I’ll figure it out.”

Harry slides closer, his hand reaching out to gently tug your chin so you’re looking directly at him. His expression softens, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s much gentler than anything from last night—sincere, almost apologetic.

“Next time, I’ll be more careful,” he whispers against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces the side of your neck where the marks are, making you shiver. “But I’m not sorry for last night. That was perfect.”

You lean into him, kissing him back for a moment longer before pulling away. "You really have to stop marking me," you tease lightly, but you can’t help but grin. "People are going to ask questions."

He grins back, his lips curving into that devil-may-care smirk. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say we were... being friendly,” he says, his tone playful but laced with that same intensity from the night before.

You laugh softly, but there's a tightness in your chest that you can’t quite shake. As much as you want to be carefree like him, you know the reality of sneaking back to your room is a little more complicated.

“I’ve got to go,” you say, standing up quickly, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation. “Before anyone notices.”

Harry nods, his smirk never fading, his eyes still gleaming with that mixture of mischief and satisfaction. “Don’t worry, babe. I won’t tell anyone.”

You pause, glancing back at him as you reach for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He leans back on the bed, his hands behind his head, looking completely unfazed by the chaos of the night you both shared. “You know where to find me,” he says, his voice casual, but there’s that familiar undercurrent of promise.

You slip out of the room, your heart pounding, your mind racing. The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, breathing in the cool hallway air. It feels like everything just changed, and you’re not entirely sure how to process it. But as you make your way back to your room, you can’t shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time Harry’s hands leave marks on your skin.

...

You walk into the breakfast area, trying to shake off the lingering tension from last night. Harry’s already sitting with a coffee, looking casual as ever. You meet his gaze, but the smile he gives you is knowing, making your pulse race for a second before you force yourself to act normal.

The rest of the band is chatting, and you take a seat, trying to ignore the burn of the marks on your neck and hips. Ashton’s eyes keep flicking to you, the silence between you palpable. You can feel the weight of his stare.

Liam, ever the conversationalist, breaks the tension with an innocent enough question. “Hey, what’s up with you two?” he asks, glancing between you and Harry.

Harry shrugs, cool as ever. “Nothing, mate. Just breakfast.”

You nod quickly, sipping your coffee, trying to seem casual. But Ashton’s quiet. He’s not buying it. His eyes flick to your side, where you shift uncomfortably. “You okay?” he asks, his voice sharp, before glancing at Harry with suspicion.

“I’m fine,” you snap a little too quickly, and Harry intervenes just in time, his voice smooth and easy. “We’re all just adjusting to the time change, right?”

Ashton hesitates but then shrugs it off. The conversation moves on, but you feel like something’s off.

Then Niall spots the marks on your side. “Hey, what’s that?” he asks, pointing. “New ink or something?”

Before you can answer, Louis leans in with a grin. “Bite marks? Who’d you go home with?”

You force a laugh, brushing it off. “Just some random guy from the club. It didn’t mean anything.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “A random guy at the club? Didn’t expect that from you.”

You shrug. “Sometimes you just need to blow off steam.”

Louis teases more, but Ashton’s quiet, his jaw tight as he observes. “Sure,” he mutters, his tone colder. “Nothing.”

You feel the shift in the air, Ashton’s unspoken frustration hanging between you, but you stay silent. Harry gives you a small nod, his eyes locking with yours for just a second before turning back to his coffee.

The rest of the conversation continues, but you can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows—or at least senses—something happened. And you’re left trying to keep it together, even though the heat from last night still burns beneath your skin.

...

A few days have passed since breakfast, and things have shifted, though no one’s mentioned last night’s heat. The band is busy with rehearsals and interviews, and the air between you and Harry feels charged, like electricity just waiting to snap.

That night, after the show, you slip away from the usual after-party chaos. You need to clear your head, to get some space from the noise and the people, but the moment you step outside, your gaze lands on him. Harry’s leaning against the back of the venue, hands shoved in his pockets, watching the stars like he’s waiting for something—someone.

You’re not sure what pulls you to him, but you find your feet moving before you can stop them. When he sees you, that smirk appears, the one that you know so well, and his eyes light up.

“Thought I’d find you out here,” he says, his voice smooth but with a hint of playfulness.

You stop in front of him, the cool night air biting at your skin. "Couldn't sleep," you reply, your heart already picking up pace as he steps closer.

"Couldn’t sleep, huh?" He steps forward, his hand brushing against yours. The simple touch sends a wave of heat through you, making it impossible to ignore the tension between you two. “I think I might be able to help with that.”

The words hang in the air, thick with meaning, and without thinking, you close the distance between you. His lips find yours almost instantly, pulling you into him. The kiss is hungry this time, no teasing, just raw need.

His hands are on your body, pushing you against the cold brick of the building, his lips trailing along your jawline, down your neck. Every movement is deliberate, urgent. You gasp when his teeth graze your skin, a rush of heat flooding your veins. You can feel him hard against your stomach, and it makes you dizzy.

“Right here?” you ask breathlessly, your hands running over the muscles of his back, the tension in his body matching your own.

He looks at you, his green eyes dark and intense, a spark of mischief dancing in them. “Why not?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s just us.”

You don’t hesitate. With a quick move, your hands are tugging at the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion. His skin is warm under your fingers, and your breath catches when his lips find yours again, harder this time.

You can’t keep up with the speed of it, the way he’s pushing you toward a part of the alley where the shadows swallow you whole. His hands move over your body, finding the zip of your jacket and pulling it down. Every touch, every movement sends you spiraling. There’s no waiting this time, no slow build-up. It's frantic, raw, like you’re both trying to chase the same thing.

You help him out of his jeans, the fabric sliding off his legs just as you pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hits your bare skin, but Harry's warmth, the heat of his body, is enough to make you forget the chill.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he lifts you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrap around his waist. His lips are back on yours, and you can feel the intensity building again, the desperation of it. You feel his cock against you, and a shiver runs through you at the feel of him, so close, so desperate.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as his hands find their way to your hips, guiding you toward him. The way his fingers dig into your skin makes your heart race even faster.

The way he enters you, quick and relentless, takes your breath away. The world narrows down to the sensation of him filling you, the rhythm of his thrusts, the pressure in all the right places. You meet him with equal urgency, the rhythm between you sharp and frantic.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to build, for the world to go blurry and insubstantial. You’re caught in the force of it, lost in the way his body moves against yours, in the sound of his breath, his low groans as he pushes deeper.

It’s raw, fast, just what you both need to feel alive. The noise around you fades into nothing. All that exists is him—his touch, his body, the overwhelming heat that’s too much and not enough at the same time.

And when you reach the edge, when everything seems to come apart at once, you feel him release into you, his grip tightening as he lets out a low, guttural sound that makes you dizzy. It crashes over you like a wave, pulling you under, and you cling to him, riding the wave of pleasure until it finally fades.

You both stand there for a moment, catching your breath, leaning against each other for support. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, still breathing heavily. “You good?” he asks, his voice soft but rough from the intensity of it all.

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him, feeling the aftermath of everything. You didn’t know it would feel this good—this easy, this undeniable. But it does.

“I’m good,” you reply, your hands still on his chest, feeling his heartbeat match your own.

He smirks again, leaning down to kiss you one more time, his lips soft now, slower, almost tender. "This isn't over," he murmurs against your lips. "We’re not done yet."

You pull back slightly, looking at him with a knowing smirk of your own. "I think we both know that."

...

A few days later again, and the night is loud, the music and chatter from the party blending with the thrumming bass of your own pulse. You're moving through the crowd, adrenaline pulsing, and you know exactly where you're heading. You don’t need to find him—Harry’s always in the same spot, tucked away from the chaos, waiting for the perfect moment.

You don’t waste time looking for him. As soon as you find him, you step into his space without hesitation. He’s leaning against the wall near the back of the venue, his eyes immediately finding you as you approach. The air between you thickens, a knowing tension hanging heavy in the seconds before you speak.

He smirks, his lips curling, but his eyes are dark with something more dangerous. “You alright?” His voice is low, deliberate, the edge of it making your pulse quicken.

You don’t answer with words. You reach up, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and pull him into a hard, bruising kiss. The kind that burns, urgent and hot. No hesitation. No sweet words. You’ve had enough of waiting, of being passive.

Harry’s hands find your waist, but you don’t give him the chance to pull you closer. Instead, you shove him back, pinning him against the wall with your body. His breath hitches, and for a moment, you feel his control slipping.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not this time,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire. “I’m in charge tonight.”

Harry’s lips part, a flicker of something dark passing through his gaze. He’s caught off guard for a second, but the challenge only fuels him. He smirks, but it’s different now—almost predatory. “You sure about that?”

Without answering, you grab his wrist and tug him toward the back hall. There’s a small storage cupboard just around the corner, hidden from the rest of the crew. You reach it quickly, slipping inside with Harry close behind you, your back pressing against the cool metal door.

The moment the door closes behind you, it’s like the world shrinks to just the two of you. There’s no one around to stop it, no one to see what happens next. And that’s exactly what you want.

You waste no time, pushing him up against the shelves, the sound of metal scraping against the wall echoing in the small space. Your hands are on him instantly, pulling at his jeans, your mouth on his neck, the heat between you rising fast. There’s no teasing, no soft caress—just the immediate pressure of wanting him, needing him, right here, right now.

Harry’s hands come to your hips, fingers digging in as he tries to guide you, but you won’t let him. You’re not here for him to control. You kiss him again, harder this time, your hands undoing his belt, unzipping his jeans with quick, practiced movements. When you pull him free, his breath catches in his throat, and you feel him twitch under your touch.

“You think you can just take over?” Harry’s voice is low, rough, and it makes your pulse race even faster.

“You’re about to find out,” you respond, your voice steady despite the heat building inside you. You drop to your knees in front of him, not wasting a second before you take him in your mouth. It’s quick, sharp, the way you want it. His groan fills the small space, and you feel the way his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you closer.

You know he’s holding back, fighting against the rush of pleasure, but you won’t give him the chance to regain control. You move faster, harder, your mouth working him while your hands hold his hips still, forcing him to take everything you give him.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, his voice strained, low. His grip on your hair tightens, his chest heaving as he struggles to stay in control. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

You look up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. It’s almost like he wants to push you away, take the lead again, but he can’t. Not now. You’re too far in control. You pull away for a moment, and his eyes flicker to yours with frustration.

But before he can say anything, you grab his wrist and pull him into the corner of the cupboard. The cramped space forces you both closer, heat between your bodies rising by the second. You push him back against the shelves, your hands sliding over his chest before you drop to your knees again, taking him in your hand, guiding him where you need him most.

This time, there’s no slowing down. You lower yourself onto him in one quick motion, feeling the stretch of him fill you completely. The angle is different, sharper, and the way he groans under you sends a thrill of power through you. You move against him, setting the pace, your body riding him with the urgency of a fire you can’t put out.

His hands grip your hips, but you don’t let him take over. You fuck him harder, faster, feeling the pull of your body tightening with each movement. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the small space, your breath coming in quick bursts, matching the frantic rhythm between you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice low and raspy as his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. He’s close, you can feel it. But you don’t stop. You drive yourself harder onto him, taking him deeper with each thrust.

The heat builds, pressure coiling tighter and tighter until, with one final, sharp push, you both come undone. The force of it takes you by surprise, your body trembling as you collapse against him.

You’re both breathless, sweaty, and still reeling from the intensity. Harry holds you close for a moment, his hands running up and down your back, trying to steady both of you. You pull back slightly, looking up at him with a smirk.

“You didn’t think I could take control, did you?” you tease, your voice husky with satisfaction.

Harry chuckles, his lips brushing your forehead as he presses a soft kiss there. “You fucking blew me away, love,” he mutters, his voice filled with admiration and something else—something you can’t quite place.

You smile against his chest, the rush of power fading as you both come back down. You’re not done, not by a long shot. But for now, you both stay there in the cramped storage cupboard, tangled in each other’s arms, letting the aftermath wash over you.

For now, it's just you and him.

...

The next day, you walk into your hotel room, exhausted from the day's events, only to find Harry waiting for you. The door clicks shut behind you, and before you can say anything, he’s there, stepping toward you with that same confident smirk on his lips. His eyes are dark, and his stance says it all—he’s taking control again.

You try to keep your cool, but your pulse is already quickening. You hadn’t expected him to follow you, hadn’t thought he would be here, but now that he is, there’s no denying what’s about to happen.

“Still thinking about last night?” he asks, voice low and teasing, as he reaches you in two strides.

You can barely find the words. All you can do is stare back at him, your body reacting before your brain can catch up. “I thought we agreed—”

“We did,” he cuts you off, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, sending a shiver through you. “But I think it's my turn again.”

His mouth is on yours before you can protest. It’s a demanding kiss, his lips parting yours with purpose. His hands quickly make their way to your body, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of him, the hard press of his chest against yours. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to think. He knows what he wants, and he's making sure you know it, too.

“Take your clothes off,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, but his eyes never leave yours.

Your body moves almost involuntarily, your shirt falling to the floor as he watches, his gaze intense. There’s something about the way he looks at you now that sends a rush of heat to your core. You can feel your body responding before you even realize it, your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer.

With one swift motion, he pushes you back toward the bed, never breaking eye contact, his hands on your waist, guiding you down. You’re almost powerless against his grip, the way his hands are everywhere, touching, exploring, pulling you closer.

"Stay still," Harry growls as he hovers over you, his lips trailing down your neck. His touch is rough, deliberate, his hands gripping you like he owns you. You try to fight it, try to hold on to some sense of control, but it’s impossible.

His mouth moves to your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, leaving marks, branding you in a way that only he can. "You’re mine, remember that," he mutters against your skin, before trailing his lips lower, down your chest.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, his fingers are at your waist, slipping under your waistband. You tense at the suddenness of it, but there’s no stopping him. He doesn’t give you a chance to breathe before he's moving, quickly and efficiently, pulling you closer, his mouth returning to your skin.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding over your hips, his touch like fire.

He flips you onto your stomach before you can even react. His hands grip your hips, pulling them up, positioning you exactly the way he wants you. You brace yourself, knowing what’s coming. It’s not gentle. He’s not gentle. His hand smacks against your ass, hard enough to sting, and you gasp.

“Don’t move,” he growls, his voice rough as he enters you in one swift motion. The force of it makes you cry out, the suddenness taking your breath away.

He doesn’t wait. His thrusts are relentless, harsh, driving into you with a power that has your body shaking. There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing tender. It’s all control, all power, and you can’t help but give into it, letting him take you in a way that only he can. The bed creaks beneath you, his hand still gripping your hip with a bruising force, and the sound of his skin meeting yours fills the room.

He’s rough, pushing you to the edge, your body moving with his, the tension building in your stomach. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his pace quickening. The marks on your neck throb with every movement, the bites and bruises adding to the intensity. You can feel him everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his body against yours.

It’s not long before you feel the tension snap, your body clenching around him as you cry out, your release crashing over you. Harry doesn’t stop. He keeps going, chasing his own release, his grip tightening as he finishes with a low groan, his body shuddering against yours.

He stays inside you for a moment, his hands resting on your hips, before he pulls out slowly. You collapse onto the bed, breathless, the marks on your neck and hips still stinging with the reminder of what just happened. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the marks he left, his lips lingering on your skin.

"Next time, don’t try to fight me," he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make sure you remember who’s in charge.”

You can’t help but shiver at the thought, your body still tingling from the aftermath. Harry pulls away, his expression smug as always, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

...

The night air is thick with the promise of something to come, the city lights flickering below as the storm clouds gather above. You’ve been feeling the electricity between you and Harry all evening, the kind of tension that only seems to grow the longer you spend together. Tonight, something is different—there’s an undeniable pull that neither of you can ignore.

You’re in Harry’s hotel room, lounging on the couch, the hum of the city barely reaching your ears through the thick glass windows. Outside, the wind picks up, and you catch the first few drops of rain against the glass. You glance over at Harry, and your heart races at the sight of the mischievous grin that’s spreading across his face.

“You know,” he starts, voice low and tempting, “I’ve got a better idea than staying in here.”

Before you can ask, he’s already pulling you to your feet, his hand gripping yours with a firm urgency. The way his eyes glint with intent sends a thrill running through you, your pulse quickening. Without a word, he leads you to the door, and your stomach flips with the knowledge of what’s about to happen.

As you step into the hallway, the sound of rain grows louder, and Harry’s grip tightens around your wrist, guiding you toward a hidden staircase. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, a devilish smile tugging at his lips.

The air is charged with something unspoken, and as you ascend the stairs, you can feel the growing anticipation, your heart thumping in your chest. The storm outside is starting to pick up, a low rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. As you reach the rooftop door, Harry opens it, and the full force of the rain hits you—cold and sharp, the droplets crashing down as you step onto the wet rooftop.

The view is breathtaking, the city sprawled out beneath you, the sky above heavy with rain. You can hear the sound of water pounding against the pavement, but it doesn’t drown out the rush of your heartbeat as Harry turns to face you. His lips are on yours before you can even think, hot and insistent despite the cold rain soaking through your clothes.

“You’re crazy,” you murmur between kisses, your hands gripping his shirt as the rain drenches you both.

“You have no idea,” Harry replies, his breath hot against your ear. He pulls back for a moment, looking down at you with that smirk of his. “Let’s take this somewhere... a little more private.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabs your hand and leads you toward the far side of the roof, where a small, secluded corner offers some shelter from the storm. The wind howls around you, but the heat between you both only intensifies. Harry’s fingers work their way down your body, pulling you closer, your breath coming faster.

He presses you against the wall, his lips finding yours once more in a kiss that’s rough, desperate. His hands slide under your clothes, the cold rain making his touch even more electric against your heated skin. There’s no teasing this time—he’s all urgency, a desperate need that matches the pounding rain around you.

“Harry,” you gasp, your hands pushing his shirt off, “we shouldn’t be—”

But you’re cut off by his mouth trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands push you further against the wall. His words are muffled against your skin. “We don’t need to care about that now, do we?”

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins as you feel his hands tugging at your clothes, eager, impatient. The rain pelts down harder, drenching both of you, but it only makes everything feel more intense—more real. You’re soaked, and yet there’s nothing about the cold that can stop the heat building between you two.

He drags you up against him, his lips moving with feverish need, kissing you in the rain like it’s the only thing that matters. You can barely keep up as he lifts you, pressing you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes you further into the corner.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice rough and low as he grinds against you. His hands roam, exploring, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough. You respond with equal hunger, the rain streaming down your face, the world falling away as you lose yourself in him.

His lips trail down to your neck, biting into your skin, leaving a mark that’s sure to last. The cold rain and the heat between you are at odds, yet they make everything feel more electrifying. You can’t stop your own moans, your fingers tangled in his wet hair as you pull him closer.

“Harry,” you whisper, your voice breaking as he moves faster, more urgently, each thrust more demanding than the last.

With each breathless moment, you know this won’t be the last time you end up like this—caught between the madness of the storm and the chaos of everything you two are. You’re both drenched, but it doesn’t matter. The rain may fall, but it’s the fire between you that keeps you both burning, relentless, until the world outside seems to disappear.

...

A few weeks have passed since that first hookup with Harry, and the tension between the two of you has only grown. The encounters have become more frequent, more intense. Sometimes it feels like there’s no hiding what’s between you, even though you’re doing your best to keep it under wraps. Harry’s smirks have become a constant, and the moments when he looks at you with that knowing glint in his eyes have started to make your stomach flip every time.

The bands—5SOS and One Direction—have started picking up on it, though no one’s come right out and said anything yet. There’s an unspoken feeling in the air, a shift in the dynamic, but everyone’s too polite—or too unaware—to confront it directly. The only one who seems to have picked up on something more than the others is Ashton. He’s been quieter, his eyes lingering on you with that concerned look you’ve come to recognise. He’s your brother, and you know him well enough to know that he senses something, but hasn’t quite put his finger on it.

You’re sitting backstage, your guitar resting on your knee, the hum of voices and instruments in the background. You’ve been working on a new song—one that’s personal, raw, and a little too close to the truth for comfort. The lyrics have poured out of you, each word more revealing than the last. It’s about what’s been happening with Harry, about the passion, the uncertainty, and the way he makes you feel all at once. You’ve titled it “English Love Affair,” a playful nod to the chaos of your tangled situation.

It’s time to show the guys. The atmosphere is a bit lighter today, everyone milling around in a relaxed mood after a long rehearsal. You grab your guitar, your fingers hovering over the strings as you make your way to where 5SOS and One Direction are gathered. Ashton notices you first, giving you a small smile, though his eyes still hold that familiar concern. The others are scattered around the room, laughing, teasing, but there’s a flicker of interest when they see the guitar in your hands.

“Got something to share, love?” Louis calls out from across the room, his voice loud and playful.

“Yeah, she’s been working on something,” Niall adds, eyeing you curiously.

You take a deep breath, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You’d been writing for months, but this one—this one feels different. The song is about Harry. About all the emotions, the heat, the connection, and the chaos of what you two have been doing. You’re not sure if you’re ready to show them yet, but if anyone’s going to understand, it’s them. You know how to separate your personal feelings from your music, but with this song, it’s a little harder to mask it all.

“Yeah,” you reply, strumming a few notes to test the sound, “it’s... a new one.”

Ashton steps forward, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. His eyes are on you, searching, but there’s a quiet understanding there, even if he’s not sure what’s going on. You meet his gaze, offering a quick smile before looking down at your guitar.

The guys quiet down as you start to play, the melody flowing easily as you strum the chords. Your voice fills the space, the words slipping out with a raw honesty that makes your heart race:

“It started on a weekend in May I was looking for attention, needed intervention Felt somebody looking at me With a powder white complexion, feeling the connection

The way she looked was so ridiculous Every single step had me waiting for the next Before I knew it, it was serious Dragged me out the bar to the back seat of her car”

As you sing, the room grows quieter. The words, the rawness, the honesty—it’s clear this is something personal, something deeper than the usual pop tunes they’re used to hearing from you. You continue, each verse building with the tension that’s been hanging between you and Harry:

“When the lights go out, she's all I ever think about The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain I can't forget, my English love affair Today, I'm seven thousand miles away The movie playing in my head of a king size bed means I can't forget My English love affair My English love affair”

The last chord rings out, and the room is silent for a moment. You lower the guitar, waiting for their reaction, your heart thudding in your chest. Ashton is the first to speak, his voice quiet but steady.

“So, what’s this really about?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and something else—something you can’t quite read.

You don’t know how to answer. The song is about him, but it’s not. It’s about the complications, the passion, the messiness of what’s been happening between you two. It’s about more than just sex—it’s about feelings, connection, confusion. But you know the guys won’t get that. They’ll just hear the lyrics, the heat, and they’ll know. They’ll know exactly what you’ve been hiding.

You hesitate for a second, then shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s just a song. You know, inspiration. Whatever comes to mind.”

But Ashton doesn’t seem convinced. His gaze sharpens, and you can feel him trying to decipher what’s going on. The others, though, are still taking it in, the intensity of the lyrics lingering in the air.

“I mean, it sounds like something... more than just a song,” Luke says, his tone casual but with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re not fooling anyone,” Michael adds with a smirk.

You try to laugh it off, but Ashton’s stare is unwavering. He’s not buying it. He knows something’s up, and though he’s not pressing you for answers, you can feel the weight of his silence.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just some fun lyrics.”

But in the back of your mind, you know that everything is far from just “fun” anymore. The song says it all, even if you’re not ready to admit it.

...

It’s late, long after the song reveal. The buzz of everyone’s reactions still lingers in the air, but you’ve distanced yourself from the others, needing a moment alone to process it all. You’re sitting in the corner of your hotel room, the soft hum of the city filtering through the window. The lyrics you poured out have left you raw, the reality of what you’ve been doing with Harry settling heavily in your chest.

Writing the song made you realize something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge before: you want more. This—whatever this thing is between you and Harry—isn’t enough. It’s thrilling, electric, and addictive, but it’s not real. And you can’t keep letting it consume you if it’s never going to be anything more.

The knock at your door startles you. You already know who it is before you even open it. Harry stands there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk in place. But there’s something more in his eyes tonight—a flicker of something softer, almost vulnerable.

“You were brilliant today,” he says, his voice low. “The song... it’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” you reply, your voice quiet but steady. You step aside to let him in, but as you close the door behind him, you already know how this conversation will go.

Harry wastes no time. The moment you’re alone, he steps closer, his hands finding your waist as his lips brush against your neck. “You know,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, “I can’t stop thinking about that song. About you.”

You place your hands on his chest, stopping him gently but firmly. “Harry,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

He pauses, pulling back slightly to look at you. His brows furrow, and you can see the confusion in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, your words steady but heavy with meaning.

His hands drop from your waist, and he steps back, his expression shifting to something you can’t quite read. “What do you mean?”

You meet his gaze, determined not to waver. “I mean this. Us. These... hook-ups, the sneaking around. It’s not enough for me, Harry. Writing that song—it made me realize I want more. I can’t keep doing this if it’s never going to be anything real.”

Harry’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he might argue. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know how complicated this is,” he says, his voice quieter now. “With the bands, the press... everything.”

“I know,” you reply, your tone softer but still firm. “But that doesn’t change what I want. I can’t keep being this... secret. If you don’t want more, then we need to stop.”

The room feels heavy, the weight of your words hanging between you. Harry looks at you, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right thing to say. But he stays silent, his hesitation speaking louder than any words could.

You feel your chest tighten, but you force yourself to stay strong. “I care about you,” you continue, “but I can’t keep pretending this is enough for me. So unless you’re ready to make this real, we go our separate ways.”

Harry’s gaze drops to the floor, and you can see the conflict written all over his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I mean it, Harry,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks back up at you, and for a moment, you think he might say something—anything—to fight for you. But instead, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart aches, but you know you’ve made the right choice. You step back, giving him the space to leave, and after a long, silent moment, he does. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your emotions swirling as you try to process what just happened. It hurts, but deep down, you know you deserve more. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love you out loud, someone who will choose you without hesitation.

And if Harry isn’t ready to be that person, then it’s better this way.

...

The greenroom hums with pre-show energy—chatter, guitar tuning, the low buzz of excitement. You sit on the couch, your notebook resting on your lap, though the words you’re scribbling barely register. The tension in your chest is suffocating. Since giving Harry your ultimatum, he hasn’t acted on it, and it’s tearing you apart. Worse, the teasing from both bands has started to escalate as they slowly piece things together.

“So, Y/N,” Louis calls out, his grin mischievous, “who’s the muse behind your little ‘English Love Affair’ masterpiece?”

Your head snaps up, heat crawling up your neck. “It’s just a song,” you reply quickly, forcing a light tone.

“Sure,” Niall drawls, smirking. “Except it sounds like someone’s been dragging you up staircases and kissing you in the rain. Pretty specific, if you ask me.”

Michael leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “And the sudden obsession with scarves? You trying to start a trend or cover up some marks?”

Liam chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Definitely the latter,” he murmurs, though there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“I knew something was up,” Luke adds, his teasing smirk widening. “You’re glowing, Y/N.”

“Alright, alright,” Calum cuts in, laughing. “Who’s the mystery guy? Come on, spill.”

The room falls quiet as everyone turns their attention to you. Your heart pounds, panic tightening your throat. Before you can stammer out a response, Ashton’s voice cuts through the noise.

“That’s enough,” he snaps, his tone sharp and unyielding.

All heads swivel to him, the easygoing atmosphere evaporating. He pushes off the wall where he’d been leaning, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes dart between you and Harry, narrowing as the pieces click into place.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Ashton’s voice is low, but the anger simmering beneath it is unmistakable.

Your stomach twists as the room goes deathly silent. Harry, sitting on the armrest of a nearby chair, stiffens but doesn’t look away.

“Ashton—” you start, your voice trembling, but he holds up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” Ashton says, his gaze locked on Harry now. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Harry rises to his feet, his expression calm but guarded. “Ashton, I—”

“You’ve been sneaking around with my sister,” Ashton interrupts, his voice rising. “Sleeping with her behind everyone’s back? Leaving marks all over her? And now you’re stringing her along like she’s some casual hookup?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “It’s not like that,” he says firmly.

“Oh, really?” Ashton’s laugh is cold and bitter. “Because it sure as hell looks like you’re screwing her over—physically and emotionally—while you figure out whatever it is you want.”

“Ashton, stop!” you plead, stepping forward, but Zayn gently places a hand on your arm, holding you back.

“Let them talk it out,” Zayn says softly, though his dark eyes are watchful.

Harry steps closer to Ashton, his voice tight but steady. “I care about her,” he says. “More than you can imagine.”

“Then why are you hurting her?” Ashton demands, his face red with anger. “You’re leaving her bruised, confused, and heartbroken, Harry. That’s not love—that’s you being a selfish prick.”

“I know I’ve messed up,” Harry snaps back, his composure finally cracking. “I know I’ve handled this all wrong. But I’m not using her. I’d never do that to her.”

Ashton scoffs, his fists clenching at his sides. “You already are. If you cared about her, you’d stop treating her like some dirty little secret and give her the respect she deserves. She’s not just some girl you can screw around with—she’s my sister.”

Harry flinches at that, the weight of Ashton’s words visibly sinking in.

The tension is suffocating, the room silent except for the heavy breaths of the two men squaring off. Finally, Louis breaks the silence with an awkward cough. “Well… this is fun,” he mutters, earning a glare from both Ashton and Harry.

“Ashton,” Liam says gently, stepping forward. “Maybe give them a chance to work this out?”

“There’s nothing to work out,” Ashton retorts, his eyes narrowing. “Harry knows what he needs to do. Either step up or stay the hell away from her.”

“Ashton, I can handle this,” you say, your voice trembling but firm.

Ashton looks at you, his expression softening slightly, though the anger in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I hope so, Y/N,” he says quietly. “Because you deserve better than this.”

He turns and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The echo rings out in the silence, leaving everyone in a tense, uneasy stillness.

Harry turns to you, his face unreadable. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

You nod, though your chest feels tight. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Because the truth is, neither of you are okay.

...

The steady patter of rain against the hotel window is the only sound in the room as you sit on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed, your fingers lightly tapping the sheets. You’ve been staring at the door, thinking about everything that’s happened—the conversation with Ashton, the way he confronted you, and how much of your own behavior you’ve been running from.

When the knock comes, you know it’s him.

“Come in,” you call out softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

The door creaks open, and Harry steps inside, looking hesitant but determined. His hair’s damp from the rain, his jacket clinging to his shoulders. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just looks at you, eyes searching, waiting for permission.

He steps closer, his voice low when he speaks. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the way I’ve been handling this... or not handling it.”

You don’t respond immediately, your mind racing with the weight of everything. You’ve been torn in so many directions lately, guilty for the way you’ve been playing this game with him, unsure if you were using him to fill a void, or if it was something deeper.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were nothing more than a distraction,” Harry continues, his voice thick with sincerity. “But I’ve been acting like I don’t care about you, and I do. I care about you more than I’ve let on.”

You take a slow breath, looking up at him. “I’ve been stringing you along too, haven’t I?” you say quietly, the guilt surfacing. “I let things go on like this—casual, no strings, knowing full well that I wanted more, but not giving you a chance to show it. I made it so easy for you to stay at arm’s length, but I don’t want that anymore.”

Harry’s face softens, and he steps closer, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover near yours before finally resting gently over them. “I’m glad you said that,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “Because the truth is, I’m scared too. Scared of what this means for us, for the band, for everything. But what I’m not scared of is you. I don’t want it to just be a fling anymore. I want this. I want you. For real. Not just when it’s convenient or when we’re sneaking around.”

Your heart flutters as you take his words in, your fingers curling slightly around his. You’ve heard him say things like this before, but now—this feels different. There’s no more running, no more hiding.

“I want that too,” you say softly, your voice steady, though a hint of uncertainty lingers. “But we both know this isn’t easy. I can’t keep doing this with you unless it’s real, Harry. No more games, no more keeping it quiet. If you’re in this, then I’m in it too. But I can’t keep pretending, not anymore. And if you can’t do that, then we’ll have to go our separate ways.”

Harry swallows, his gaze intense as he watches you. He’s not looking at you with the same playful glint as before. This time, it’s sincere, the weight of his words matching the look in his eyes.

“I’m in it,” he says quietly, nodding. “For real. I want you, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, to show you it’s real. I’m not backing down this time.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening with relief. There’s something so final about his words, something that makes you feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter.

“Okay,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “No more pretending. We do this, or we don’t. But I’m not looking back.”

He leans into your touch, pressing his lips to your palm gently. “I don’t want to look back either.”

The moment stretches between you, the weight of the words still lingering, but now there’s a sense of peace—a promise that this, whatever this is, will be real.

You lean in, closing the distance, your lips brushing over his in a kiss that’s softer than the ones before, but carries the weight of something much more substantial. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“We’ve got this,” he says quietly, a hint of a smile curving on his lips.

The quiet between you both is comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. For once, there’s no rush. No expectations. Just the two of you, finally on the same page. Harry stays close, his hands gently brushing against yours as he leans back against the bed, pulling you with him. You settle into his arms, your body fitting perfectly against his.

The only sounds in the room are the soft rustle of the sheets and the gentle rhythm of your breaths. Harry’s fingers trace small circles along your back, as if memorizing the feel of you in his arms, and you do the same, your hand resting over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice low, a little hoarse from the emotion of the conversation, though it still holds that warmth you’ve always loved.

You nod, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “Yeah. I’m good. It feels like… everything makes sense now. Like I’m not pretending anymore. Like this is real.”

His lips curl into a soft smile as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I want you to know, Y/N, that this is real for me. All of it.”

The words linger between you both, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. They feel freeing. The quietness of the room feels like a safe cocoon, a place where nothing needs to be rushed, where there are no games, no pressure. Just the quiet rhythm of the two of you, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

You press your lips to his, gently, a soft kiss that’s slow and unhurried. It’s not about passion in this moment. It’s about connection. About feeling the weight of what’s changed between you both. The kiss deepens, but it doesn’t push for more—it’s tender, the kind of kiss that’s meant for taking your time, for savoring what’s just beginning to unfold.

Pulling back, you rest your head on his chest again, your eyes fluttering closed. His arm wraps around you, holding you close, and you feel the warmth of his body seep into yours, grounding you in this moment.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

His fingers continue their gentle movements against your skin, and the steady beat of his heart becomes the rhythm that lulls you into sleep. The world outside the room feels miles away, and all that matters is the feeling of his arms around you, the peace of knowing that this—what you two have—is real.

You drift off to sleep, wrapped in the comfort of him, the quiet promises of the night hanging in the air. It’s the first time in a long time that you feel truly at peace, knowing that you’ve found something that isn’t fleeting, that isn’t just a momentary thrill. This is real. This is yours.

And as you fall asleep, the last thought in your mind is that you’re not just a fleeting part of Harry’s life anymore—you're something more. And for the first time, you believe it.

...

The next morning, the air feels lighter between you and Harry, a sense of calm settling over you both. The conversation from the night before has laid the foundation for something real, and while there’s still a part of you that’s nervous about what comes next, there’s no more uncertainty between you two. You know where you stand, and you know that this time, it’s different.

You’re sitting with Harry in the common area, trying to act like everything’s normal. You’re not hiding anymore, but the rest of the bands are still operating under the assumption that something’s been happening between you two for a while now. Their teasing comments have become more frequent, but there’s an undertone of curiosity that lingers.

Harry catches your eye across the room, his expression soft. He stands up, extending his hand toward you, and you know what’s coming. You take a breath, pushing aside any remaining nerves as you reach for his hand.

“Oi!” Louis calls out, noticing the two of you getting up. “Where are you two off to?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you closer, his arm resting around your shoulders as he walks you toward the others. The whole room falls silent as you approach, the energy shifting instantly.

Ashton’s eyes narrow on you both, but there’s a look of relief in them now, even if he’s still on edge. Niall raises an eyebrow, still unsure of what’s going on. Luke and Michael are watching carefully, their expressions unreadable but attentive. Calum glances between you and Harry, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips as he folds his arms. You glance at the floor, feeling the weight of their eyes on you as Harry gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ve got something to say,” Harry begins, his voice steady but there’s a slight tension in his jaw, as if he’s bracing for their reactions.

You take a deep breath, your nerves a little more palpable now that you’re in front of everyone. This feels like a big moment—like things are finally being put out in the open. You’ve kept this secret for too long, and now, there’s no turning back.

“We’re together,” you say softly, your voice clear but quiet. “For real this time. Not just... whatever it was before.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the reactions come fast.

“Oh, thank god,” Niall says, a grin spreading across his face. “You two have been dancing around this for ages. About time you made it official.”

“I knew it,” Louis adds with a smirk. “You two were always making eyes at each other. It was only a matter of time.”

Harry laughs, his hand tightening around yours. “Yeah, well... we had to figure things out first. But now we’re here.”

Ashton crosses his arms, his expression a little more guarded. He’s trying not to smile, but you can tell there’s still a hint of protectiveness in his eyes. He looks at Harry, then at you. “I just want you to know, Harry,” he says, his voice low, “if you hurt her again, I won’t hesitate. You’ve got one chance to make it right.”

Harry nods immediately, without hesitation. “I know, man. I won’t hurt her. I care about her too much for that.”

The tension eases a bit, but Zayn and Liam exchange looks, their expressions still weighing the situation. Zayn’s lips curl into a small smile, but he remains quiet. Liam gives you a warm look, the faintest glimmer of approval in his eyes. It’s clear he’s not against this—it’s just new territory for everyone, and a lot has changed in the time since the last time they saw you and Harry together.

“So, we’re all good then?” Niall asks, a grin still on his face.

You nod, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter, your voice steady now. “Yeah. We’re good. We’re not hiding anymore.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest, like everything is finally falling into place. It’s not perfect—it’s never going to be—but it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you’re not running from it.

Ashton looks at Harry one last time, then nods, a little less tense than before. “Alright. I trust you.”

Harry’s face softens, a grateful look crossing his features. “Thanks, Ash.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, and suddenly, it feels like things are less complicated. Everyone’s starting to come to terms with it, the unspoken questions beginning to fade away. For the first time, there’s no judgment, no tension. It’s just you and Harry, and the rest of the band, finally adjusting to the new normal.

Luke looks at the two of you, a knowing smirk on his face. “Alright, alright. So when’s the wedding?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Not that fast, mate.”

Michael laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, but at least it’s not a secret anymore.”

Calum chuckles, nudging Luke. “Maybe they’ll invite us to the wedding. They’ve been keeping us on the edge of our seats for far too long.”

The banter continues, but there’s a sense of ease in the air now. No more secrets, no more uncertainty. And as Harry pulls you close again, his hand resting on your shoulder, you feel like this is just the beginning. This time, it’s real. And you’re ready for whatever comes next.

[azuredawn81]

please read later | connor bedard x gf!reader

❅ summary: connor’s relationship has been falling apart. it’s totally his fault. he put all his focus on hockey, but the blackhawks just keep losing and he keeps failing and it’s draining him. it’s drained him to the point where he physically cannot be present.

❅ pairing: connor bedard x reader

❅ content: angst

❅ word count: 1k

❅ prompt: hours outside in the snow - modern baseball

❅ warnings: none

❅ note: i also have a really fire poem written for this song prompt - mutuals dm me

❅ tags: @dream-girl06 @Summert158 @lekkerfrikandelletje @camiesully

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

I spent all of Christmas Eve fake angry at you for

Who knows what now or then

he wasn’t even mad. every point y/n had made was valid, every statement accurate.

“it’s like you don’t even care anymore!”

“i do care!”

“no, you’re always gone. you never check in.”

“that’s not true.”

“connor, as soon as you leave chicago, it’s like my number is no longer on your phone!”

he couldn’t remember anything else she had said. she was right. he was wrong. he was a terrible, sorry excuse for a boyfriend. she was a saint. she deserved better.

I spent all of Christmas Eve trying to get warmer

After standing outside for hours

Knowing at this point I'd be

Lucky to get any sleep

And I'll toss and turn until the early morning

after the argument, connor had stormed out of the apartment, more willing to face the chicago cold than his girlfriend’s gaze. the snow fell like tears, each snowflake landing perfectly on his eyelashes, mixing in with his sobs. as he kept walking down the street, he saw families in windows. bright, smiling, happy couples with laughing kids. candles in windows, trees with lights, street lamps glowing like the moon. his last straw was passing by a brownstone, a couple grinning ear to ear in matching pajamas on the first floor. he sat on the sidewalk, sinking into the snow, his head in his hands.

he was there for a few hours, when an elderly woman came up.

“son, are you okay?”

“yeah, i’m… i’m fine.”

“you should be home, it’s christmas.”

she walked with him back to his apartment. “i’m sure she loves you. don’t give up on her.”

y/n was asleep in their bed, with every good blanket. shivering, connor put on flannel pajama pants and a blackhawks hoodie, doing anything he could to warm up. he sat in front of the heater, his hands out close enough to burn, like he had been selling matches.

he curls up next to the heater, trying to conserve heat. all night, his teeth chattered and he tried to get comfortable on the floor, to no avail. he couldn’t sleep even if he was comfortable. she was on his mind.

'Cause what's better than seeing

What I'm missing daily?

every day was the same. she had lectures, lab, study group meetings. he had practices, games, media appearances. it was just too much. he could tell how much happier she was at uchicago, anyone could tell. sometimes, it felt like he only knew about her life from her instagram stories. her perfect, polished instagram stories. ones that screamed “single and loving it”. except, she wasn’t single and she was miserable.

“maybe if you treated me like your girlfriend instead of your roommate, i’d be happier around you.”

“i try, y/n! i try every day!”

“no, you don’t!”

“yes, i do!”

“you come home at 11pm, all “i’m so tired”, and when i try to do anything, you’re like “not tonight”.”

“that’s not my fault! sorensen has me on ice the entire game!”

“so you’re too tired to snuggle your girlfriend? too tired to say “i love you”? too tired to let me make sure you’re not bruised?”

“i can check myself for bruises!”

“that’s not the point, connor!”

“look, i’m sorry i don’t cuddle you. are you happy now?”

“god, connor, how do you not understand how much happier i am away from you?”

I guess what I'm trying to say is that

You might run, oh but

I won't hide, shed an

Ounce of light on my half-

Hopeless life

“i don’t know what to do, kevin. i love her so much.”

“tell her that. don’t let her go.”

“she’s already gone.”

he hung up the phone and pushed open the apartment door.

“y/n?”

“kitchen.”

he walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “you feeling alright?”

“yeah, i’m fine.”

he pressed a short kiss to her neck, his lips lingering. “sure?”

“yes, i’m sure.”

“i love you.”

“love you too.”

he nuzzled his face against her shoulder.

“connor?”

“yes?”

“are you okay?”

“it’s… tough. on the ice.”

“i bet.”

“i feel like i’m failing everyone.”

“not me.”

“y/n, can you promise me something?”

“of course.”

“remember how i was during the off-season?”

“yeah?”

"Don't let me go back"

But since you've taken the time to read so carefully

Everything I've ever sent

I guess I'll spend the next few lines hoping and wishing

Yet thanking appropriately

she always read too much into things. everything was falling apart and it was all his fault. she deserves better. he knows better than to act like this, pretending he can be the guy she needs.

connor quietly made his way into their shared closet and began to pack his clothes, his toiletries, anything he would need. he filled his duffel bag and suitcase with his whole life, except his most important items: the framed picture of him and y/n, sitting on the nightstand by her phone, and the bracelet she had made him. he traced the characters on the beads, the glossy black “bedard 98” shining in the light of his phone flashlight.

he grabbed a piece of paper from her journal and a pen, her pink glitter gel pen, and began to write his last words to her. every word was about how he wasn’t enough, how sorry he was that he wasn’t there, how in another life, where he didn’t play hockey, they could’ve stayed together. he was not in a good place to be a good boyfriend and nothing brought him joy. she deserves joy. she deserves the world. but he couldn’t give her that.

to y/n

Please read later

'Cause I don't think I have the heart

To let you read this now

But if I had the heart, oh

You know that I know better

This isn't how you say aloud

Oh, say aloud:

"Don't let me go back"

don’t come looking.

love,

connor

[frostara]

Challenges

Cregan Stark x Karstark!Female

Synopsis: It takes some time to get to know each other, and lots of words to understand.

Wordcount: 2k

Tags: characters miscommunicate at first, but overall fluff, Cregan is 17, Astrid is 15

Notes: Hi! This could be read as chapter 2 for this work, but does pretty well on its own. All thanks to one person who asked for a second part - I hope you'll like it </3 I wanted to describe Cregan and Astrid the way they are - youthful people, with their own beliefs that are sometimes wrong (Astrid is so silly I love her) and quick to change temper. I worked on this drabble a little harder and hopefully, it was worth it!

Winterfell was like a living being—always alert and ready, yet calm and composed. It thrived with the quiet bustle of its people, the rustle of dry bushes, and cold of its stone walls. A guarded place, where the only thing Astrid had to worry about was herself. At least for now.

One moon have passed since she was wed to the Lord of the Winterfell, and yet, she felt rather wary of him. Cregan, whom she called so yet in her mind, was always surrounded by either maister-at-arms or castellan, which left her seeking his attention that he could not give.

Though, Astrid would be forever ungrateful if said that she was entirely alone. She had grown quite fond of maester Alvin, an old grey-haired man, but skilled and cunning like no one. He often inquired after her well-being with genuine courtesy and shared his wise thoughts, for which she was forever grateful.

Yet the companionship of one old master could not fill the void of loneliness. Her handmaidens, taught to serve their lady quietly, rarely spoke unless adressed directly. To make them speak freely was a challenge, but one she welcomed.

"My Lady, Lord Cregan sent me to let it be known that he awaits you in Godswood, and I am to accompany You on Your way," said Ethel as she entered chambers after a gentle knock. She was a pretty girl, not much older than Astrid, and probably the one she was fond of.

"Right. Well then, let us not keep the Lord waiting," - Astrid replied, standing perhaps more quickly than intended, letting Ethel drape a warm cloak over her frame to shield her from wind in this chilly weather.

As they made their way, her nervousness spilled in questions she bothered Ethel with: "Was Lord in a good mood? Did he seem upset with anything? Was he alone?" She could swear on all Old Gods that Ethel was laughing at her, but skillfully maintained her composure. Though, Astrid was too nervous to pay attention to that, pressing on. Luckily, the walk was short, and soon they were able to see the red leaves that framed the massive tree. Ethel bowed and turned her back, leaving Astrid to herself.

She took a moment to steady herself before stepping closer to where Cregan stood. She felt cold seep through her body, making her shiver. Heart tree was there, proudly emracing everything with its branches as if hiding from the sky. He looked like a real Stark, in a place he was always supposed to be. And Astrid was just a huble guest, even if being his wife. Light wind was playing with his dark hair, moving leaves casting shadows on his stern face.

"My Lord wished to see me?"

He turned to face her, his black eyes softening slightly as a polite smile tugged at his lips. "I did. I wish to know how my Lady fares."

Cregan walked towards her, and it was only then that she noticed a crimson leaf he was holding in his hand. She returned his smile, though uncertain of what to say. He seemed to be unbothered by silence that layed between them, as he studied her appearance. During their wedding he barely payed attention to her. Perhaps, that was why he was observing her so carefully now.

"I am very happy to be here," - Astrid nodded to her words, as if to make sure he believed her. "Winterfell does not cease to amaze me."

Cregan hummed to himself, not really putting his mind to her words. He seemed lost in thoughts, and these thoughts were far away from here. Far from her. She felt subtle sting in her when she thought of it. Why did he call her, if he still did not care about her being?

He was still holding the leaf in his callused hands, twirling it with his fingers when he brought it to her, putting it in her braided hair.

"Red suits you well. Has anyone told you that before?"

He murmured, seeming to be pleased with his work, running his fingers along her braid, his lingering touch leaving Astrid speechless. Her eyes widened as she tried to hide her confusion. He was gentle, almost reverent, and it warmed her heart in a way she never felt before. Was this the first time he truly saw her as a wife?

"No, my Lord. I believe you are the first to notice."

Cregan took his hand away from her hair, offering his elbow for her to grab. "Very well. Let us walk, I would not wish for you to get cold while standing here," - as he put his hand on his sword.

Astrid hesitated a moment before wrapping her fingers around his clothed arm, feeling the soft fur and fabric of his cloack, contrasting with his cold and rough to touch sword, accepting the offer. It pleased her more than she cared to admit to spend time with him in the godswood, a sacred place. Though it was still a mystery to her, what made him be so attentive to her today?

It was very quiet there, only rare birds chirping and leaves rustle could be heard. Astrid took a deep breath, enjoying frosty and fresh air that smelled of wood and earth. She found this moment very peaceful, this walk was a sweet gesture and it was not nice of her to doubt her husbands kindness.

"I have been thinking about our marriage," Cregan began after a while. "It seems to me that I have not fulfilled my duties to you. For this, I ask your understanding, and, perhaps, your forgiveness."

Cregan turned his gaze to her, awaiting what she has to say. She was now taken aback by his words. A suspicious thought was starting to form in her head - his previous behaviour could not be judged, it fitted his position. But these gentle words now were not sounding like the ones he would actually say. An odd feeling took place in her, yet, she could only listen to him right now.

"It is no secret to me how tiring your position may be," she started carefully. "And I could never hold it against you."

She studied his face, searching for any sign of anger or discomfort. Yet a gnawing curiosity urged her to push further. Astrid evased any other words from him, now being curious to get an answer for her thoughts:

"My Lord, if I may ask, did someone suggest that you speak to me like that?" - she stopped, making her husband follow her action, now facing each other. He was confused, and he could not hide that, making it obvious he was not prepared for such confrontation. Astrid believed there was also a hint of irritation in his expression.

"In what way are you implying this?" he asked, his tone guarded but lacking the harshness she feared.

Cregan even forgot to adress her properly. It made Astrid smile ever so slightly, now making her scared that she could offend him with her words.

"Do not misunderstand me, my Lord, but your actions are...rather opposing your character, which makes me suggest that you might have sought an advice about our relationship from someone."

She tried her best to sound friendly and not too arrogant, but confused look on his face eased her worries - he probably could not be angry with her now, that he looked so amusing. Astrid awaited patiently, when he finally spoke up.

"First of all, do not jest with me in such a way," he replied, his voice firm but lacking true anger. "I may be your husband, but my behavior is none of yours to question."

He glanced away, looking in direction of a bird that landed on a low-hanging branch nearby. The pause gave Astrid a moment to collect herself, and she only smiled at her thoughts, now being more confident to continue.

"Forgive me," her tone sincere. "I only wanted to make sure I understood the situation well." She reached out, lightly tugging on his sleeve to draw his attention back to her. The gesture startled him, and instinctively, he caught her hand in his. For a moment, they stood frozen, her smaller hand caught in his. He did not let go, and his grip, though firm, was not harsh.

Wind sent another gust as couple of bright red leaves fell from tree, falling at their legs. Laying onthe ground, they could be mistaken for small pools of blood. It sent a shiver down Astrid's spine, the movement was visible for Cregan. It made him snap from frozen state as he let her hand hung in the air, bringing his own to his sword, slight embarrasment from an intimate moment made him cough, as if to shift their attention away.

But Astrid still was confused. Was she right then? Perhaps, her behaviour made it impossible for her Lord to seek her company? She felt nervousness fill her heart once again, making her clasp her hands together on stomach, as if trying to calm herself down.

"Maester Alvin is someone you could consider guilty," Cregan's voice cut through silence, breaking the formed pause.

"Though, I believe, his intentions were kind."

"Should I be grateful for it then?" she bit on her inner cheeck, fidgeting with cold fingers. Astrid felt emarrased: she probably looked so stupid right now; her concern made her act very rude, or atleast, that is what she believed.

"You could at least try to not to be mad at me."

He rubbed the back of his neck, as if looking for the right words. The situation they currently trapped themselves in was quite awkward. Astrid hummed softly at his words in an attemp to answer, but words would get stuck in her throat.

"I am not mad, my Lord" - it was all she could mutter, before quickly facing him away. She was definetly not acting like a modest lady right now. But who was to blame for that?

"Cregan."

Astrid blinked, turning her head back at her husband.

"Call me by my name. You are my wife, you have such right." He shrugged, an unsure smile tugging at his lips.

This time, he held out his hand to her.

"I believe we will have many days to continue this argument, if you wish that," she took his hand, now holding it gently, but with a firm grip, returning his favour as she unconsciously smiled herself.

"But we had spent more than we should have time here. Let us head back to castle, before anyone starts looking for us."

Their way back was more pleasant, as the silence that followed them was now a welcomed one, sometimes interrupted with quiet laughter.

[maxybabyy]

an unfortunate habit of sleeping with the elves is absolutely sending me im giggling so bad

happy holidays to you and yours, anon 😘

Inspired by the tags on this post.

Maxiel: Dirtbag Daniel, twinky Max, mature, 957 words

“It’s just two of you this year, but I take it that’s fine with you,” Seb says and shoves the suit into Daniel’s arms. Red and sweaty with an under-note of alcohol that probably shouldn��t be around kids. “Try not to fuck the elf, will you? Or at least don’t do it on company fucking property.” 

Daniel tuts, “Learned from the best, mate.” 

Seb shoots him a glare like the two of them didn’t make Christmas come early for Mrs. Claus three years ago. 

“Just, please,” Seb stresses, and Daniel thinks maybe the promotion was a mistake after all. There’s too much tension in his shoulders now, wrinkles where they shouldn’t be. And there’s no fucking way Lewis will look at him twice if he loses more hair. “Anyway, it’s a guy this time, so maybe that will stop you.” 

Daniel hasn’t really dabbled much with guys outside the occasional handjob when a threesome had gone wrong, so it does put a damper on his plan but Seb doesn’t have to know that. He could have changed in the past years, sucked a cock or fucked that twink who always blushes when he comes by to unclog his mother’s drain. Probably wouldn’t go over well with the mister, fucking both his son and his wife. But like, Daniel could have done it. 

“And happy fucking holidays to you too, Sebastian,” Daniel tells him and pushes open the door to the changing room. “See you on new years.” 

There’s the whoosh of the door closing behind him and then - 

“Oh, hello,” someone says, halfway down the bench. “I am Max. I will of course be your elf.” 

Daniel doesn’t move, stays rooted in his spot by the door as he watches Max stare up at him with a wide smile. 

He’s young, way too fucking young, and that’s not usually a problem for Daniel, but this is just fucking indecent. 

His face is all sharp angles, the recent loss of baby fat obvious, and the fatness of his lips makes him look obscene, tongue poking out to leave behind a sheen of spit. 

It probably does nothing for how fucked up his lips are, cracked from the wind and cold weather, and Daniel has half a mind to throw him the menthol lip balm Michelle makes him carry around. Instead what he wants is to run his tongue over his lip, suck it into his mouth until whatever energy drink he probably gargled down before coming here is soaked into his taste buds. 

Max is still bent over the bench, one foot shoved into the same sheer tights of green and red that Daniel has diligently peeled of the other elves before he fucked them. The same thigh-length dress has been thrown to the floor with no considerations for Max’s obvious dick-situation, which - 

“No underwear mate?” Daniel blurts out. 

He has a side view of Max, but it’s so fucking obvious how cheeked-up he is from the lack of boxers. The pale skin of his thighs and ass is dusted with fine, blonde hair, and Daniel is almost sure the carpet matches too. 

Which, you know, still begs the question of why the cradle-robbee is fucking naked in a mall locker room. 

“What?” The kid says and straightens up, both feet dropping to the ground. He looks ridiculous like that, Donald Duck-ing it in his Stanford varsity soccer shirt and nothing else. “Oh, you think -“ 

Daniel drops down to sit on the bench, hands held up placatingly, “Hey man, you do you, yeah? Just, we’re gonna be around kids, so.” 

He’s not the one catching a case if his ass falls over. Seb’s gonna be livid, but that’s not - 

Max hikes his shirt, bunched up under the swell of his pecs to show off a distressingly small waist, moles scattered across pale skin. His stomach is flat, trim muscles with just the tiniest curve to his hips, and even if it hadn’t been for the shirt, the yellowed knees are clear signs of his time on the field. 

But that’s not - 

There’s a band around his waist, just the tiniest slip of cloth over his dick, and Daniel almost thinks he’s wearing a thong, but matching pieces of elastic frame the swell of his ass on either side.

It reminds Daniel of high school varsity sports, of communal showers and coming down the drain when everyone but Scotty and him had left. 

Because the kid is wearing a fucking jock strap, and Daniel doesn’t think his mouth has ever been this dry. 

“With the tights, I thought of course it would be better like this,” Max says and turns around, shows off his ass and how his shirt falls over it. “Always you cannot see the lines like this.” 

He pulls the fabric tight over his ass, and like, the kid is right, but like, Daniel is so clearly not looking for the seams of his fucking underwear like this. His hands twitch in his lap to keep himself from reaching out, touching the swell of his ass. 

Daniel thinks, maybe if he curves his palm just right, he could probably hold a cheek in each hand. Fingers spread wide so his thumbs would fall just on the insides of his thighs, barely a slip away from being inside Max. 

“Cool,” Daniel says hoarsely. 

His knees creak when he stands up but he’s too busy staring at the kid staring back at him to care. So obviously looking for something else, something more, that Daniel doesn’t know what he is supposed to do but reach out and slap his ass. 

Max’s breath hitches, the skin of his ass turns scarlet, and Daniel burns with it. 

“Well done, kid.” 

[eleu22]

Sweaty Palms - Chapter One “The Skeptic”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!reader

tags: brief description of injury

masterlist

——————

“What? I think we could do with’a bit of a feminine touch, ay LT?” Soap smirks, turning to nudge the lieutenant with his elbow.

Ghost doesn’t reply, but the unimpressed look he fixes Soap with says enough. The briefing room is quiet, besides the scot’s incessant chatter, a few quips from Gaz and the rhythmic hum of the projector. The cool winter air slips through the poorly insulated window, but to Ghost the room couldn’t feel warmer.

There is undeniably an air of… excitement? Maybe that’s not the right word, it’s anticipatory, like the bit before a roller coaster drops, or the moment before a bomb detonates. Either way, Ghost isn’t thrilled.

The masked man tunes out the sargeants as he stares at the door, as if he could telepathically explode the next person who dared to enter with his glare alone.

When Price broke the news to them, they could all practically feel the blood clot forming in the lieutenant’s forehead.

The first thought to the man’s mind was simply, why? We are doing just fine without anyone else’s help, I’ve stitched myself more times than I can bloody count.

Secondly, how? Ghost would trust Price’s judgement with his life, he has, literally, but this? How could he allow this? Price knows better than anyone: one wrong element could throw everything off. A stranger in their ranks is a liability waiting to happen. What if she’s an enemy undercover? What if worse she’s incompetent? What would they-

Ghost’s thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the click of the door handle. Any lingering conversation is brought to an abrupt stop as the team’s eyes snap to the front of the room.

In walks Price, followed closely behind by Honey. The sound of their boots echoed sharply in the quiet briefing room. Honey walked in with a steady confident stride- not cocky, but assured. Her millitary-issued white compression shirt clung to her frame, the camo pants snug around her hips, emphasising her- okay enough. Ghost’s jaw tightens as he forces his gaze upward. She was shorter than the rest of them, shorter than him by a good head, Ghost feels his boots shift in irritation, how is she going to keep up?

They both stand at the front of the room, their figures cast in the faint blue glow of the projector. Price didn’t waste time, his voice cuts through the silence like the crack of a whip, listing off information Ghost already knew.

The lieutenant had all but demanded to read her file, Price (albiet hesitantly seeing the man’s less than cheerful disposition) handed over her file. Ghost had read it more times than he’d care to admit, trying to pick apart every line and word for some sign of… well he’s not sure what, but something. He could recite the information like a parishioner knew the words of the liturgy.

Sargeant Honey, Jesus what kind of name is that?

Green Beret, American.

Combat Medic, Useless.

grew up in Lynchburg, Virginia, oh, really, American.

SERE training, Tactical Emergency Medical Support, cross training in close quarters combat and weapons proficiency…

Even Ghost had to admit, at some level she was impressive, especially for a woman. Regardless, none of this brought the man any comfort, if anything, this was going to make her harder to shake.

As Price continued to speak, a light tap on his thigh yet again interrupted his inner hate-monologuing. Ghost doesn’t move, but he can already imagine the expression on the scot’s face. Soap was really the only one who didn’t have any reservations about Honey coming along, in fact he seemed a little too pleased at the idea of her addition.

Fuckin’ hell, Ghost internally sighs, the man acts like women are some rare commodity. Ghost looks at Soap out of the corner of his eye, who, as expected, has a toothy grin sat on his face. Well no wonder, Ghost muses the mohawk must definitely not be doing him any favours in the dating scene. The man is a fucking dog, one look at him and you’d be able to see it. This makes him a good soldier and (though you couldn’t waterboard this information out of Ghost) a good friend. But this makes Honey’s inclusion all the more a liability.

Ghost turns his attention back onto Honey. Price has finally finished and turned to her. In contrast to her entrance she gives the team a sheepish smile, her arm rubs up and down the length of the other behind her back.

Honey’s soft lips part, as she turns her eyes to the rest of the room.

“It’s a pleasure to able to work with you all… I’ve heard great things.”

Her voice drips down the back of his throat, warm freshly stirred honey. There’s something slightly awkward about the way she speaks too, like that sharp little aftertaste left behind, but warm, it's undeniably warm.

Huh, I guess her callsign makes sense.

There is something so sickly sweet about the woman, something you don’t come across in the army.

Trying to imagine her in active duty, bullets cutting through her saccharine voice, blood dripping down her soft fingertips, as she shoves the innards of some poor fuck recruit back inside of them. It’s unnerving.

Ghost suddenly feels his balaclava all too tight around his neck, his sleeves rub up against his wrists as he shifts them uncomfortably. The man simply stares ahead, ignoring the flirty wave Soap returns to her. Under the table he begins to pick at his fingernails through his gloves, as if he needed something to stop him from shoving her up against the wall and demanding her to spill, to hear her voice break, to look directly into her eyes and to disembowel every tightlipped secret she’s ever held.

Ghost bristles at the thought, weirdly, he hopes he gets the opportunity.

——————

okokok this is the first chapter!!!!!! lmk what yall thinkkkkk

the next one is gonna be another expositiony one shes gonna be really ethel cain core so be excited xxxxxxx

taglist: @creepingeva @identity2212 @brokenghostgirl1 @honestlymassivetrash @ang3lc

[steddieas-shegoes]

homemade with love

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'stocking'

all of my holiday drabbles will be from the bear hugs universe. many of them could probably be read standalone, but will make the most sense and be enjoyed best if you read that first!

rated t | 582 words | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff, good parent eddie, good parent steve

🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦🧦

Eddie is sitting at the sewing machine when Steve walks in the kitchen, humming to himself with his tongue poked out in concentration. Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to interrupt whatever he’s so focused on.

The whirring of the sewing machine is loud, and Steve is a little worried it might wake Sawyer up after he just managed to get him to sleep for the night, but just as he’s about to say something, it stops. Eddie holds up what he’s working on and grins.

“It’s perfect.”

Steve raises a brow as he steps closer to see what he’s been working on.

It has the shape of a Christmas stocking, but it looks like-

“Rory gave me her old hockey socks to turn into a stocking for Sawyer. I fixed the hole in this one,” Eddie points to the gold one that’s taking up the backside of the stocking. “And sewed them together. The top part is the special ones we got her for holiday camp last year.”

“I see,” Steve takes it into his hands and flips it back over to the front. Eddie’s embroidered Sawyer Munson in gold to match the back. “He already has a stocking, though.”

“But that’s from a store. This is handmade. Way more special.”

Eddie is so excited, and Steve thinks it’s amazing the time he’s put into it, but one thing is at the front of his mind. Something that he knows Eddie didn’t purposefully ignore.

“Is Rory getting one?” Steve asks.

Eddie’s face falls.

“Shit.”

Steve smiles sadly. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t forget. I swear.”

“It’s okay. Rory has a special stocking so it wasn’t your first thought. I just wanna make sure it is a thought,” Steve says before kissing Eddie’s forehead and walking over to the fridge to get a drink.

Eddie is quiet. The sewing machine doesn’t start back up.

Steve looks over and sees him biting his lip, trying to hold back tears.

“Baby, it’s okay.” Steve walks back to him and pulls him close, holds his head against his stomach and runs his fingers through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t want her to feel forgotten,” Eddie admits, voice broken.

It was one of the biggest holdups they had with having a baby. They never wanted Rory to feel like they loved a child they had together more than they loved her. She would always be their first.

“She doesn’t.”

“I asked her for her old socks to make this! What if she thinks I love him more than I love her?”

Steve huffs out a small laugh. “She knows you love her so much. You don’t need to worry, baby. We could grab my old socks and make her one?”

“Could we?” Eddie tilts his head back, looking up at Steve with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Sure. I’ll get them now, but she’ll be dropped off soon so you may wanna wait to make it.”

Eddie nods and hands Steve the stocking he made for Sawyer.

“I’ll clean all this up and then make pancakes for dinner,” Eddie says excitedly.

Steve shakes his head fondly. “Just try to keep it down. Sawyer’s sleep-“ A cry is heard from Sawyer’s nursery and Steve sighs. “Never mind.”

Eddie gives him an apologetic smile, but continues his tasks.

Steve stops at the fireplace before going to Sawyer’s room, hanging up the new stocking and wondering how he got so lucky to have all this love in his home.

[littlespacereader]

Merry Christmas!!💚❤️🎅🎄🎁

Happy Holidays everyone! Thank you to everyone who voted on the Christmas fic idea. I really hope you enjoy this fic! I wrote a lot more than I was expecting but I couldn’t stop myself, I truly fell in love with writing this story! Thank you for an amazing year! I hope you, your friends, family and loved ones have a great holiday season! - Clara💞

Blues Clues Christmas💙🐾

Caregiver! Steve Burns & GN Little! Reader (SFW!)

Tags- Christmas fluff, hand holding, being picked up, forehead kisses, searching for clues, dog licks, and typical blues clues fluff!

My eyes start to flutter open to a frosty Christmas Eve morning. Wait… ITS CHRISTMAS EVE!!! I jump up and look outside and it’s still snowing!!!

I turn and shake Steve to wake up, “Steve!! Steve!! It’s Christmas Eve!!”

I hear him chuckling before he stretches, starting to wake up. “Someone’s excited for Christmas.”

“I am! I can’t wait to-.” I’m interrupted by Blue, jumping into the bed and licking my face. “Blue! Good morning! Merry Christmas Eve!”

Blue smiles to me and barks, just as excited for the day ahead. I hold her in my arms, turning as we look to a disheveled Steve sits up in bed.

“You two are wide awake,” he chuckles, “Come on you rascals. Let’s get some Christmas Eve breakfast.”

Blue jumps from my arms and heads towards the kitchen. But before Steve and I go, he leads me to the bathroom first, “Come on little one, let’s get you changed and ready for the big day.”

With a quick pit stop to the bathroom, brushing our teeth, getting changed into our outfits, we set off to the kitchen hand in hand.

“Bonjour Y/N!” Mr. Salt comes to the edge of the countertop.

“Good morning Steve!” Mrs. Pepper joins him.

“Good morning!” I say to put, taking a seat at the table next to Blue.

Steve grabs a cup of tea for himself and a sippy cup of fruit juice for me. Then we settle in and have a small breakfast together with Blue and the spice family.

“So what’s the plan today Steve?” I ask, eager to get our Christmas Eve started.

“Well,” he put his tea cup down, “I was thinking we could stop by and give out invitations to Christmas, maybe some cooking…”

“Leave the cooking to us.” Mrs. Pepper winked.

“But what about tonight? The night before Christmas?” I ask again.

But this time it’s Blue’s turn. She barks and spins around before putting a blue paw print on the table.

Steve and I gasp. “BLUE’S CLUES!!!”

“That’s a great idea Blue!” Steve smiles, “We’ll play Blues Clues to see what we should do tonight after dinner.”

“So we need to keep our eyes out for three clues!” I cheer from across the table.

“Yes! And I have a very important job for you Y/N.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out his handy dandy notebook. “I want you to be in charge of my notebook today.”

I’m speechless taking the notebook carefully. I stare at it in disbelief, “Y-You want me to hold onto it?”

“Sure! I could use your help today finding all of Blue’s clues. Are you up to the task my little sidekick?” He winks.

“Yes!! Yes!! A million times yes!!” I almost jump from my seat.

“Then let’s starts our adventure!” Steve finishes his tea and I finish my juice before we set out to the living room.

“Alright. Now on top of finding Blue’s clues, we also have to give out our Christmas invitations. We have three stops.”

He holds out the cards, “One is for Magenta, one is for Josh, and one is for Joe. We’ll need to make sure we stop at everyone’s house so they know they’re invited tomorrow. I’ll have you be in change of holding onto the cards.”

He hands me them and I look at the cards in awe, “You want me to be in charge of the cards too?”

“Of course! I know you can do it! But if you’re feeling overwhelmed or like it’s too much responsibility, you let me know okay?” He reassures.

“I will but, I’ve got it.” I smile back to him.

“I knew I could trust you! Now, let’s head out.” He goes to open the door but I stop him smiling, “Steve wait.”

“What’s wrong little one?”

“We need our coats, hats and gloves.”

With a small gasp he nods, “You’re so right. How could I be so silly? You’re so smart!” He praises. “Let’s get our winter gear.”

“First we’ll put on our coat…” he puts on his green stripped coat that matches his usual shirt. He turns and grabs my coat, helping me put each arm in the sleeves, then zipping it right up.

“Great. Next we’ll put on our hats…” he grabs his green hat and puts it on, then does the same for me. “Comfy?” He asks getting a nod from me.

“Finally we’ll put on our mittens.” A green pair for him of course, then a pair for me. “Let me see their hands.” He waves his hands up like crazy, I giggle and follow suit.

“Alright! Looks like we’re all set. But first, do we need anything else before we leave? A snack, a quick trip to the bathroom?”

I pause, thinking it over. “Bathroom?” I say shy.

“Good idea. Let’s make a quick stop before we go.” He takes my mitten hand in his mitten hand, heading back to our bed room. After taking care of business, we’re right back to it!

“Okay! Are you all set? Ready for our Christmas Adventure?” He smiles.

“Yes! Let’s find out what Blue wants to do tonight after dinner!” I squeeze his hand.

“Great! Let’s go!”

~~~

We step outside to our frosty front yard. It snowed a few days ago and everything still looked so beautiful, like a winter wonderland.

We leave our little yellow house and start walking down the street, saying hi to those who pass us. I stick close to Steve, holding his hand as we approach our first stop, Magenta’s house.

“Would you like to ring the bell or would you like me too?” He ask, looking over to me.

“Can you?”

“Of course I can.” He leans forward ringing the bell. We wait maybe a minute before Magenta runs to the door and right over to us.

“Magenta!! So good to see you!” I giggle as she jumps up and licks Steve and I.

We follow after her into the house and find Blue sitting at a coloring table with Magenta. “Oh hi Blue!”

Blue smiles and barks back, but then I see it.

“STEVE! A clue! A clue!!!”

“I know Magenta really flew!”

“No!” I giggle shaking my head to Steve, “A clue!” I point to the blue paw print on the piece of paper.

He gasps. “A clue!! Great job Y/N!! You found our first clue! But…what is it?”

“It’s paper Steve.” I giggle some more. He’s so silly sometimes.

“Ah! You’re so right, it is paper. You know what this means, we need our Handy Dandy…”

“Notebook!” I hold it out for him.

“Notebook! That’s right. Thank you sweet one.”

He takes the notebook, pushing the crayon through the top and flipping to a new page.

“So our first clue is paper. We start by drawing a straight line at the top, then a line down, then another line at the bottom and one up to connect at the top. There, paper!”

He stops and thinks looking over to me, “But what could Blue want to do after dinner tonight with paper?”

“Maybe she wants to draw some more?” I offer.

“Maybe…but we better find more clues to make sure.” We nod together.

“Here,” he hands me the notebook again, “for safe keeping.”

I turn and put the notebook back in my pocket. But then I remember our second mission!

“Magenta!” I grab the invitation from my backpack and hand it to her, “You’re invited over for Christmas tomorrow!”

Magenta lights up running around and barking. She runs over to me and licks me as a thank you. “Oh! You’re welcome! I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!” I smile back.

“Alright! You two have fun! We have more invitations to send out!” Steve holds his hand out to me which I gladly take. Together we wave goodbye to Magenta and Blue before leaving.

Then we’re back to it, making our way down the street to the next house. “Uncle Josh!!”

“Yeah! Next is Uncle Josh! I’m sure he’ll very excited to come over.”

We walk up the steps to the blue house which belongs to Josh. “Would you like to do the honors this time?” Steve asks and I quickly nod, reaching forward and ringing the bell.

Soon Josh arrives at the door, his face lighting up to see is. “Y/N! Steve! What a wonderful surprise!”

“Uncle Josh!” I run forward and give him the biggest hug.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!!” He wraps his arms around me, hugging me just as tightly. With a kiss to my forehead, we break apart.

I stick close to him, resting against his side. He notices this and wraps an arm around me. “So what brings you two here?”

“We’re looking for Blue’s Clues!” Steve replied.

Josh gasp, “Special Christmas Eve Blue’s Clues! This must really be important!”

“Have you see any around?” I ask.

“Not that I know of but-.” He looks around, “maybe another set of eyes could help!”

He takes my hand in his, leading me into his living room with Steve following behind.

“Actually I could use the two of yours help.” Papers laid all over his living room.

“You see, there was a mistake at the print shop and now all of my stories are messed up. Can you help me tell which is the real story.”

“Yeah!” I bounce beside him.

Josh smiles, squeezing my hand, “Great! Okay here’s the first one. Is it Little Bo-Peep lost her sheep or her cows?”

Steve and I think for a moment. Then it hits me, “It’s her sheep!”

“Ohhhhh.” Josh and Steve say in unison. “You’re right! It is her sheep!”

Josh smiles back, “Good job Y/N!” He puts the paper in a pile. “Okay here’s the next one, Little blue or red ridding hood?”

Again, we all stop and take a moment to think. “Red or blue…red or blue…” Steve says to himself.

“Red!” I chime in.

The two again, look in awe of me. “You’re right! It’s Little Red Riding Hood. Amazing Job!” Josh praises some more, putting the paper in the pile.

“Alright! Last one, Old MacDonald had a mansion or a farm?” Josh reads the papers.

Again, we all take our time to think it over.

“I’ve got this one!” Steve chimes in, “But…just to be sure, what do you think Y/N?”

“I think it’s a farm!”

“I think so too!” Steve cheers on.

“Great job you guy!! You helped me put my stories back together!”

I cheer us on but then pause as my eyes hit upon Josh’s pile of stories. He must’ve seen it at the same time as me because Josh and I turn and look at each other at the same time.

“A clue!!” We say in unison.

“A clue?! Where?” Steve leans over.

“On the stack of stories.” Josh points out.

“So our next clue is a story…” I think.

“You know what this means, we need our Handy…Dandy….” Steve smirks.

“Notebook!!” I hold it up.

“Wow!! Steve let you hold his notebook! He must really trust you Y/N! What a big honor!” Josh praises me making me blush.

“Thank you.” I smile, handing the notebook to Steve.

He takes the crayon out and flips to the next page. “So our next clue is…stories. We’ll make a square with some squiggly lines in the center for writings. Then we’ll repeat this on the other side so we have two pages. There! A story!”

Steve lifts his head and looks to Josh and I. “But what could Blue want to do tonight after dinner with paper and a story?”

The three of us sit and think for a minute. “Oh!” Josh suddenly says “Maybe she wants to make her own stories!”

“Ohhhhhh.” Steve and I say in unison.

“But we better find the last clue, just to be sure.” I remind them as Steve hands me his notebook back.

“Definitely!” Josh smiles.

Mail time! Mail time! MAAAAAAIIIIILLLLLL TTTTIIIIIIMMMMEEEEE!

Steve and I gasp! “The mail is here!!”

Before we run out the door I stop, grabbing my backpack and pulling out Josh’s invitation. “Here Josh! It’s your invitation to Christmas tomorrow at our house.”

“Really?! I’d love to go! I’ll see you then Y/N.” With one last hug from Josh, I’m sent off with Steve back home for the mail!

We put our stuff down by the front door as Steve starts to sing, “Here’s the mail, it never fails, it makes want to wag my tail, when it comes I wanna wail, mmmmaaaaiiilll!!!”

I giggle, joining Steve on the mmmaaaiiilll part.

We take out seats on the thinking chair. Steve in the center of the chair while I sit on the arm. Mailbox comes in through the window with a Christmas hat on.

“Mail’s here! Mail’s here!!” He happily cheers.

“I thought the post office is closed on holidays?” I ask Mailbox.

“It is! That’s very smart of you Y/N. The post office is closed on major holidays, but this arrived this morning for the two of you.” He opens up and inside of a red and green letter.

“We just got a letter, we just got a letter, we just got a letter, wonder who it’s from.” Steve smiles, opening the letter. He pauses and gasps, looking at me. “It’s from Santa.”

My eyes widen and I gasp as well, “SANTA?!”

“Yes! It says:

Dear Steve, Blue and Y/N,

You’ve all been very good this year. I look for to visiting your house tonight. Make sure not to stay up too late and please leave out some milk and cookies if you can.

Sincerely yours,

Santa Claus❤️”

I beam with excitement. “Santa’s coming tonight!!!!”

“Yes he is! We need to figure out what Blue wants to do tonight so we get to bed at a good hour and don’t accidentally see Santa Claus.”

Just as Steve says that Blue runs by. “Follow that dog!” I giggle, grabbing my backpack by the door and running after her.

“Wait up Y/N!” Steve calls after me.

Blue stops in front of a picture of Joe’s present shop. She barks a cute little song before she…goes into the picture?!?! I stare in disbelief.

“Where’s Blue?” Steve asks catching up.

“She…she’s in the picture.”

“Ohhhh she skidooed into the photo.”

“Skidoo?”

“Yeah! We can do it too! All you have to do is rock your leg and arms with me. Ready?” I nod following his lead.

“Blue skidooed we can too!” Suddenly we shrink and go into the picture frame!! Where once we were in our house, now we’re in the picture, or more specifically, outside Uncle Joe’s present shop.

“Wow!!” I smile to Steve, “That was awesome!”

“Isn’t it?” He smiles back. We turn and look to the present shop. “It’s my brother Joe’s present shop!”

“He’s the last invitation we need to hand out!”

“You’re right! Let’s head in and see what he’s up to.”

Inside the present shop was busy! Presents being wrapped and sent in all sorts of directions. Joe usually helps Santa out with the wrapping this time of year and it seems like this year was no different!

There, in the center of it all is Joe, making sure everything is in working order.

“Uncle Joe!!” I run into the shop and right over to him.

He immediately lights up seeing me, opening his arms and holding me in a tight hug. “Y/N!! Sweetheart!! It’s so good to see you!!”

He lifts me into his arms, holding me on his hip. “What brings you here today?”

“Well we’re on the hunt for Blue’s Clues.” Steve says as he joins us.

“Special Christmas Eve Blue’s Clues huh? What have you got so far?”

“We’ve got paper and stories.”

“Paper and stories…” Joe starts to think, “Now I wouldn’t want to say anything until you have the third clue, but…have you thought about maybe Blue want to make her own stories?”

“That’s what Uncle Josh said!”

“Really? So he copying me now?” Joe smirks.

“You’re copying him silly!” I giggle.

“Am I now? Am I?” He spins me around making me giggle more.

“How are the presents coming by?” Steve asks.

“Everything is going according to schedule. Santa should be ready to head out as soon as tonight!”

Suddenly my eyes catches something, I look closer and it’s….

“A clue!! A clue!!”

“A clue?!” Josh and Steve say in unison. “Where?”

“There!” I point to the square box cutter. “It’s a clue!!”

The two gasp, “You’re right Y/N! It’s one of Blue’s clues!! Good eye.” Joe praises

“The final clue is a square!” Steve examines the clue.

“Notebook!” I hold it out to Steve.

“Our handy dandy notebook! Thank you Y/N.”

“You’re holding Steve’s notebook? That’s such a big honor. Steve must really trust you.” He praises.

I beam with happiness, “Yeah! It’s a big honor.”

“So, the shape of a square. We’ll make one line at the top and equal size lines going down the sides and one at the bottom. There, a square.” Steve explains, showing the two of us the drawing.

“It’s our last clue!!” I cheer.

“Our last clue?! You know that that means, it’s time for our thinking chair!!” Steve cheers.

Joe sets be back down but before Steve and I go I stop and grab my backpack. “Uncle Joe! I almost forgot!”

I hand him the invitation, “You’re in over for Christmas tomorrow!”

“I am!” He looks at the invitation, “I’d be honored. I’ll see you tomorrow kiddo.”

I take Steve’s hand and wave goodbye to Joe. Once out of his present shop we skidoo back to our house. Then it’s off to the thinking chair!

Steve and I sit in our thinking chair. I hand him the notebook and we start to go over our clues. “So now that we’re in our thinking chair, let’s think. What does Blue want to do tonight after dinner? What was the first clue?”

“Paper!”

“That’s right! We saw the clue at Magenta’s house. But…what was the second clue?”

“Stories!”

“Yes! We saw the stack of stories at Josh’s house.”

“And the final clue is a square at Uncle Joe’s present shop.”

“So, what does Blue want to do tonight after dinner with paper, stories and a square?”

We sit and think…and think…

“What if…” Steve starts out saying, “she wants to write Christmas cards and put them in a box?”

“But then what would be the clue about stories?”

“Right…you’re so right….” Steve goes back to thinking.

There’s a moment of silence as the two of us think. Blue runs over and joins us as we think and think.

“I’ve got it!!” I suddenly say. Steve and Blue look to me. “She want to read a storybook after dinner! That would explain the paper as pages, the stories in the book and the square shape is the book itself!”

Steve lights up with the realization. We look to Blue who barks and spins around with conformation.

“You did it Y/N! You figure out Blue’s Clues!” He wraps his arms around me and picks me up, bringing me into a tight hug. “You are so incredibly smart! I am so proud of you Little one.”

I giggle and hold him close. “Couldn’t have done it without you Steve.”

“Aw! You’re sweet but I think the smartie here is you.” He smiles back, holding me in his arms.

“Steve! Y/N! Dinner is ready!” Mrs. Pepper calls from the kitchen.

“Oh! It’s dinner time! Come on, let’s go.” Steve carries me into the kitchen where everyone is seated at the big table for Christmas Eve dinner. Everyone is there, side table, slippery soap, the whole spice family, even mailbox.

We all have a nice tasty dinner together. Laughing and having fun with friends and family around.

Then like Blue ask, we all gather in the living room together. First we set out some milk and cookies for Santa along with some carrots for the reindeer.

Steve and I cuddle close together on the couch, Blue in my lap and a Christmas book in his hand. With his arm wrapped around me he begins to read, “‘Twas the night before Christmas…”

Somewhere in the story I fall asleep against Steve. With a kiss to my forehead, he picks me up and brings me into the bedroom.

~~~

It’s Christmas morning!!! I jump awake and shake Steve to wake up. “It’s Christmas morning!! Santa came!!”

Steve laughs and yawns waking up. “Good morning Little one, merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas Steve.” I smile back.

Blue jumps up into the bed and licks the two of us. I giggle, “And merry Christmas to you too Blue!”

We get out of bed and go right to the tree. True to Santa’s letter, we have plenty of presents under the tree!! I gasp, grabbing Steve’s when pulling him along to the tree.

The morning is spent unwrapping and exchanging gifts with everyone in the house. Then company comes over right after. First Magenta runs in and plays with Blue.

Then Josh and Joe come over. “Where’s my favorite Little?” Joe calls from the door. I come run over and reunite with my uncles. “Y/N! Thank you for inviting us!” Josh adds, the two smiling.

The rest of Christmas Day is peacefully and fun. Spent with loved ones and family alike.

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.” Steve wraps his arm around me, kissing my forehead. Blue jumps up and kisses the two of us, ending the best Christmas ever!

[fromkenari]

@alliwantforchristmasislou

I don't talk about my identity a lot because I live in a town in the 2/3rds of the state that is red despite it being a blue state. I'm not accepted, nor is it really safe for me open about it beyond my friends, and the sad thing is I have only one other friend in this town with the same pronouns as me and my friends, all of whom are queer positive and a bunch of whom are queer themselves don't use the correct pronouns for my other friend who uses them or me because well, you know, transphobia but they claim it's because using "they" in a singular sense is just too awkward for them to do that for my one other friend who uses they/them and me. And I could talk about the suicide rate of non-cis kids in this town, but this is a positive post, right? It's why the Trevor Project is so important.

So anyway. Tumblr, Discord, and the internet, in general, have been the only hardline I have to a diverse queer network. I've been on this site since sometime in early 2009, and you know, before that, I was on Livejournal, and before that, I was on fan forums, Yahoo! Groups, and Pro Boards. So I've been around. I've seen it all in real time. And even though I was not into anything to do with Superwholock, I saw all of that, and you know, I have never really been deep in a fandom. Not even when I was on Livejournal. I just have a massive aversion to oversaturation.

So. I've been watching 911 since the pilot. I was hyped for it because of Angela Bassett. I thought, "You're making Angela Bassett a cop and handing her a TV show; what could go wrong?" (That's rhetorical; don't @ me. I know better now.) Anyway. I was hooked from the first episode, and you have to understand when 911 premiered, I was in one of the darkest points of my life. I had finally been declared legally disabled, which I had been working toward for 3 years. So, you know, nobody on Tumblr was talking about this show. By the end of Season 1, a few of us were scratching around at things, but there wasn't much there.

Then, Season 2 happened, and you know, Season 2 was some of my best times in the 911 fandom. I was there when we were deciding on Beddie vs Buddie. I was there when the first Buck/Eddie fic was posted to AO3. I even wrote some back then. It was a completely different energy then. There was an entire Discord server of us who were mortified that "Be Careful What You Wish For" was likely about the part of fandom that wanted Eddie and Shannon to end, but the consensus was, "WTF, we wanted her gone, but not like that!" And then, you know, the people celebrating it got louder and louder, and I was in fandom less and less until I stopped posting about 911 entirely on Tumblr.

Eventually, I made a new blog, this blog, not because of that, but because Tumblr shadowbanned my old blog, and nothing I posted would show up in tags. And you know, I was a big fandom creator and roleplayer, and I had to start all over. But I was still watching 911. I never stopped. I also watch Lone Star, and oh, the stories I could tell about the early days of Lone Star when 911 OG purists were throwing hissy fits that Lone Star content was getting tagged as 911. Seriously, it was a knockdown, drag-out fight to watch. But anyway, you know, I'm watching, and I'm waiting. I'm waiting for Evan Buckley to be confirmed as bisexual as I get my Henren scraps and cry over everything they do to Josh.

Then, the show gets canceled. But OMG, it's Immediately picked up by ABC, so trying to understand how to feel was indescribable. Because Seasons 5 and 6 sucked, they sucked, and I won't be convinced otherwise, and I was despairing because I was going to have to jump ship. And then the show jumped networks. So, I'm figured what do I have to lose?

So, I am still reeling from the Cruise ship disaster and rescue. And I'm going, "Is my show back? It's kind of back, right?" while also going, "And Tommy's back, and he's getting along with everyone. Sure, why not?" And then, you know, Episode 4 happened, and I'm watching it wondering what the hell is going on. Is Tommy going to be a recurring character now? And then you know Buck was an idiot, and you know I thought it was about Eddie, and I was kind of mad because really? The cast and crew get kicked around by their ship's fans, and you're giving them this? Because anyone who tells me watching that episode as it was airing that they thought Buck was doing that for Tommy before the loft scene, I'm calling horseshit because I've been watching since episode 1

I've wanted Bi Buck for as long as I can remember. And it was not until the loft scene that I even realized something was happening. I didn't know what it was, but something was off. And some point, I was standing on the couch freaking out at my TV, going, "WHY ARE THEY STANDING SO CLOSE TOGETHER? WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?" And then, you know, the kiss happened, and thankfully, no one was living next door in my duplex at the time because I was not quiet about my joy, and I sprained my freaking knee. I was so chaotic in my reaction. (I had to go to urgent care. It was a whole thing. Eh, my joints suck because of chronic illness. I told you I was on disability a long time ago, okay.) And you know, once I simmered down, I ran to this blog to post about it because 4 episodes on a new network, and they gave me Bi Buck.

And you know, I tried so hard to find a voice for Tommy in my head, but I couldn't. I didn't have enough material to do it. I appreciated everyone who could do it because I read your fic, which was great. I didn't even get into the fandom for it until Season 8 because I couldn't wrap my head around the ship, but I was going to sit there as long as it took to understand Tommy because it's Bi Buck's canon ship. Of course, I want to be able to write it myself. That's what I do. And right about when Tommy brought Buck avocado toast, I got it. Everything synced up in my head, and I understood it. I could go back and look at things and understand why Tommy did things now.

So, during that break for Halloween, I was writing little things and not posting them. I had already at the start of Season 8 found a Discord server, and I was hanging out in the tag. I was looking through follow lists people posted and zipping through them. And yeah, sue me. I call it Tevan because that's what Tommy calls him. That's not a judgment on anyone; it's just my preference. I forgot to mention that I was also there when shit hit the fan during the Season 7 hiatus and trying to survive in my old 911 Discord Servers, but people were awful for no reason. I'm never gonna understand why a whole swath of fandom hated the ship to the point that they were causing traumatic harm to other people, especially queer men in fandom. That's just so beyond me, and, again, another reason we need the Trevor Project is that queer men fetishists on Tumblr do not constitute a safe community for queer people. But I'm getting off track.

So you know, they broke up Buck and Tommy in the next freaking episode, and I had a lot of feelings. I posted a lot of them here. Some of them conflict because you know the human brain can handle more than one viewpoint. Gray areas are my bread and butter when it comes to media. Anyone gets puritanical about anything; I don't care what you ship; I will remove you from my curated experience because I don't need it. It's not healthy.

I've been writing more and more about this ship since the breakup. I even wrote a fixit for the breakup. And you know what happened in the show compared to what people say in interviews? There's a huge disconnect. In any other situation, especially given it's 911 and the Abby of it all, you would expect this to not be over because that's not how Buck's big love interests work. Most of his relationships end with him being too invested, but you don't get to call it a pivotal relationship for Buck and say it's over cold turkey. That's crappy writing because it completely goes against his characterization.

But I didn't realize how attached many people were to Tommy. I felt like I finally met him in the Halloween episode, and bam, he's gone in the next. So much wasted potential. So much drama. So many harassed actors and crew members. So many "journalists" acting like it's their blog is the gossip section of their high school newspaper, but they get screeners? So much crap happened, and what was it all for? So Buck can pine for Tommy and cause Los Angeles County to go on a flour ration? Like? I don't get it. So yeah. If the show wants to fix this mistake because this one they did leave themselves a contingency plan by not killing the man, they can fix it.

So bring back Tommy. If you do, I'll think about forgiving you for Amir's storyline last season. But we still need to talk about what messages we're sending people in these episodes. Those teenage girls do not deserve to get blamed because a grown man went rage quit to the max. The copaganda is SO HIGH that I can't even watch Athena's scenes now. And there's a bunch more I won't list because we're talking about Tommy and how you need to bring him back. I love these characters, but I'm tired of them repeatedly getting the same trauma and outcomes. You finally let queer people kiss again on your show, and then you get rid of one of them?

Anyway. I'm going to keep writing BuckTommy because I need something good to happen in fandom as I continue to watch this ridiculous show. And if you read this whole thing. I'm sorry that this is how it ends.

[velvetvexations]

Since we're talking about forcefem, here're most of the forcefem-related asks I've had in my inbox, some of which are a few days old on account of technically going in the vexatious tag if not exactly kink asks. I wanted to answer one from today on it's own which I'll get to later but I wanted to get to the older ones and also get to a few of the others from today while I was at it.

i just saw a post where a trans guy was showing some messages where someone was (unconsensually) basically roleplaying forcefemming him. despite him telling them that he did not want that and that it was very much transphobic, and he atill got a message boiling down to "you're not a man, silly, you're a girl :D" and. to be honest. this was the thing that stopped the brainworms of "what if the whole concept of transandrophobia is actually transmisogynistic and i am entirely wrong" bc at least some of these people will just say the most bog standard transphobic shit to trans guys and not register it as transphobia. so why the fuck would they be right about anything transmascs experience also on that note thank you for being so outspoken in favour of transmascs getting to discuss their oppression. it's really helpful to see trans women stand with us here, especially when it comes to aforementioned brainworms

congratulations to that transphobe for creating a new transandrobro

the 'forcemasc isnt revolutionary' shit is the most annoying iteration of stupid tumblr discourse. like im going through the tag trying to read some horny shit and oh look. theres someone being stupid and hypocritical. in my horny tag.

people are getting tribalist about kinks and it's depressing

Every time people are saying that trans men & mascs cannot possibly fathom being objectified & fetishized, I think on all of the posts I’ve seen that did that exact same thing. And yeah, some of it might have been kink, so no hate no judgement I dabble in that tag too, but I’ve also seen “get in the dress” type posts that seem to be genuinely calling for trans men to be more feminine, untagged & in the wild, enough where I’m like — am I just imagining this? Like am I crazy? Am I missing something, or was that extremely detailed post about why I MUST stay feminine — or become more — for someone else’s benefit being 100% serious? And, again — if it’s kink, all the power to them, I love that for them, I even occasionally love that for me. But I have encountered enough people who were dead serious that I sometimes want no one but trusted friends & advisors to ever witness me again. And then I look at statistics & feel genuinely ill. And yeah, I’m gnc — and there’s the rub, because while I feel genuine joy being fem as well as masc, I want it to be a Choice, not something forced upon me.

people need to be fucking normal

Yh like ik a lot of shitposts don't have any tags but people have. Really gotta tag forcefem. I've blocked a large amount of people making these jokes + filtered their names n I still see it

I'm sorry, anon. <3

Fuck thank you so much for talking so openly about forcemasc. I’m so dumb I thought there wasn’t a name for that kink that I’ve been into for years, albeit my version is way more weirder. It would be like a… forcemascfem??? Like first it’s forcemasc and then it turns into forcefem and then right back to forcemasc…. And then back to- Idk my gender is weird and my kinky fantasy for that is weird

Cross as many boundries as you want, that sounds rad. Forcefem has a lot of infrastructure to jump off of.

“I’m doing a kink in a non kink way so it’s not kink blog!” Sorry this pisses me off It’s still a kink. Like. If someone made an I-suggest-BDSM blog and tried to claim it wasn’t a kink blog I’m sure more people would see how silly this is but because it’s the transfem approved virtuous forcefem they just let it slide??? Like. You are engaging in a kink and thats fine. You can say there won’t be anything explicitly sexual! But it will still be a kink blog because it’s a blog about a kink! A kink blog if you will! It doesn’t matter if you’re not getting off to it, it’s still a kink! That you are participating in! On your blog about that kink!

It SHOULD piss you off! It's extremely fucking scummy!

what the hell? for like one solid minute(longer than that but i like saying it this way) all the forcefem on my dash was tagged and i could blissfully not have to see it every other post and then just today i had to unfollow a buncha people for an assload of untagged forcefem :/ like im transmasc i think its understandable that i do not wish to see that anyway hope your day is goin well miss velvet

yeah it's praxis to not tag kink anymore

trfs are perfectly aware what the "force" bit means when forcemasc comes up in conversation

strange how that works

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Prologue

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Welcome welcome!

There is a method to my madness with the beginning half of this post on every chapter and the tea pics. I try my very best to make sure to minimize spoilers so the real content will be below this.

What I know (or don't) going into this series

Don't correct me, it's more fun if this all turns out to be wrong:

it is a love story across lifetimes

one of them wears disguises?

heavenly realms

it is painful AF

I am expecting many deaths to be honest

That's literally all I know, I didn't even really read the back cover until after I read the prologue (below) I am going in so blind.

With this all in mind; Let's gooooooooooooooooooooo:

Okay starting off strong with "the laughingstock of the Three Realms" p11

Oh god, "how to describe the prince...'unique'" p11

This man sounds so sweet "I want to help the common people" p11 but also him over here rescuing babies falling off the walls p13

Oh, I can see how the rich bitches with power would see this as problematic. The audacity of them trying to punish him for doing good. pp13-14

omg this guy, just casually meeting the Heavenly Emperor p16

this is a side note, I will say, though I have 0 experience reading actual heavenly realm lore, I feel well prepared for this due to the sheer amount of MXTX fanfics I have read that are probably crossovers with TGCF but I just didn't even know.

Good for him for ascending! Though if this is one of the protagonists of the story, I am worried for how naïve he seems p16

Well, the Rich Bitches were not wrong to fear the inauspicious start to the ceremony pre-ascension. 3 years later and ofc they are invaded AND the prince is not even there due to his ascension. p17

Poor buddy. I already know this series is going to hurt. He just wanted to help but made everything so much worse by getting involved in human things. p18

"to speak harshly, was he not just useless trash who could not do anything right?!?!" p18

What a tough blow. From god of protection and peace to God of misfortune. p19

AND banishment

Not the double ascension AND immediate banishment. p20 But i do want to know how he lasted like 30 minutes the second ascension. I'm just picturing him up there throwing hands for a hot second before being shunted back to earth double birds flying.

I also love that he's like a little weird. just a queer little man putting on street shows and acting odd as hell.

ooof. Bro. not only was he The Laughingstock for a minute, he also wasn't even memorable enough for people to recall him after a while. This story is going to ruin my life I know it. I already want to adopt this immortal man and wrap him in soft things. p21

A THIRD ASCENSION??????? p22

The canon has been FIRED

The way in which this story already started at 100. Blasted into the universe with this prologue, we had a weird little guy, he ascended descended too many times to be okay, and now we are shunted into chapter 1.

[cynicalclairvoyantcadaver]

THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ

Hi-this is a call for help.

It's not urgent, but it's very important and serious to me.

Listen-I'm writing a literal essay on how the Greek Gods are incorrectly portrayed, and I want to do sections on Zeus, Hera and Dionysus.

So, this started off as a short post on the bold yin yang of PJO, but it quickly blew up into a whole ass essay on the bastardisation of Greek culture and gods. And holy hell, I'm enjoying writing it. I freaking love it, but-

While Rick Riordan's portrayals of the gods aren't totally incorrect, something about their portrayals has been seriously nagging me for months now. I can't quite put my finger on it. It's just on the tip of my tongue-

but I don't think that Rick portrayed them all correctly, and I want to write sections for them too.

So, can all of you-Greeks, Hellenistic Pagans and other people like me who are neither of the first two but are still interested in the Real Greek Gods-can all of you tell me where PJO Dionysus, PJO Zeus and PJO Hera went wrong?

More specifically, how Real Hera, Real Zeus and Real Dionysus are, and how their PJO versions differ from them.

Because I'm doing my research, but I can't always trust the internet and I really want to hear about Dionysus and Zeus and how they were incorrectly portrayed in PJO from real people themselves.

I mean, Zeus is portrayed as paranoid and abusive and while he wasn't the best guy in the Mythology, he was a great father and husband at times-as well as a great guy.

But in PJO, he was barely shown as a good father or a husband, only twice with Thalia because she was his daughter, and we all know how abusive he was to Jason and Apollo. And he's barely given any nuance-as well as Hera. They're both portrayed to be in an abusive marriage, but both Hera and Zeus really love each other.

I kind of also want to do a section on PJO Hera, because I just KNOW that Rick went wrong with her, even if I can't fully explain Zeus and Dionysus.

So, TLDR, I'm writing an essay on how Rick incorrectly portrayed the Greek Gods and want to do sections on Zeus, Dionysus and Hera, could you please help me and tell me more about the real gods and maybe how Rick went wrong with them?

Thanks to everyone who contributes to this! Even a simple like will suffice. I will also respond to every comment, and feel free to tag anyone whom you think might help.

In fact, if you want to complain about ANYTHING wrong in the PJO series, send me an ask and I'll try to include it in my essay. And I don't get very many asks, so I'll be sure to respond to all of them.

I don't mean to be rude, and if you think I am, then please tell me and I'll change what I need to.

@elytrianemrald I know you're looking forward to this essay, I'm working on it every day and getting closer to finishing it

@lady-menrva I know this might not be your thing, but I think you might know some people who could help me

@my-pjo-stuff you mentioned Artemis being your patron goddess, soooooooo you might know something about the other gods too? And if you don't, maybe you know someone who can help?

If you want to be tagged, tell me and I will tag you

[azuredawn81]

not the time | nico hischier x ex gf!reader

❅ summary: nico misses his former flame, even though their relationship wasn't great.

❅ pairing: nico hischier x reader

❅ content: angst

❅ word count: 2.3k

❅ prompt: ex-miss - new found glory

❅ warnings: none

❅ tags: @verycoolusername1 @tomskookie @dream-girl06 @skepvids @devilinpradaheels @lolatokki @captainhuggys @camiesully

❅ note: not proofread

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙₊⋆ ͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Everything that could have went wrong went wrong this year

Nothing recently has made me wanna stand up and cheer

Everything you haven't said has finally come back to you

the year had felt like a cruel joke for nico hischier, a series of missteps and missed opportunities that left him wondering how everything had unraveled so quickly. sitting in the quiet solitude of his living room, he couldn’t help but replay the moments that had gone so catastrophically wrong, each one stacking on top of the other like a house of cards.

it wasn’t just the missed passes on the ice or the nagging injuries that had kept him off his game. it was the off-ice moments, too—the small, meaningful gestures he’d tried to make that had somehow fallen flat. the texts left unanswered, the arguments over things he couldn’t even remember now, the way her eyes had grown colder with each passing day.

every textbook sign of a failing relationship was there. they barely spoke and when they did, it was insults and jabs that did nothing but lacerate each other’s hearts. the only thing keeping them together was making up, when nico pulled her close under the covers, when she covers his face in whatever flavor of that sweet, sticky lip gloss she was wearing that week.

it wasn’t just the relationship that haunted him—it was the way nothing seemed to balance the weight of it all. there had been no big wins, no triumphant moments to make him forget the sting of it. even the holiday season, a time he usually loved, felt hollow this year. the tree was up, the lights twinkling, but they brought no comfort.

then there was the silence—her silence—that gnawed at him. y/n hadn’t said much when they parted ways, but her absence spoke louder than any words could have. it was as if every unspoken thought, every doubt she’d harbored, had come rushing back all at once, as loud as a breeze. he could feel them now, weighing on him, making his shoulders droop.

he wondered if she felt it, too—the regret, the what-ifs, the unspoken words hanging between them like unfinished business. or maybe she’d moved on without so much as a second thought, leaving him to carry the burden alone.

nico sighed and leaned back in his chair, letting the soft glow of the christmas tree fill the room. the year had been a disaster, but he couldn’t change that now. all he could do was sit with the weight of it, hoping that next year would be kinder.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Now, it's not the time

Now, it's not the time

I know you never liked any gifts I gave to you

the words echoed in nico's mind, a reminder that now was not the time to relive everything—now wasn’t the moment to dig into the wounds of a year that felt like a lifetime of missed chances. but it was hard not to, especially as the holiday season made memories pile up like snow.

he looked over at the small, carefully wrapped gift sitting on the coffee table, a 1963 copy of the bell jar, her favorite novel. it was the last one he’d picked out for her, a last-ditch attempt to make things right, to show her that he understood what she wanted, what she needed. it had felt like the perfect present at the time, something personal and meaningful that would finally break through her walls. but the gift had never made it into her hands. the argument, the silence, the coldness between them had been louder than any gesture.

"now, it's not the time," he had muttered again and again. they fought too often for him to find the time to give it to her, and he wasn’t sure if they’d make it to christmas.

he clenched his jaw, willing the words to lose their power, but the hurt was still there, raw and sharp. there was no magic fix to erase the past, no easy way to undo the mistakes he’d made. he had wanted to give her something special, something that would make her smile again, but instead, all he had left were the memories of her discontent.

the truth settled in heavily. he knew she never liked any gifts he gave to her. nico chuckled bitterly, his fingers brushing the edge of the present. it felt like a cruel joke now, this carefully selected gift— wrapped with care, picked out with the best of intentions—like would never measure up to her expectations. she’d never shown excitement when unwrapping anything from him. no warmth in her eyes, no genuine appreciation for the thought behind it. it was as if the material things never mattered, and yet, he couldn’t stop trying to show her he cared with the things he thought would impress her.

one year, it had been a watch, made by his opa back in switzerland —something elegant but simple, a reminder that time was precious and she was a part of his family. he remembered how she had glanced at it, then looked away, barely muttering a thank you before moving on. his opa spent weeks handcrafting it, making sure it was exactly what he thought she'd like. but instead of being grateful, she had seemed... indifferent, like the gift was nothing more than an afterthought.

another year, he had gotten her a year pass to the jazz club down the block —what seemed like a good gift for a music connoisseur like her. he had hoped it would spark some light in her eyes, maybe reignite the connection they once had. but when she opened it, there was no smile, no sign of recognition. just a quick, distracted look before it was set aside.

the more he thought about it, the clearer it became: it was never about the gifts. tt was about something deeper—something that neither of them had been able to articulate, something he had tried to fix with presents, when what they really needed was to fix the space between them.

nico shook his head, feeling the weight of his realization pressing down on him. but there was no relief, no simple answer. just the stark reality that, in the end, none of the things he’d tried had mattered. it was never the right time for any of it, and now, it was too late.

the holidays, once a time he cherished, now felt like a constant reminder of everything that had gone wrong. the music, the decorations, the familiar traditions—they all seemed empty now. everything was a reflection of what had slipped through his fingers.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

This holiday is overrated

It turns out the way I expected

This holiday is one to forget

Another year, this time I'll regret

That I spent too much time and money on you

nico stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he paced across the room. the holiday decorations, once so vibrant and full of life, now felt like nothing more than empty symbols of a time that had only brought him disappointment. the snow falling outside seemed to mirror his mood, the world outside blanketed in a cold, lifeless white.

"this holiday is overrated," nico mumbled, shaking his head. he had always loved christmas—the joy of giving, the warmth of family, the sense of togetherness. but this year? this year felt like a cruel parody of everything he once cherished. the joy had been replaced by a dull ache, the traditions now tainted by the ghost of what had been lost. and, worst of all, he was alone. jack had gone to visit his parents, as with dawson and timo. it was too short of notice to make it to switzerland.

the expectations had been there, of course. he had hoped—desperately—that the holiday season would somehow heal the wounds, that a fresh start would come with the turn of the year. but everything had fallen apart exactly how he had feared. it wasn’t the grand gestures that had broken them, but the slow unraveling, the unspoken words, the things left unsaid. no amount of twinkling lights or festive cheer could mask the cracks that had formed.

his heart sank as he thought about all the effort he had put into this moment, how he had tried so hard to make everything perfect for her. he’d picked out the gift, planned out the evening, and imagined how it would go—how everything would finally fall into place. But instead of the joyous occasion he’d envisioned, he was alone, staring at the remnants of a failed year.

"this holiday is one to forget," he said, his voice barely more than a sigh. he could already feel the regret creeping in, like an old friend showing up uninvited. the missed opportunities, the wasted time—he had poured so much into something that had slipped through his fingers. each moment spent trying to make it work, trying to fix things, felt like a bad investment now. he leaned against the window, watching the snow blanket the world outside as thoughts whirled around his head like a blizzard. how many times had he told himself that this year would be different? how many times had he convinced himself that she would appreciate the effort, that things would get better if he just kept pushing forward?

his thoughts turned bitter, and he let out a short, frustrated laugh. "i spent too much time and money on her," he murmured, looking down at the gift he had picked out so carefully. he had thought it would show her how much he cared, how much he was willing to give. but in the end, it felt like it had all been for nothing. time, energy, money—he had spent it all, and for what? a cold silence and a hollow goodbye.

the weight of it all settled heavily on him, and he sank back onto the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. the holiday season, meant to be a time of renewal and joy, now only reminded him of his own failure to fix something that had been broken beyond repair. he had given everything he had, and in return, he had nothing but memories of a love that had slipped away with the passing days.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Why do I only remember the bad times we had?

I guess everything we do does reflect

Everything you wish, you said has finally come back to you

nico's gaze remained fixed on the cold window, but his mind had wandered far away, slipping back into the past with painful clarity. as he replayed the moments with her—what felt like a lifetime ago—he couldn’t help but wonder why, despite all the good times, it was the bad ones that kept resurfacing, each one more vivid than the last.

it was a question he had been grappling with for months, ever since things had started to unravel. the late nights spent arguing, the silences that stretched between them like chasms, the moments when it felt like they were worlds apart, even though they shared the same space. it wasn’t that the good times hadn’t existed—they had, in flashes, in small, fleeting moments when the world felt right. but those memories, for some reason, seemed to fade into the background. the laughter, the tenderness, the quiet moments where they were just two people in love—all of that had been swallowed up by the weight of the bad.

why was it so hard to remember the good? maybe it was because the bad times had left scars, sharp and undeniable. the argument over something small that turned into a full-blown fight, the misunderstandings that piled up like bricks in a wall, the things they both said out of frustration, each one ringing louder than the apologies that followed

his actions, his words, her reactions—everything had built up to this moment. the missteps, the things left unsaid, the moments where they had both failed to reach each other. maybe they had tried, in their own ways, but the constant disconnect had worn them both thin. they were no longer the people they had once been, and that reality had crept in slowly, unnoticed until it was too late to change.

her words, the things she had never said outright but had let slip in the heat of the moment, had come back to haunt them both. the unspoken resentments, the desires that were never voiced, the doubts that had simmered beneath the surface—all of it had festered, growing stronger with each passing day. and now, here he was, left to deal with the aftermath.

the silence in the room felt suffocating, and nico stood up, pacing again, as if the movement could somehow ease the weight of everything he was thinking. he had spent so much time trying to understand her, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that the answer wasn’t as simple as he wanted it to be. there was no one defining moment that had broken them, no single misstep. It had been a slow, gradual drift, with both of them caught up in the day-to-day, lost in the cycle of routine and misunderstandings. now, all those things they had failed to say, all the feelings left unexpressed, were crashing down on him. the words she hadn’t said were the loudest, ringing in his ears like a constant reminder that they had never really been on the same page.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

This holiday is one to forget

Another year, not another year

so, he did what he needed to do. he went on his phone and blocked her. on instagram, twitter, her phone number. deleted her contact. texted his sister and said he had a gift for her, since she loves to read.

I hope you spend it alone

[fortemelody]

hot take: there aren’t that many “annoying” sonamy fans out there as some people think

i’ve been seeing more people complain about this kinda stuff recently than there are people actually doing the things they’re complaining about

it goes to show that obviously EVERY ship in the world will have annoying fans. i understand that. but like… if it’s not harmful (like pedophilia or something illegal) there is no reason to be advocating against it so much becus you’re accomplishing nothing 😭

i would say the main problem is that the few bad ones are obviously the most vocal. i’ve already ranted before about how bad “sonamy channel” on twitter is. but that’s literally one person. do not judge a whole fan base on one person and literally just block them. i also don’t see much of a distinction when talking about these “bad” types of people from twitter to tumblr. like the few times i have talked about it i very much stated in the beginning that sonamy channel was active on twitter. i haven’t seen them very active on tumblr as far as i know, meaning that others only follow in suit with their weird antics, including calling everything “canon”, ON TWITTER. like all i’m saying is if there’s negative things happening on one social media platform, don’t blame it on another. i’m sure tumblr has its problems too that i don’t know about but like it doesn’t seem to be as bad overall.

another reasoning behind why i think this is so prevalent rn is becus whenever sonamy fans get new content (like recently those idw panels) they obviously like to talk about it. which is inherently fine, but the fact that we usually get new content like at least once a month atp makes it so other people might see it as us just constantly shoving things down their throats. i mean yes, if someone’s spamming about it every two seconds on unrelated tags, MAYBE i can see a problem. but if that’s not the case… literally just let people be happy dawg omfg 💀 like i know this is sorta a weird way to phrase it but it’s not our fault if or when we get official content. sega decided to release something, so we like it. it’s as simple as that, it’s their choice to let our personal tastes influence on their franchise in any way. like we’re not storming their HQ to tell them to make more sonamy related stuff, it ain’t that serious and people just wanna enjoy what comes out. there’s nothing wrong with that.

idk man it’s late at night and i’m just straight up yappin so i’m not sure how coherent this all is but yeah