#smitten. that's the word. smitten with him

[umamaki]

“do you think we’re together in every universe?” 

rafayel raises an eyebrow at your question. 

“like… you think our past lives are aligned in some way? that we’ve interacted in each lifetime before this?”

then you go silent, thinking about the answer to your own questions. 

while rafayel is also silent, he thinks back to the sea, to a missing bride. he briefly wonders if your memories contain the same images as his. he lets himself hope so. 

“anything’s possible, no?” he plays along, “who do you think we were to each other in our past lives?”

“must’ve been a lot. we’ve had many lives together… at least i think…” his eyes search yours for something more, do you really remember? alas, nothing found. you continue, “something scandalous would’ve been fun, no?”

“totally agreed. so a college professor and student.”

you laugh. “and you’d be the professor, you perv.”

“hey!”

“or two heirs of rival kingdoms.”

“two fish… who live in neighboring corals”

“...or in some kid’s fish tank.”

“that sounds like a short life.”

“but it was really romantic, you see. we were in different displays, all the way across the pet store. and then, finally, brought together into the same tank.”

“hm. i approve, cutie. our fishie selves died of starvation very much in love.”

how content the both of you were now. how utterly smitten you had to be with one another, to spend a slow morning thinking of all the past lives you could have spent together. 

your conversation may have ended there, but the idea stays in your minds far into the night.

you take turns interrupting silences, coming up with new past lives. lifetimes spent as cavemen, the first humans on earth—those spent as citizens of an ancient civilization, being the last of their kind. you consider arguments you may have had, your breakups, if you’ve been married, have you raised a child together?

“but, what if this is all a past life? and we go into the next not even remembering this one. does that make this all… meaningless?”

you ask him in the darkness of the bedroom. the whisper travels across one pillow to another.

rafayel knows more about that than you think. for now, he’ll keep it to himself.

“even if it ends up forgotten, the present doesn’t have to be meaningless. i believe there’s something out there that’ll bring us back together once again. after so many lives, we can’t let our streak end here. wouldn’t you agree, my love?”

“yeah. we’ll find each other in the next one. i hope it’s good.”

from underneath the blanket, rafayel’s hand comes between you, with only his pinky raised. 

“what’s this for?” you find yourself interlocking your finger with his anyway.

“this is me, vowing to never let my soul forget yours. to find you in our next life, no matter how long it takes to do so.”

each word flows from him so earnestly, you almost believe that something like it is possible. for a moment, all of your theorized past lives become your reality.

"…and i vow to always let you into my life when you do, and to love you as i have many times before."

rafayel releases your hand. "then it's settled. you can't get rid of me, cutie, even if you wanted to."

[lxstxr]

sergio stays | e. prentiss

summary: A routine walk turns into an unplanned adoption when Emily and your daughter Rowan find themselves smitten with a stray black kitten. requested here

word count: 1.3k

tags: fluff, momily

The sun was warm on your skin as Rowan ran ahead on the sidewalk, her little legs pumping with the unstoppable energy of a toddler. Emily walked beside you, her hand lightly resting in yours, her eyes flicking between your daughter and the neighborhood around you.

Suddenly, Rowan stopped dead in her tracks, her wide eyes fixed on something near the edge of a bush. You both leaned down just in time to hear the faintest, desperate meow. There, tangled slightly in the grass, was a tiny black kitten, scruffy, skinny, and clearly a stray. Its fur was matted, but its curious green eyes locked onto you.

Rowan crouched down carefully, her fingers trembling as she reached out, whispering, “Kitty, kitty.”

Emily’s gaze softened instantly. Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees beside Rowan, her voice low and urgent. “Hey there, little one, you’re okay. Are you hurt?”

The kitten hesitated, but let Rowan gently stroke the top of its head, and Emily’s heart tightened. Rowan looked up at Emily with sparkling eyes. “Mama, kitty needs a home?”

Emily smiled, voice tender but determined. “Yeah, baby. Maybe he does.”

You glanced at Emily, seeing the unmistakable sparkle in her eyes. The look you knew meant one thing: this little stray was about to become a part of your family, whether you liked it or not.

-

Back at home, you were still gently brushing bits of grass off the kitten, who Emily had already started calling Sergio, while Rowan watched with rapt attention. Emily paced across the living room with her phone out, thumb flying over a notes app. “Okay, we need kitten food, wet and dry, a litter box, litter, scoop, food and water bowls, toys, a brush, a bed—”

“He needs two beds.” Rowan interrupted seriously. “One for sleepy time, one for play time.”

Emily paused as if this was a very reasonable statement. “Maybe. Depends on how fancy Sergio is.”

You raised a brow from your spot on the floor. “Emily.”

“What?” she said, completely unbothered. “We’re already halfway in.”

You gestured to the wild-looking kitten now curled up in Rowan’s lap, purring. “We don’t even know if he’s sick. Or feral. Or—”

“He’s not feral,” Emily said firmly. “Look at him.”

“He’s purring because Rowan’s lap is warm.”

“Which means he feels safe.” She grinned, triumphant. 

Rowan giggled, patting Sergio’s tiny back. “Gio love me.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You could already feel yourself caving, even though the logical part of your brain was waving a big, red flag.

Emily knelt down beside Rowan and kissed her temple. “Do you want to help me make a list for the pet store?”

Rowan nodded enthusiastically, already chanting, “Toys! Toys! Toys!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you realized this wasn’t going to be a rescue mission. This was an adoption. And the three biggest conspirators were right in front of you: two with dimples, the other with whiskers.

-

The automatic doors of the pet store whooshed open and Rowan gasped audibly the moment she stepped inside, her eyes going wide at the wall of squeaky toys and glittery collars.

“Toys!” she shouted, launching herself toward the first aisle like a tiny, determined missile.

Emily followed with almost the same level of enthusiasm, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ve got her! You get the litter box.”

You blinked after them, sighing as you turned toward the practical aisle. But before you made it two steps, you heard the first squeak, then another. Then another. Like a chorus of chaos. You doubled back, and there they were.

Rowan had an armful of neon-colored plush mice and two squeaky fish. Emily was squatting beside her, examining a climbing post with deep concentration and muttering to herself, “This one could fit in the corner by the window, but maybe the taller one for enrichment…”

“Em,” you said flatly.

She looked up, entirely unrepentant. “This is all essential.”

Rowan held up a sparkly jingle ball triumphantly. “Sergio needs this!”

You raised a brow. “Does he also need the rainbow crinkle tunnel and the catnip pizza slice?”

Emily was already tossing the tunnel in the cart. “Absolutely.”

It only got worse in the food aisle. There were fifteen brands of kitten food, five different formulas for “healthy digestion,” and at least three vegan options that made Emily scowl.

“Why is this more complicated than feeding a toddler?” she muttered.

Rowan pointed at a purple can with a cartoon cat on it. “This one!”

“That one’s tuna and pumpkin,” you said, squinting. “That sounds suspicious.”

“It’s grain-free,” Emily noted, holding it up like it was a fine wine. “High protein. Let’s get six.”

By the time you made it to checkout, your cart had exploded with cat things, only half of which you were sure were necessary. Rowan was clutching a tiny stuffed black cat that “looks like Sergio’s baby,” and Emily was beaming.

As the cashier rang everything up, you leaned toward her and whispered, “This started as rescuing a stray.”

Emily grinned, sliding her card across the reader. “And now we’re a family of four.”

-

Back home, Sergio had already claimed the softest throw blanket on the couch like a tiny, shadowy king. He was curled up, purring in a loose cinnamon roll shape, one paw over his face. Rowan was sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, clutching her new stuffed “baby Sergio” and watching the real one nap like it was a live show.

You were standing in the kitchen, arms crossed as Emily approached you slowly, holding two mugs of tea like peace offerings.

She offered you one and raised an eyebrow. “Still thinking about it?”

You gave her a look over the rim of your mug. “I didn’t say yes yet.”

“You also didn’t say no.”

“Emily.”

She slid a little closer, a smile curling at the edges of her mouth. “I just think it would be good for Rowan. A companion. Someone to grow up with. You know, beyond the lizard phase.”

You scoffed. “She’s two, not twelve.”

“Still. Emotional support cat.”

You glanced toward the living room, where Rowan was now whispering “sweet dreams, kitty baby” and tucking a corner of the blanket over Sergio’s tail.

“I just,” you hesitated. “He’s a stray. What if he’s sick? What if he’s not safe around her? What if he hates being indoors?”

Emily’s voice softened. “Then we take him to the vet. We do it right, and if it turns out he’s not the right fit, we'll find him the perfect home, but I don’t think we’ll have to.”

You turned back to her, skeptical. “You’re sure?”

Before Emily could answer, Rowan’s little voice piped up behind you. “Mommy?”

You turned just in time to see her holding her stuffed cat in one hand, her free arm reaching up for you. Her eyes were unfairly big and undeniably Emily’s.

“Mommy, Sergio love me,” she whispered. “He need us.”

Emily coughed softly into her mug, trying to hide her grin.

You looked between your wife and your daughter. Two pairs of nearly identical eyes. Both staring at you. Both weaponized.

You groaned. “This is emotional blackmail.”

Emily snorted, biting back a laugh.

You sighed and ruffled Rowan’s hair. “Fine, but I’m not scooping the litter box.”

Rowan gasped like you’d given her the moon and ran to the cat with a shout of, “Sergio’s stayin’!”

Emily slipped her arm around your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Told you we’d wear you down.”

You leaned into her, watching Rowan stroke Sergio’s back with the gentlest touch. The little black cat stretched and rolled onto his side, completely content.

You smiled. “Yeah,” you murmured. “You always do.”

[lunareclipse-writes]

It may seem like a stupid question, but what would be headcanons or not (go with your taste) of what it would be like to have a yautja courting you (I don't know how this will sound because English is not my language) and if you can, A little bit of tension

Like I know he's going to bring you an animal, but that's it???

I apologize again for any mistakes or if this text may have something uncomfortable or that you did not understand (I may have used some slang from where I live)

Not a stupid question at all! ❤

So you'll get different answers from each creator you ask because headcanons are what we think it would be like

Meaning you'll agree with some but not all based on your preferences because everyone is different in how they think

Some might headcanon they just bring you an animal, but I headcanon that even the animal they gift you is special - they make sure it reminds them of you, it has meaning

(Hope that helps, I'm not great at explaining things)

---

Yautja (Predator) courtship is a fascinating topic, especially if you like your romance primal, intense, and a little terrifying in the best way.

---

Yautja Courting Headcanons (with a romantic, protective twist)

---

1. The Trophy Offering – More Than Just a Kill

• Yes, they will bring you an animal... but not just any animal. It'll be:

• A creature they hunted specifically with you in mind—one they think suits your strength, cunning, or beauty.

• The more dangerous the prey, the more seriously they're taking you.

• Sometimes they’ll bring parts (like bones or teeth) and expect you to wear them—like a token of protection or status.

• If you accept the trophy and keep it displayed or worn, it's basically saying “I accept you.”

---

2. Blood-Marking Rituals

• He might press his blood-covered hand to your chest, forehead, or even your mouth after a hunt.

• To them, this is an incredibly intimate act—a claim, but also a sign of deep respect. They rarely touch anyone like this.

---

3. Silent Guarding

• He won’t always be visible, but he’s there—especially during your most vulnerable moments: sleeping, bathing, eating.

• You may notice tiny indicators of his presence: a fresh kill nearby, the subtle hum of cloaking tech failing, the way predators avoid you now.

• If another Yautja approaches, he’ll come out of hiding real fast—aggressive body language, challenging growls. You're his.

---

4. Showing You How to Kill

• Yautja don’t just love hunters—they respect those who can survive.

• He may teach you how to wield a blade or set traps, showing patience and pride when you succeed.

• If you manage to wound or kill something dangerous, he’ll be visibly aroused/impressed, even if he doesn’t say it.

---

5. Crafting Personal Gifts

• When not killing things, he might work on making something from his own materials—armor pieces, a necklace, a tool with clan markings and yours mixed in.

• He’s not verbal, so he uses craftsmanship to show he thinks about you.

---

6. Physical Intimacy as a Trust Test

• Yautja aren’t touchy-feely, but if he starts allowing physical closeness—like brushing your hair, touching your face, or standing close without armor—it’s HUGE.

• He may press his forehead to yours (Yautja equivalent of a kiss).

• If you initiate touch and he doesn’t pull away—or better yet, leans into it—he’s absolutely smitten.

---

7. Mimicry – Echoing Your Voice

• If he’s learned your language, he may repeat certain words or phrases you say to mimic your voice.

• It’s eerie but weirdly endearing—it’s his way of trying to “speak your soul.”

• If he ever mimics something soft like “mine” or your name, it means everything to him.

---

8. Jealousy & Challenge

• If another human flirts with you? Expect a tense, low growl and intimidating posture.

• He may subtly challenge them or scare them off—not to hurt, just to warn.

• This possessiveness is protective more than controlling—but it is intense.

---

9. Wound-Tending

• If you’re injured, he will lose his shit.

• He may carry you to safety, clean the wound with alien tech, and stay glued to your side while you recover—even growling at others who try to help.

• Afterward, he may mark the spot with blood or a carved rune, symbolizing your survival together.

---

10. Presenting You to the Clan

• The ultimate proof of his devotion: he brings you to meet his people.

• This is a ceremony, and you will be expected to act with confidence (or at least bravery).

• If they accept you, you’ll be given a protective sigil—either worn, tattooed, or marked in blood—and you’re considered part of his future.

---

Masterlist

[nappingmoon]

sukuna shows affection in the same way a dog who brings you a bird he killed does. the lives of others simply expendable compared to your joy and satisfaction. and he’s proud that his strength can provide you with a tangible gift.

like an eager hound with blood and feathers lodged between sharp teeth, sukuna brings you the heads of foreign leaders— gifting you a nation he brought down with nothing more than his bare hands.

and maybe you’re horrified at the sight. held in the air only by a fist is the head of what was once a king. you recognize his face, know him to have had a wife and sons and daughters. it’s cruel and ruthless but when you look up the strong arm of the man whose fingers graze scalp between tufts of hair and stare deep into the eyes of your lover, you see a plea for approval that will never be voiced aloud. much too prideful to ever ask, but ever too smitten to not need it, sukuna tosses the crown at your feet and grumbles, the words “‘s for you” nearly incoherent.

you know it’s wrong. you were raised with better morals and understand what this senseless death will do to the kings family— to an entire nation that now must submit to your every whim. you know better than to encourage it.

and yet, after a period of silence, taking in his frame and the desperation barely concealed within his large stature, it’s nearly impossible to say anything but “good boy.”

[flymetothexmoon]

The Answer is You

Warning: Fluff, 10/10 would check for a cavity after reading. Sexual Innuendo's if you squint enough.

Authors Note: this is my contribution to the wonderful @moonqz4now's challenge for GD&TOP's 2010 album and I did the song Baby Good Night. Hopefully I did the song justice because I do not usually do overly sweet moments in my writing but I love the idea of Seunghyun being smitten with his partner. Enjoy~

Pairing: Choi Seunghyun xF!Reader.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚♡ɞ˚

Moments.

Moments in time, moments passing, and more importantly, moments with you were all that mattered to Seunghyun anymore.

Throughout his career, people would consistently ask what he looked for in a partner— how he would act when he knew his partner was the one, and he would always answer the same way and respond with a certain kind of confidence and mention no matter situation— he would be all in.

You and Seunghyun met quickly, and fell in love even quicker. He swore to everyone around him that he never fell for someone so fast and they believed him. You would dance when he danced, you enjoyed the same wine notes, and more importantly you loved him the exact way he wanted to be loved and left him alone when he wanted to be and spent all the time with him when he wanted you there.

Seunghyun swore from the moment he met you that he would always love you, and tonight was no exception when he watched the way your silhouette looked against his balcony, your back to him as your eyes admired the lit up city of Seoul beneath the two of you. A few years ago when he bought this penthouse, one of the biggest selling points was the privacy and the view— the view that overlooked Seoul and the Han River. Now, the only view Seunghyun cared about was you.

The night was full of people, of tourists, locals— anyone that wanted to feel the air touch their skin and all the two of you cared about was the calmness of the comfort the both of you brought one another; a constant reminder of how it felt the night he confessed to you his true feelings and intentions.

Seunghyun was always known as being careful; careful with the way he presented himself to the world, careful of the words track he spoke, careful of the people he allowed close to his heart, and most importantly— you; you were in his mind the one that needed his most protection.

Tonight was no different. The two of you were currently tangled up in one of Seunghyun's many blankets, you swore he hoarded the things, as you both listened to the soft rain hitting the glass windows of his penthouse; from the outside you looked like two fish swimming around a fish bowl but from the inside you could see what you wanted to see. The movie you were previously watching was still playing, the soft hums from the television trying to keep up with the soft hums erupting from the both of you.

The taller man pulled away from you ever so lightly, the cotton from the blanket flowing freely off his arm as the feeling of his thumb was met with the rigid most part of your jawline as you could feel the cool metal outline of his detailed ring against your skin, making you shiver in response even though your body was warm to the touch. Seunghyun was never a patient man and everyone in his life knew that about him— including you, so when you saw his eyes flutter closed and you could feel his face moving close toward to you, you knew he was about to kiss you.

This was not the first time you kissed Seunghyun, the way his lips molded to yours like he knew every curve of your mouth was an obvious indicator at that, but it was the way he would touch you while he kissed you— auulmost as if you were a canvas and his lips were the the paint brush, effortlessly taking control and leaving the person behind the brush and canvas at the mercy of a wooded applicator.

In the time it took for Seunghyun to allow his lips to leave yours, he was already leaving a trail of kisses elsewhere as you could hear the sound his lips made against the temple of your head and against the highest point of your cheek bone, and even close to your ear as he suddenly stopped and you swore the television and rain did as well, the only noise you focus on was the sound of both your breathing and you could not tell who was more nervous.

"Come closer,"

Effortlessly, your limbs did as the man said, the blanket now draping from your legs and your body did not know how to react, fhe sudden loss of comfort making you cool but then undeniable heat between you and Seunghyun was enough to ignite a campfire.

"You're so wonderful. I'll always love you, girl."

Your body moved carefully, quietly, like you had all the time in the world to be standing out there with the moon and stars; the calming scent of the night filled one of your five senses as you your eyes traveled upward, admiring everything around you. Little to your knowledge, Seunghyun was already behind you, admiring his own idea of what something beautiful was as he wrapped his arms neatly around your waist, his nose gently rubbing against the part of your spine where your hair dropped, the loose curls tickling his nose as the scent of coconut filled his senses.

"You know, the city lights are dancing down there. The way the neon bulbs will flicker whenever a tiny bug hits them just right, the electricity, it's the same sensation that humans feel when are dancing with someone we love or dreaming about something we love— you should know I am always dreaming of you."

It was hard to hide the smile that was slowly making your cheeks burst.

Humming in response, your arms continued to drape over the balcony rest in front of you as you continued to admire the city beneath you, your hips rocking backward slightly when you felt the taller man shift behind you; his arms remained tight at your waist, but you could feel him pressing into you, as if he loosened his grip on you too much, you would disappear into the night forever.

"Careful, Seunghyun. Would hate for you to get into something you could not handle,"

Your comment was playful— sassy even, with a slightly bratty undertone, but that only made the man behind you crave your touch even more. It really had not even been that long for you two, but suddenly he felt like a man deprived and a familiar tightness in his throat began to form.

"Are you questioning me princess? It's cute, really. You should know by now that I am use to everything... you— the way your lips curve right before you say something bratty..."

Seunghyun was right; he was always right. Not because he had to, or even because he wanted to, but only because his voice sounding like it was laced with pure, homegrown honey, he could tell you that a pig grew wings and was flying in the sky and you would believe him.

It was never a battle of words with you and Seunghyun, and you both used that to the advantage of your relationship, but what there was always a battle for was dominance, as your body moved carefully, your exposed back now leaning against the cool railing balcony as your eyes began to narrow, your pupils dilating at being face to face with someone you loved. The same smile tugged on your lips as your arms extended outward, lazily drapping around the neck of the man in front of you— your almond shaped nails gently tapping at the base of his neck.

"I do not think you are use to everything silly boy, I think you are just good at reading people; reading me."

Seunghyun tensed, but not in a way to show physical discomfort, as he leaned into your touch like his life depended on it and wrapped his arms around the front of your waist now— the feeling of his chest against yours and his fingers drawing little tiny shapes into the indentations of your hip bones; the way his heart's beating definitely tried to match yours.

Nerves bubbled inside of you at the contact, and it definitely did not help that his hands fingers felt so nice against you, your nails tapping gently against his neck again as you pulled him down to your level, your lips inches from his now as you watched his mouth carefully, the words leaving his mouth with ease.

"Everything is beautiful my girl. You are beautiful. It is simply the great power of love between two people."

Your own mouth opened to speak, a reply already waiting to leave your tongue, before his lips were quick to attach onto yours and marking you as his and him as yours. Seunghyun tasted like cherries with a hint of sweetened vanilla, a combo that you would associate his favorite wine with.

The heat of the kiss was alone to almost make your knees pop, but the added sensation of knowing he had just had some wine prior was an aphrodisiac on its own for you as one of your hands moved from his neck and clung to the fabric of the shirt he was wearing, scrunching the cotton tightly in the palm of your hand as the remaining fell through your fingers with ease.

Slowly, you both pulled away from another, the only sound being heard was the murmured breathes escaping your lungs. Seunghyun was breathing harder than you were and you could tell by his stained red lips and the way he locked eyes with you that he definitely enjoyed the kiss as much as you, if not— a little more honestly and your cheeks turned the same shade of red when he opened his mouth again, only this time instead of doing so to kiss you, he began to sing softly.

"You are my beautiful girl. You keep saying my heart on fire; a refreshing mint- like hit. The refreshing, mint hint, the answer is you."

Your head tilted backwards slightly, a low giggle escaping your vocal cords as you straightened up again to look at Seunghyun more carefully, your eyes starting to gloss over when you admired him— admired him for loving you, being there for you, and over all being the man he could for you and counting your lucky stars. You wanted to thank him, tell him— remind him how much you really did adore him but he only tightened his grip around you as his lips found the top of your head.

"Don't wanna say goodbye. Baby, good night."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚♡ɞ˚

Challenge Tag List: @steponupbabe @iibgdrgn @currentloser @moontabi @ikwon1c @jiyongsangel @lovemepartly @gdinthehouseee 💜

Normal Tag List: @loveesiren @gdinthehouseee @mashtatosworld @aizshallnotbefound @moontabi @lexalith @wcnderlnds @ldydeath @ttt-1987s @breakmeoff @emmiesoverthemoon @cupidsonly @djarindroid @szonyix6277 @nerdydoll-com @sherrayyyyy

💌 Ask to be added 🌙

Authors Note: thank you so much for @moonqz4now for getting me out of my minor hiatus and for reaching out with the kindest words of encouragement and motivation to ask me to be apart of this challenge with some really incredible creators. I know I say say this a lot but I promise I have some stuff coming eventually along with two new challenges I will be writing for. Thank you for the continued support on this blog 🥺

[reinabeestudio]

Gathering courage

[lucymmiller]

Moving In

The Millers move into their new house. 

----------

Pre/no-outbreak AU. Husband!Joel, Wife!Reader, and tiny Sarah. 

Tags: pure fluff, slice-of-life, domestic!joel, joel is absolutely smitten, established relationship, dirty jokes, profanity, no y/n, playful couple banter, kinda cheesy, can imagine show or game joel and sarah here, fluff, no reader description, sarah is reader’s kid, allusions to future pregnancy, fluff, did I mention fluff? 

Author’s Note: woohoo!!! first one-shot everrrr!!!! this idea came to me when I saw a commercial of a couple and their kid on a mattress on the floor, and i simply had to make it about joel miller. let me know what you guys think. my inbox is always open :) 

Word count: 1.4k

----------

“Alright, babygirl– we’re here.” 

Joel sighs, killing the engine of the janky moving truck before hopping out. He swings around to the other side of the cab, opening your door first, then Sarah’s. Here is your new house. 

You haul a sleepy Sarah into your arms, her bright eyes still heavy with the remnants of her backseat slumber. “Ready to see the house?” you whisper, just to her. 

Sarah nods, and the excited grin that graces her face makes your heart ache. 

Your husband fumbles with the new keys, the metal still well-polished and the key ring still vacant of any keychains. He grunts quietly as he pushes the door open. There isn’t a creak, no squeal either, not like the apartment you left for good this morning. Joel steps aside, letting you and Sarah occupy the space right next to him. 

All three of you are silent.

There’s something so refreshing about the new space. Something magical, almost. 

You stare at the newly renovated floor, then the freshly painted walls, then the intricate details of the fireplace in the middle of the living room wall. It hits you, really hits you, that this is your space now. More importantly, your space that you get to share with the people you love most. 

The silence is cut through by Sarah suddenly gasping. Instinctively, you and Joel both almost snap your necks looking at your kid, and when you do, she’s absolutely gleaming.

She squirms out of your arms, leaving you no time to protest as she runs over to a corner of the living room. There’s an old wooden box, probably left behind by the previous owners. Each panel of wood has winding engravings of butterflies and flowers, which would make a beautiful jewelry box, you think, but what gets Sarah excited about it is–

“It’s purple!”

She almost squeals, the sound reverberating off of the empty walls. She sits criss-cross in front of the box, taking it in her hands and flipping the top open. It’s bare inside, but it won’t be long until she fills it with everything her little heart desires.

You turn to look at Joel. He’s never looked so content before. 

His gaze lands on yours and his expression somehow softens even more. “Can you believe it? Place is ours.” He mutters in disbelief. 

“It’s perfect.” You reply. 

—-------

It takes you about an hour to haul everything in from the U-Haul.

“I refuse to believe that we had that much shit in our apartment.” You heave, eyebrows furrowed as you lean against the porch railing to rest. Joel shakes his head, hands on his hips like they always are when he’s being a little cocky. 

“And who thought it’d be a good idea to bring absolutely everything?” His eyes are wide in a pointed stare. Though he’s not showing his exhaustion, there’s sweat beading at his hairline that you narrow your eyes at. 

“Didn’t bring absolutely everything,” you retort, mocking the gentle lilt of his voice. “Only the necessities.”

“Mhm. ‘Cause your uh- empty candle jars are necessities?” 

“S’called upcycling, Miller.” 

He shakes his head as he takes a step forward, then another. He brings you into his arms, sweaty palms coming up to cup your face. 

“Drenched-” You croak out in protest, snatching his wrists and trying to twist away from him with little success. He chuckles, then, when he gets a hold of your face, he speaks low– “You talkin’ about you or me?” 

“You’re gross,” you shoot him a look, hiding your cheeky grin in his chest when he envelops you in his arms. Then, after a beat, you admit in a whisper– “both.”

—-------

“You really think my desk can fit through this?” You stare at the doorway of the spare room that was labelled an office space on the listing. The doorway is a little too narrow for your liking, and you definitely don’t want to have to ditch the desk you’ve called yours since before you even met Joel.

“We’ll figure it out, baby.” He reassures you with a loving hand on your lower back. 

“Just don’t want this room to be empty for too long. You know, I never really had any superstitions, but the one about empty rooms-”

“Don’t gotta be empty.” Joel interrupts.

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head, staring up at him. 

A bashful look comes across his face, his right hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Last owners used it as a nursery for a while.” 

Your eyebrows shoot up and you take a step back, teasing. “Uh-huh? And that matters because?” 

Joel shrugs with a pout, turning away from you to run his fingers along the light green wallpaper. “We’ll figure it out.” 

He glances over his shoulder and sees you standing in the opposite corner with crossed arms and a shit-eating grin on your face. You echo his words. 

“We’ll figure it out.”

—-------

While you and Joel unpack the kitchenware you regretfully wrapped in what feels like a hundred layers of newspaper, Sarah unpacks her toys, gasping at each one as if she didn’t toss them in the box the day before. 

“Daddy, look- it’s Miss Ladybug!” Sarah lifts up a ladybug stuffed toy that Joel got her at the bug museum a couple of summers ago. She came up with the name for the spotted plushie on the drive back home. Joel looks up from a stack of plates with his eyebrows raised, feigning surprise. “Well would’ya look at that. Thought she flew outta the truck on the way here.” 

Sarah giggles in response, dragging Miss Ladybug with her as she sprints over to where you and Joel sit on the floor. 

“Careful, sweetheart- whole lot’a boxes you can trip over.” Joel coos, always protective. Sarah settles in your lap, a welcome disturbance amongst the ever-growing towers of ceramic in front of you. 

“Can we make a fort tonight? Please?” She squeezes at your arm, then points over to the bare mattress sitting in the middle of the living room, yet to be moved to you and Joel’s room. “That’s a good idea, actually.” You nod, looking over at your husband. “We bring enough blankets for that?” 

“Would be surprised if we didn’t.” He mutters, then holds in a laugh when you give him a look that’s equivalent to calling out his full legal name. 

Five big blankets and your old table lamp is all it takes to set up your sleeping situation for the night. 

Joel managed to pin a blanket to the window, securing the other end of it beneath some of the heavier boxes you had both brought in earlier. The makeshift, tent-like structure is wide enough to fit your mattress beneath it, bathing the fading white foam in the light of the setting sun. 

Sarah’s wedged between you and Joel, staring up at the floral pattern of the blanket shrouding the three of you. You’re staring at it too, until you feel a hand covering yours as it rests above Sarah’s head. You look over to see Joel’s eyes on you, quiet, admiring. 

“What?” You mouth. 

He smiles and simply shakes his head. He feels so peaceful, more than he has in a long damn time, he thinks. 

You smile back, glancing down to see Sarah’s eyes starting to get droopy with sleep. Joel’s fingers tangle with yours, rough skin against smooth. 

This shell of a home has yet to bear the same kinds of memories and the same shared laughter as your last. Its walls haven’t seen your best moments, your worst ones, not even the boring ones. 

But here, on the floor, on you and Joel’s mattress, your kid wedged between you two, in your empty living room, you know one thing–

You can’t wait to make this house into a home.

[gojos-fluff]

Gojo's Fluff - Taking a bath

The bathroom is dimly lit by a few candles, soft jazz music in the background (you still couldn’t believe Gojo was into that) and the smell of roses filling the air.

Satoru hums softly as he finishes adjusting the temperature of the water. “You comfortable, babe?”, he muses in your ear before kissing your temple softly.

“Mhm.” You nod, a smile playing on your lips at the tender touch. His arms are lightly wrapped around your waist while he pulls you back against his muscular chest. A soft sigh escapes you as both of you let yourself float in the warm water, enjoying the moment to the fullest.

“You were right… baths are the best…” You mutter after a while, breaking the silence.

Satoru chuckles in response. “I told you if Japanese people are right about something, it’s that baths are the key to easing your soul. Especially if it’s with the strongest sorcerer in the world.”

He peppers a few kisses along your exposed neck to which you gently swat him away like he’s an overbearing gly. But you can’t suppress a soft smile. “Hold it, baby, we said only bathing.”

Satoru sighs dramatically, leaning back in the bath. “How am I supposed to survive that…? My cute girlfriend right in front of me… Oh, the world is so dark and cruel…” A mock sob escapes his lips as he whines like a left-alone puppy.

You sigh and turn around to him, the warm water lapping around your body. The movements cause a new wave of rose scent to fill the air.  He glances at you through a half lid eye to check if his antics worked.

“You’re impossible,” you whisper and cup his face gently, your thumb running over his cheek. Instead of the usual annoyance those words carry when targeted at Satoru, they are now filled with tender care.

“I think someone’s in love here~” He teases you with a smug grin and you chuckle, your head falling onto his chest.

“I’m not just in love, I’m absolutely smitten.”

[formulafanfics13]

Hey :)

Soo I have another idea for Lewis :)

I would love one where the reader (28 y.o.) is a friend of Charles and Lewis is absolutely smitten with her but acts like he doesn't like her, because he is afraid. So Charles gets help from the other drivers to set them up :)

Have a nice day :)

I LOVE THESE PLOTS WITH THE GRID BEING MENACES!!!!!

Matchmakers and Mischief - LH44

Masterlist

Summary: It begins in Monaco — where Charles Leclerc teases you about Lewis Hamilton's lingering stares. You think Lewis hates you; Charles is convinced he’s obsessed. Over the next few races, the entire F1 grid quietly conspires to expose the tension, culminating in a wild truth-or-dare dinner in Barcelona. When dared to kiss who you'd sleep with that night, you kiss Lewis on the cheek and whisper you'd wreck him. The next day, Lewis finally breaks his silence, confesses his feelings, and kisses you like he’s starving. You show up to dinner hand-in-hand, the paddock explodes, and everything — finally — makes sense. Lewis never hated you. He just didn’t know how to love you yet.

Warnings: slow-burn tension, mutual pining, chaotic meddling by the grid, unresolved lust, public flirting, truth-or-dare chaos, emotional repression, sudden romance, smutty innuendo, suggestive dialogue

It started in Monaco. Obviously. You’d flown in three days early to see Charles, not for the race, not for the press, not for the cameras, but for the boy you’d grown up teasing in French and elbowing under the dinner table during summer holidays. You were twenty-eight now. A woman. Grown. Accomplished. You worked in architecture, travelled when you felt like it, and were fluent in four languages, none of which prepared you for the silent way Lewis Hamilton watched you from across the yacht when you boarded it that afternoon.

It was a pre-race party, hosted by some rich heir Charles barely liked, but the view was incredible, the drinks were cold, and the yacht rocked just enough to feel expensive. “Don’t look now,” Charles murmured into your ear as you adjusted your sunglasses. “But Lewis is staring at you again.”

You blinked. “He hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He never speaks to me.”

“Exactly,” Charles said with a smirk. “He never speaks to you. And he speaks to everyone. That means he’s obsessed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Charles.”

“I’m serious.” He gestured subtly toward the far corner of the upper deck, where Lewis leaned against the railing, drink in hand, dressed in all black like a man in mourning. “He looks like he’s attending your funeral. I think he’s in love with you.”

“Okay,” you laughed. “Now you’re insane.”

But even as you teased, your gaze flicked over, and there he was. Lewis. Sunglasses on, jaw tight, his gold nose ring glinting in the sun. He looked away instantly when your eyes met, but you weren’t stupid. You saw the tension in his grip. The small flare of his nostrils. Like he’d been caught.

Charles grinned. “I’m telling you. He wants to marry you and kill himself about it.”

“Very healthy,” you muttered. “How romantic.”

It wasn’t just the yacht. It was every time you showed up. Miami? He nearly spilled his drink when you wore a white sundress. Zandvoort? He walked out of hospitality when he saw you wearing Charles’ hat. Monza? You swore you heard him say “fuck” under his breath when you hugged Carlos for too long. The worst part? He never said a word. Not hi. Not bye. Nothing. Just watched. Judged. Glared sometimes like you were a threat to his emotional stability. Which, fine. Fair. But it was getting ridiculous.

And Charles? Charles had had enough. “I’m staging an intervention,” he said one night over dinner. “The man is dying inside.”

You blinked. “Charles, we’ve talked about this.”

“No. You’ve talked about it. I’m enacting change.” He meant it. Because the next weekend, in Barcelona, something strange happened.

The grid started acting weird. Pierre winked at you. Yuki handed you a drink and said “for confidence.” Lando bumped into you in the hallway and whispered, “he likes girls who wear black.” You were wearing green.

Oscar offered you a hair tie. “In case things get messy.”

George raised an eyebrow over his sunglasses and said, “You know, for someone who doesn’t like you, he stares at your ass a lot.”

You froze. “George.”

“I’m just the messenger.”

Then came the kicker. The group dinner. You were in a private back room of a Barcelona restaurant, sitting beside Charles and opposite Lewis. Everyone was there. Champagne was flowing. The table was wide and gorgeous, and you were trying to decide if anyone had remembered you were allergic to shellfish when Lando suddenly stood up and clinked his glass.

“Truth or Dare,” he declared.

You groaned. “We’re not seventeen.”

“I know,” he grinned. “We’re worse.”

Pierre grinned. “I’ll start. Lewis.”

Lewis didn’t look up. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Truth or dare.”

He sighed. “Truth.”

Pierre grinned like a shark. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone at this table?”

You swore Lewis flinched. “Next question.”

“Not how it works,” Lando said cheerfully.

Lewis looked up. Right at you. For the first time in what felt like years. Your breath caught. “No comment,” he muttered.

Chaos broke out.

“GUILTY,” shouted Carlos.

“THAT’S A YES,” yelled Oscar.

“Drink,” said Charles, sliding a shot across the table toward you. “You’ll need it.”

Two more rounds passed. Then, “Truth or dare?” George asked, eyes glinting.

You hesitated. “Truth.”

He grinned. “Who’s your favourite driver?”

You didn’t blink. “Daniel Ricciardo.”

Half the table screamed. Lando looked betrayed. Max raised a toast. Charles looked like he wanted to disown you. And Lewis? Lewis smiled.

You barely caught it. A flicker. But it was there. And then everything tipped. Charles leaned in and whispered, “You should kiss him.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re insane.”

He smirked. “You’ll thank me.”

Before you could protest, Lando stood again. “Okay! Last round. Double dare. Babe, your turn.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

Lando grinned. “I dare you to kiss the person you’d sleep with tonight.”

The table went silent. Your heart hammered. Every driver held their breath. You stood. Walked around the table. Stopped behind Lewis. He looked up. His face unreadable. You leaned down. Pressed your lips to his cheek. Then, softly, whispered, “I’d wreck you.”

Then you walked away. The table exploded.

The next day, he found you outside the Ferrari garage. No words. Just heat. You turned. “You’re mad.”

“No,” Lewis said. “I’m done pretending.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You want me,” he said. “I want you. Everyone knows it. I’m not hiding anymore.”

You blinked. “You’ve never even spoken to me.”

“I didn’t know how,” he said. “Because when I look at you, I lose all my sense. And I hate not having control.”

You stared at him. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He stepped closer. “So kiss me.”

You didn’t even think. You kissed him like you’d waited a lifetime.

And Lewis? Lewis kissed you like it would kill him not to.

That night, you showed up to dinner hand-in-hand. The table cheered.

Charles smirked. “Told you.”

Yuki grinned. “Finally.”

Lando raised his glass. “Let’s never speak of this again.”

Lewis kissed your temple. And for the first time since you stepped into the paddock all those races ago, you felt completely seen. Wanted. Home. Because Lewis Hamilton didn’t hate you. He just hadn’t known how to love you yet.

But now? He did. And he had no intention of stopping.

[yvaineseleneposts]

Bombshell Pt. 1

A/N: This is part 1 of my new love island series! I will be moving this weekend, so a new part will be uploaded next week probably. I hope you like it!

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x reader

Words: 1k

Warning(s): none

Episode Title: “10/10 Lips and a Game-Changer”

The villa was buzzing with anticipation. The sun beat down over the glistening pool, bodies sprawled across sunbeds, the Islanders soaking up both the heat and the drama.

The girls were inside the kitchen when Jessie got a text. “I’ve got a text!” she shouts across the garden, “Islanders get ready for today’s Blind Kissing Challenge! #lipsdontlie #girlsvsboys”.

The rules were simple: each boy would kiss the girls one by one, blindfolded, and the girls would rate the kiss out of ten, and then they would switch places.

But what they didn’t know… was that a bombshell was entering the villa.

The Kissing Challenge

The boys had finished their kisses, and now it is up to the girls. One by one, blindfolded, each boy stood center stage. Each girl in the villa got their kisses, and they thought the challenge was over. Suddenly, the iconic Love Island door creaked open. Striding in with confidence, wearing a red bikini and an even redder lipstick, was Y/N, the newest bombshell.

Heads turned. Jawlines dropped. Jessie quietly gasped, “Wait, who is that?”

Y/N stepped up, not missing a beat. Her kisses were bold, lingering, and expertly playful.

Mitch rated her kiss an 8/10. Tyrese smirked after removing his blindfold. “That was mad. Gotta be an 8.” Will fanned himself dramatically. “That was… unexpected. 8.5, but I’ll round down so I don’t get cuffed tonight.” Zac grinned. “Yeah, alright, 8.”

But then it was Nico Hischier’s turn.

The NHL star turned Islander stood blindfolded, hands behind his back. Y/N stepped closer, her breath grazing his lips before pressing a kiss that was slow, confident, and undeniably electric.

Nico’s jaw clenched. When the kiss ended, he stood still, lips slightly parted. “That was a ten. No hesitation.”

The villa erupted.

“Ooooh!” “Nico!” “Wow, okay!”

Jessie nudged Maya. “He’s smitten already.”

After the Challenge

Sunset painted the sky in burnt orange and cotton-candy pink as the Islanders lounged by the fire pit. Laughter and gossip filled the air. Y/N found Nico by the daybed, alone, sipping on a drink, a smirk playing on his lips like he knew exactly what was coming.

“Mind if I join?” she asked, voice playful but with a flicker of nerves.

“Would’ve been rude if I said no to a ten-out-of-ten kisser,” Nico teased.

She sat beside him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You gave me a ten. Why?”

He looked at her, eyes softening. “It wasn’t just the kiss. It was… how you did it. Like you knew exactly what you were doing, but not for show. It was just real. You didn’t hesitate.”

Y/N smiled. “You didn’t either.”

They held each other’s gaze a beat too long.

“I meant it,” he said. “The score. I don’t throw those around.”

“Neither do I,” she replied, shifting slightly closer. “But I’d say you’re a solid ten too.”

Silence fell between them, the good kind. The kind that doesn’t need filling.

From the kitchen, someone yelled, “They’re grafting already!”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Think they’re jealous?”

Nico chuckled. “Definitely. Want to give them something else to talk about?”

He leaned in, slower this time. She didn’t pull away. And just like that, the bombshell made her mark, not just on the villa, but on Nico.

Later That Evening

The fire pit glowed against the darkening sky as the Islanders scattered into their usual evening cliques. Music played low from the villa speakers, and conversations buzzed like bees around the drinks table. Y/N stood up from the daybed after chatting with Nico, cheeks slightly flushed, maybe from the drink, maybe from something else. Inside the kitchen, Maya and Ella were cleaning up the cocktail mess when Y/N walked in.

“Look who’s finally surfaced,” Maya teased, giving her a knowing glance.

Y/N smirked. “Can’t help it if I’m in high demand.”

Ella leaned on the counter, curious. “So? You and Nico? That kiss earlier was... whew.”

Y/N laughed, grabbing a slice of pineapple from the platter. “It was decent.”

“Decent?” Maya arched a brow.

“Alright, maybe... dangerously decent,” Y/N admitted, grinning.

Just then, Jessie wandered in and looped her arm through Y/N’s. “Okay, we’ve had our fun watching from the sidelines, but now we need to talk.”

Y/N glanced around, then nodded. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out to the beanbags, away from the others. The night was balmy, the kind where secrets feel safer in the dark.

“I wanted to have a proper chat,” Jessie began. “You came in today and just... owned it. That’s not easy.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Thanks. I was terrified, honestly. Didn’t show it, but yeah — heart in my throat.”

Jessie smiled. “Well, you played it cool. And that kiss with Nico? He hasn’t looked at anyone else since.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment. “Thing is… I didn’t come in thinking about any one guy. I wanted to feel it. See who actually sees me. Nico surprised me. That kiss surprised me.”

Jessie nodded thoughtfully. “He’s not really been fully coupled up with anyone. The others have been trying to suss him out. He keeps his cards close, but I think you cracked him.”

Y/N laughed softly. “Maybe. Or maybe I just kissed him into silence.”

They both giggled, the tension lifting.

Jessie nudged her. “Just be careful, yeah? This place… it gets messy.”

“I know,” Y/N said, her voice suddenly more serious. “But I’m not here to play it safe.”

From the fire pit, a shout rang out: “Y/N, you coming back or you abandoning us already?”

She stood, tossing her hair back. “Duty calls.”

As she walked away, Jessie watched her go with a half-smile. The bombshell had definitely landed.

[bbyblumarine]

SMITTEN BEST FRIEND!TANGERINE

Note: your likes and reblogs put the biggest smile on my face, and encourages me to write more :’) thank you for the love <3

— Terrible with words, but he’s known you long enough to know the right ones at the right time. He likes to flex that he has better knowledge of your mind than Lemon despite knowing you for the same amount of time as him, and Lemon lets him because he’d know he’d get a bollocking if he was to disagree. “Mate you get fucking scary when it comes to her. I ain’t getting involved,” he shrugs with raised eyes when Tangerine mentions it to him later. Music to his ears, really.

— Anytime you mention you have a date, they would always end up miraculously bailing on you at the last minute. Every time, without fail. How?! It reaches a point where you vent to Tangerine, saying that you might as well give up searching and just wait for the right man. “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best,” Tangerine would comfort you sympathetically, a twitch of a glimmer in his eye.

— The foundation of your friendship is built on inside jokes. You still reference to this day the kid that tripped over in front of you both and fell into dog shit when you were little. Tangerine knows it’s always the way to bring a smile to your face, even in your shittest moments.

- This one time you were both at a restaurant - his treat, as always - and when you’d slipped away to the toilet, an old lady came over to tell Tangerine: I just wanted to say, I think you’re both a lovely couple. The way you make her laugh is just the sweetest.

Tan simply smiled and thanked her. No harm in indulging fantasies every now and then—some say it can be healthy, even!

— Brings you sweet treats from all the countries he visits. There’s this really specific wine you taste tested on a holiday in your teens to France. You mentioned it in passing to Tangerine once, because of the sentimental value the memory held: the treasured time spent with family, and the sun resting on your hair at the peak of your innocence, divining that this would be the best memory of your life.

- So when Tan, back from a job in Lyon, drops the very same bottle on your nightstand while you’re brushing your teeth, he patiently prepares himself for that look in your eye - the one where you fight back tears from your gratitude. He’ll pretend to you that it was light work retrieving it, “oh yeah, noticed it in a corner shop and figured it rang a bell”, all while secretly hoping you see through it and realise what you meant to him.

— Manages to nab you tickets to see your favourite artists and acts like it was no big deal, just a lucky coincidence - you weren’t to know he bribed the management team of the artist to provide the best seats and VIP access.

— Tangerine calls you his four leaf clover, because without you he’d be the unluckiest man in the world. Just casual friend talk.

— Game nights with him and Lemon. You have a tendency to whisper words in Lemon’s ear when playing Scrabble, purely to see the pissed off look on Tan’s face.

— The only reason Tangerine hasn’t asked you out is because he knows you’d become target Number One if the enemy knew how dear you are to him.

- So that makes you safer as just one of his mates, one that he happens to envision his future with, a few kids and maybe a dog. It’s whatever.

[wonwunss]

–ᝰ.ᐟ✮ In a quiet evening spent lounging together, Seokmin finds himself suffering in the sweetest way—completely smitten by his girlfriend’s effortless beauty and cozy presence. When he groans dramatically about how unfairly pretty she is, a soft kiss to the cheek shuts him up… and his heart just about gives out. A fluffy, cozy glimpse into a relationship a few months in, full of love, teasing, and quiet affection.

pairing: seokmin x f!reader

genre: fluff, established relationship, soft domestic romance, tooth-rotting sweetness

word count: 580

a/n: i will start tweaking out if somebody calls me pretty out of nowhere frrr

You were just sitting there.

Curled up on his couch, legs tucked beneath you, hoodie far too big and sleeves falling over your hands—his hoodie, actually. The one you’d "borrowed" weeks ago and never gave back. Hair loosely tied up, a little messy from the long day, cheeks soft and warm in the dim glow of the fairy lights he’d hung up months ago and never took down.

You weren’t even doing anything special. Just scrolling through your phone, eyes occasionally flicking up to the drama playing on the TV, completely unaware of the way his heart was slowly, steadily imploding.

Seokmin was supposed to be watching the show too.

Instead, he was watching you. And then, out of nowhere—he groaned. Loudly. Dramatically.

You looked up, startled. “What?”

He threw his head back against the couch cushion and covered his face with his hands. “Stop being so pretty,” he said, muffled, “it hurts.”

Your brows scrunched, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He peeked at you between his fingers, then groaned again like you were physically causing him pain. “I’m serious. I’m suffering. Do you know how hard it is to sit next to someone who looks like that and pretend to act normal?”

You blinked. “I’m literally wearing your hoodie and have Cheetos dust on my fingers.”

“Exactly.” He pointed accusingly. “And somehow, that just makes it worse.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Bright and breathless and entirely too pretty for someone who just laughed at his pain.

“Lovey—”

“No. No talking. You’ll say something cute again and I’ll combust on the spot.”

You tilted your head, biting back a smile. “That serious, huh?”

“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not,” he said, voice muffled. “You’re—ugh—you’re just unfairly pretty. Sitting there all effortless and cozy in my hoodie like you own my whole soul or something.”

You blinked. “I do own your soul.”

He peeked at you from under his arm. “Exactly. And you’re so casual about it.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, scooting closer until you were pressed against his side. “If it helps,” you whispered, fingers gently playing with the edge of his sleeve, “you’re not exactly easy to sit next to either.”

That made him pause.

He slowly moved his arm away from his face, eyes meeting yours. “What do you mean?”

You smiled, leaning in—and before he could say anything else, you kissed his cheek. Soft and warm and lingering, just enough to make his breath hitch. His skin flushed immediately, bright pink blooming across his cheeks like spring arrived early.

You leaned back, satisfied. “I mean… look at you. You’re literally glowing. You’re the one who’s not fair.”

He blinked at you, brain buffering, hand slowly coming up to touch the spot where you kissed him like it might disappear if he didn’t catch it in time.

“I—” he cleared his throat, voice slightly higher than usual. “I wasn’t prepared for that.”

You giggled. “Good.”

“Oh my god.” He groaned again, this time collapsing dramatically into your lap, burying his face against your stomach. “I’m gonna die here. This is where I perish. Cause of death: girlfriend too sweet. Too powerful.”

You stroked his hair gently, laughter melting into soft affection. “You’ll live.”

“Mmm, debatable,” he mumbled into your hoodie. “But if this is how I go… not a bad way to go.”

You rested your hand over his. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you're dangerously pretty,” he mumbled. “We all have our burdens to carry.”

[movingmusically]

What Are Friends For? - Chapter 28

Author’s Note:

Lily isn’t the face claim for Angie—but this set of paparazzi shots is exactly what’s being referenced in the chapter.

Word Count: 2.9k

Masterlist

It started with Zara.

A WhatsApp ping just after eight, when I was still in bed—duvet kicked halfway off, one arm flopped uselessly over the side in search of my phone.

Just a link.

I blinked, thumbed the brightness down, and squinted at the screen while the page loaded.

And there it was: my actual private life, splashed across the Daily Mail website with a headline I couldn’t have made up if I tried.

PICTURE EXCLUSIVE: Elvis star Austin Butler puts on a VERY steamy display while sharing a kiss with mystery brunette after dinner date in London

Below it, a carousel of photos: Austin leaning in close, his hand on my back. Me laughing at something he’d said. And then the worst of it—us kissing on the pavement like we hadn’t noticed the world, or the long-lens camera aimed directly at us.

I sat bolt upright, heart thudding as I read the rest of the article.

Austin Butler appeared completely smitten as he wrapped up a low-key dinner with a mystery woman on Saturday night. The 29-year-old actor, currently in the UK filming Masters of the Air, was spotted sharing an intimate kiss with the brunette beauty after enjoying a dinner date over the weekend. The pair arrived at a swanky restaurant alongside a male friend earlier in the evening. They enjoyed a two-hour dinner before being seen hugging and kissing after waving goodbye to their friend. The pair looked relaxed and affectionate throughout the evening, holding hands as they strolled by the river, with Butler keeping a protective arm around her waist. Sources say the actor has been spending more time in London in recent months, and was “clearly enjoying some downtime” during his break from filming.

They didn’t name me. Just “mystery brunette.”

But it wouldn’t take much. A parent from school. One of the Year 6 girls with older siblings and a TikTok addiction. A colleague who still read the Mail Online just to feel superior about it.

And if anyone clicked through—there I was.

Not exactly behaving like someone who’d just reminded her class last week about online safety and keeping your personal life private.

I stared at the screen, rereading the headline like it might change if I blinked hard enough. It didn’t.

Another ping. Zara again.

Zara: You’re literally the Daily Mail mystery brunette??

What a way to start the summer holidays x

A beat. Then:

Zara: You ok?

I didn’t reply straight away. Just flopped back on the pillows, phone still in my hand, the duvet twisted around my knees like it might anchor me to reality.

Summer holidays. Right. Technically, yes—they’d started on Friday.

We’d had the leavers’ assembly, the staffroom prosecco, the frantic clearing of classroom displays and emotional goodbyes. I’d said see you in September like it meant something. Like I had any idea what my life would look like by then.

Now here I was: not even through the first weekend, and already headlining a tabloid’s sleaziest corner like a cautionary tale.

A primary school teacher turned clickbait girlfriend.

Brilliant.

I opened Zara’s message again, thumbs hovering. Typed Honestly, I want to crawl into a bin, then deleted it. Typed Didn’t even know we were being watched, deleted that too.

Finally landed on:

Me: Absolutely mortified.

The typing dots appeared straight away.

Zara: You look hot, if that helps.

I mean. Terrifying and exposed. But hot.

I snorted. Then felt immediately guilty for laughing.

Because it wasn’t just about being seen. It was about being seen like that. With him.

Not that she didn’t know. But now everyone would.

Parents. Kids. Colleagues. My actual headteacher, who once gave a whole staff meeting about “maintaining a neutral online presence” because somebody liked a tweet that said teachers should be paid more than MPs.

And now this.

Kissing a movie star on the street like I was in some sort of glossy summer romance novel.

Except I wasn’t the heroine. I was the teacher who was supposed to be boring and responsible. Not plastered all over the tabloids.

Somewhere under the panic, I could still hear the front door shutting from earlier. Austin had gone out to get coffee and something breakfast-adjacent—he’d offered to make eggs, then remembered he didn’t have any, and somehow that turned into “I’ll be right back.”

That was… maybe fifteen minutes ago.

We were at his flat. Not unusual these days. Ever since filming moved to Bovingdon and the studio started sending a car to pick him up in the mornings, he’d been based in London full-time. We were splitting time more evenly now, some nights he stayed at mine, but most of the time we ended up here. Mostly because it was bigger. And had windows that actually shut properly. And a sofa that didn’t require you to sit sideways to stretch your legs.

And now I was curled up in his bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, reading a national news article about our kiss.

Like this was normal. Like this was fine.

I wasn’t even sure how it happened, not really. The dinner had been casual—his friend was in town, a guy he’d known from years back in LA. The kind of friend where the rhythm picked up mid-step like they’d never left it. I knew the type. I’d seen it with Callum and his actor mates—how quickly the in-jokes surfaced, how seamless it all felt from the outside, even when you didn’t quite know what they were laughing about.

I was nervous. Not because Austin ever made me feel like I didn’t belong—but because I wanted to. Because he’d slotted into my world so easily. My friends adored him. My mum had smiled so much I thought her face might actually cramp. I wanted to do the same. To hold my own. To make a good impression on someone who knew the version of him I didn’t.

It helped that the friend was kind. He asked about my job, about writing, about London things he should try before flying back. It was good. I’d exhaled. Relaxed. The whole dinner felt light, easy. No need to try too hard or pretend I was more interesting than I was.

And then, after we said goodbye, we kissed. Just the two of us outside the restaurant. Not some secret, hurried, back-alley thing. Something that had felt entirely ours. A soft, almost absent-minded moment like we’d forgotten there was anywhere else to be.

Then we walked—down towards the river, our arms around each other, the night still warm, the kind that made everything feel softer. He’d said something daft that made me laugh.

And now? Now that little moment, that private pause between dinner and home, was public property.

I heard the front door click, followed by the rustle of a paper bag and the soft scrape of trainers being kicked off against the skirting board.

“Okay, so,” his voice called, easy and cheerful, “I know you said coffee and something breakfast-y, but I may have got distracted by that bakery with the ridiculous triple-chocolate croissants you liked—”

He appeared in the doorway, a takeaway tray in one hand, bag in the other. Still talking.

“—and then I saw a woman dressed as a pirate with an actual pigeon on her shoulder, just casually walking down the street at eight a.m., and I think I might’ve hallucinated it, but—”

He stopped. Crossed the room and set the tray down carefully on the bedside table.

I hadn’t moved. Still sitting on the bed, phone in my hand, his T-shirt bunched around my thighs like I’d forgotten how to exist in a human body.

Austin’s brow furrowed as he took me in. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

I didn’t say anything.

I just turned the phone around and held it out, the headline still glowing like it had been seared into the screen.

He took it. Scanned the first few lines. Blinked once. Then again, slower.

“Oh.”

He sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the takeaway bag landing with a soft thud beside him. The phone was still in his hand, but he wasn’t looking at it anymore.

“I didn’t think…” he started, then trailed off. “I mean, I knew they were around, obviously. But I didn’t think anyone was paying that much attention. Not like this.”

I didn’t say anything. Just watched as he frowned, rubbed the back of his neck, then glanced over at me properly for the first time.

“You okay?”

I gave a short, involuntary laugh. “Do I look okay?”

“No,” he said quietly. “You look like you want to hurl your phone out the window and then crawl into the duvet and never come out.”

“That’s shockingly accurate.”

He nodded, still frowning. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. He looked genuinely gutted, like he’d walked me straight into it without meaning to.

He set the phone down gently on the bed between us. “Have you ever been photographed with Callum?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But not with my tongue down his throat.”

That got a half-smile out of him. Brief, rueful.

“And not,” I added, jabbing a finger at the screen, “with his hand down the back of my jeans.”

Austin leaned over to look again, wincing. “Okay, yeah, that one’s… not great.”

“Your entire hand is on my arse.”

“In my defence,” he said, glancing up at me, “you were very distracting.”

I stared at him.

“I mean it,” he added. “You were—laughing at that dumb joke, and tugging on my jacket, and you said something about my hands being cold, and I—look, I’m not proud, but I panicked and put them somewhere warm.”

Despite myself, I let out a snort. “You’re unbelievable.”

I shifted to sit up straighter, pulling my knees to my chest. “You think the kids’ll see it?”

Austin raised an eyebrow. “Your kids?”

“Yeah, those. And their parents. And my boss. And half of bloody West London.”

He reached out, resting his hand lightly on my ankle. “If anyone’s got a problem with you having a life, they’re the one being weird.”

“A life, yes. A very steamy display, according to the Daily Mail.”

That made him laugh, properly this time. A warm, amused sound that briefly pulled the tension out of the room. “Your socials are locked down, right?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “All private. School policy. And I never use my full name anyway.”

“Good,” he said. “My publicist’ll handle it. We don’t comment, it dies down. It always does.”

I looked at him then, properly. Messy hair, creased T-shirt, still him. Still the person I wanted to figure it out with. “You don’t look that chill.”

“I’m not,” he admitted. “Not about you.”

That nearly undid me.

His hand slid slightly higher, fingers curling gently as he rubbed slow, reassuring circles just below my knee. A quiet, grounding touch. “I hate that this touched your life like that. I’ve done press since I was fifteen—I’ve had a camera in my face more times than I can count. But you shouldn’t have to deal with it just because we… because I wanted to kiss you.”

I swallowed. My throat was thick with something sharp and ridiculous and fond.

“You think your publicist’s seen it yet?”

“Probably.” He paused. “She’ll email soon. Just to say not to worry, that we’re not giving a statement. Same as always.”

I let out a long breath. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to say anything either,” he added. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

I nodded again. “It’s just a shock.”

“Yeah.”

We sat there a moment, silent.

He reached for the bakery bag, unrolling the top with more focus than necessary. “You still want the croissant?”

He held it up like a peace offering. “Triple chocolate. Still warm.”

Despite everything, I smiled. Took it from his hand and held it for a second, stupidly touched.

“You’re lucky I’m not making this my Roman Empire.”

Austin tilted his head. “The croissant?”

“This moment. The panic. The headline. The hand placement. And you… trying to fix it with pastry.”

His lips twitched. “Is it working?”

I leaned in and kissed him—quick, close-mouthed, but lingering just enough to make his eyes soften when I pulled back.

“Ask me again after I’ve eaten it.”

Austin unwrapped his own croissant and leaned back into the pillows, legs stretched out in front of him, one arm resting behind me. He didn’t say anything straight away, just took a slow bite and made a noise that was halfway between appreciation and relief.

I let myself do the same—warm, rich, slightly too much chocolate for this early—and tried to pretend that sugar could actually absorb adrenaline.

He wiped a crumb from his lip with the back of his hand. “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret it.”

I looked over. “The kiss or the croissant?”

“The kiss,” he said, then paused. “Though honestly? Bit of both.”

I nudged his foot lightly with mine, still curled beneath me. “It just doesn’t feel like it should be news. We had dinner. We kissed. People do that all the time.”

“They do,” he said.

I sighed. “I knew this might happen eventually. I just… didn’t think it would feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like someone cracked open the door and now I have to decide how much to let them see.”

Austin nodded, quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to open it any further than you want to.”

“It’s not really up to me, though, is it?” I twisted the pastry bag in my hands. “It’s out there now. And whether or not they name me, people will work it out.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “They might.”

I could feel his eyes on me, steady and calm and a little bit sorry.

“I just don’t want to be the reason things get harder for you,” I said finally.

“You’re not,” he replied, with so little hesitation it almost startled me. “This is mine to manage. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I let that settle between us, but it didn’t feel right to just leave it there, like he was shielding me from something that already belonged to both of us.

“I don’t want you to handle it on your own,” I said. “I know I didn’t ask for this, but I’m not pretending it didn’t happen either. We’re in it now. Aren’t we?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah. We are.”

“And I want that,” I added quickly, before he could say anything else. “I do.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a grin—just the kind of smile that said he heard me properly. That it meant something.

“I just… I don’t know what it looks like now,” I admitted. “I was fine with this being ours. Quiet. Low-key. But if it’s out there—if it keeps being out there—what happens next?”

Austin shifted slightly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck the way he always did when he was thinking. “It’s not going to be like this every day,” he said. “It’s a blip. They’ll move on the minute someone else does something more interesting—or messy.”

“Right. So we just… wait for a celebrity divorce or a Love Island scandal.”

“Basically, yeah.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s comforting.”

He nudged my knee with his. “Look, I don’t want to change anything between us. Not because of this. We just keep doing what we’re doing. It’s been working, hasn’t it?”

I nodded, surprised by how quickly my throat tightened again. “Yeah. It has.”

He paused. “But if you want to slow down, or step back, I’ll get that too.”

“I don’t.” I said it before I could second-guess myself. “I want… whatever this is. Us. Just maybe with fewer cameras involved.”

He smiled again, this time all the way. “I can live with that.”

“Good,” I said, trying to sound decisive and not like someone who’d had an actual existential crisis about it twenty minutes ago.

Austin reached over and plucked a flake of pastry off my chin. “Still got chocolate on your face, by the way.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the hem of my—his—t-shirt to wipe it.

He raised an eyebrow. “Wow.”

“What?” I said. “It’s multi-purpose.”

“Right,” he said. “Chic and absorbent.”

I snorted, and the last of the tension eased from my chest.

He shifted closer and tugged me gently into his side. I went willingly, curling into him as his arm came around my waist, his lips pressing into my temple like a habit. One I didn’t want him to break.

We stayed there for a while, legs tangled loosely, t-shirt bunched somewhere around my hips, his skin warm where it pressed against mine.

“Think we’ve earned a slow day,” he murmured, lips against my hair.

“Mmm,” I said. “Starting now.”

“Can I be scandalous and suggest we stay in bed till lunch?”

I tilted my head to look up at him. “I think you meant to say until dinner.”

He grinned. “Dinner,” he echoed. “Ambitious. You planning to let me leave this bed?”

I shrugged, curling closer. “Don’t count on it.”

That made him laugh—properly, this time. Low and warm, right against my hair.

“Well then,” he said, his arm tightening around me. “Guess I’ll have to make it worth your while.”

Taglist:

@slowsweetlove @thefallofthedamned @saturnsdaughtr @bellesdreamyprofile @myradiaz @butlerrizz @chocolatetree222 @richardslady121 @ilovereadingfanfics @faegoddessog @lucianegm @butlers-angels @jjubilee-fluff

[m1ssunderstanding]

Saw you answering some mclennon related debates (ignore if otherwise) but I’ve got one to throw in

what do you think is the most convincing evidence that Paul was ever fr fr irl no jokes in love with John?

I only ask bc i think it’s super easy to tell that John was totally whipped for Paul, there’s heaps of evidence and he is basically a confirmed bisexual at this point. Paul (at least to me) seems a little harder to pin down if he ever felt romantic feelings for John in return bc he’s kinda straight core and cagey with his feelings (I’d like to think he would but I’ve been tossing up)

So if you're looking for comprehensive levels of evidence I'd direct you to @menlove . You could ask them again, but really if you go through their blog they have gone pretty deep into proving Paul's attraction to John and queerness in general.

But here's some thoughts from me too.

One thing to keep in mind is where John shows absolutely every feeling that ever crosses his mind, Paul shows basically nothing. You have to do some real digging to try and figure out what he's feeling. But. I also think even if we look at the surface level, the simplest answer is that Paul was in love with John.

Paul dressed up fancy to meet John and pulled out all the stops to impress him.

Paul completely uprooted his life for John, giving up his career plans and showing willingness to lose his family and home.

Paul was pissed off about John and Brian's trip to Spain.

Paul looks, in all those Beatlemania era interviews, just as smitten with John as John looks with him and he talked about John like he was actually bigger than Jesus

Paul continuously went to John's house when John was depressed to instigate songwriting when he easily could've just written completely on his own. He also constantly dragged John out for dates.

Paul basically didn't react when Ringo and then George said they were quitting the band. Like that sucks. Guess I'll hop on drums now. But when John said he was quitting Paul became such a recluse that people actually thought he was dead.

Paul's songs to John throughout the seventies are extremely horny. Like he's begging for it.

Paul continuously made the effort to mend things with John. Being the one to call, the one to travel.

Paul reacted similarly when John died to when Linda died only with the added pain of not having been married to John for forty years.

Paul continues to talk about John an unbelievable and unreasonable amount, constantly bringing up how much he loves him when no one asked.

All of this could be interpreted multiple ways. You could say Paul is an evil Machiavellian psycho who just has been leeching on John since 1957. You could say Paul is a straight man who just really felt for his poor gay buddy. I just think what makes the most sense is that he was completely in love with him in every sense of the word.

[mae-gi-writes]

eyes closed.(2). liam mairi (fourthwing)

Unlike the other marked ones, you despised having that symbol branded along your back and spent your entire life running away from it. But the charming smile and the captivating blue eyes of a certain cadet going by Liam Mairi might just convince you otherwise.

genre: slowburn! rivals to lovers (ish), Liam is smitten. He fell first but she fell harder. Suggestive (18+) content. Happens before the fight at Resson. Reader's name is Kaelle Loo, a first-year.

———part one | part two ———

Things are different.

More so different than you’d have expected to be.

But not bad. Just different.

Winter comes at full force; the snow barreling through the land and rendering the Flight Field a living nightmare. Every step outside the College Walls feels like torture has placed needles in your path, and with the War Games still hovering over your head, there are a lot of things to worry about.

Unfortunately, these things seem completely distant to you when all your mind has been focusing on — or rather, whatever’s been eating away at you for the past months — has been none other than Liam Mairi.

After that little moment in your room a few nights ago, it’s been practically impossible to get him out of your brain. Like a worm wriggling its way into your memory until he’s all you can think about. It drives you crazy, makes you want to flip over a table at the mere thought of you unravelling like a morose idiot at the idea of a boy.

A boy with blue eyes and dimples that make your heart hurt in all the best ways.

“Are you still working?” Liam says over your shoulder a few nights later. You would’ve never imagines him to take refuge in your room ever so often. But turns out he gets quite invested into building himself a space in your bed, under your sheets, and if it weren’t for the fact that he leaves his scent lingering behind him for you to fall asleep into after he’s gone you would’ve kicked him out by now.

Instead, you just huff out a, “not everyone’s a prodigy like you Mairi.”

“It’s just calculus. That’s logical,” you hear him shuffle and moments later, warmth bathes your back as he peeks over your shoulder.

You tense at the closeness. Still not used to him. To being held. To being so physically vulnerable with someone else.

But Liam’s been really good with that too. And honestly, it makes your heart swell.

“That goes there,” he points to the function in question and slides his finger over the page, “you have to even them out before you start solving the problem.”

He’s right. As he usually is.

You throw him a glance over your shoulder, “why don’t you do my homework?”

Liam’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He takes a moment to answer, tilting his head to the side to look at you with a teasing smile.

“What do I get in exchange?”

"My--" you air quote this with your fingers, "friendship."

"That's not a fair trade."

"I think it's an absolutely fair trade."

"We're already friends, Kaelle."

"Yes, but I could be a better friend to you, if you just do my homework."

"Oh really?" he leans in close until his face is bare millimetres from yours, the dimple in his cheek deepening as his eyes glisten with mirth, "and how, exactly, will you be a better friend?"

You want to reply with a witty comeback, but the way he's looking at you has the words die along your tongue. Suddenly, you feel a little too vulnerable, a little too exposed. And you blink in rapid succession, trying to piece together how the hell he's gotten so close to you without your realisation.

Without warning, your arms shoot out to push him away. But Liam is faster, hands whipping around your waist so fast that you all but topple against him with a yelp. You screech bloody murder as you both collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and knees and it takes all but five seconds for the blonde to have you pinned under him, arms locked above your head and his thighs locking you in on either side.

"Got you," he breathes out with a grin.

"Shut up Mairi," but your words don't have bite. They rarely do these days, when it concerns Liam.

"I thought Xaden was training you," he presses a little harder against you so that you grunt, "can't get out of this one?"

"I let you win," you scowl at him.

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

His head dips, face coming alarmingly close as your noses brush, "prove it then."

You're on him in an instant.

Kicking him in the stomach with all the power you've got, Liam's hold loosens just enough that you manage to pry yourself out. You roll over and quickly tackle him before he can do anything, shoving all your weight onto him and pressing one elbow to his jaw, just enough that he lets out a pained groan.

You can cut off his air circulation if you want. But you don't. Instead grinning down at him with newfound adrenaline, "not so chatty now, are we Mairi?"

But Liam's grin only widens.

His hands seize your waist. He yanks.

You go down with a cry, hands splaying out in front of you just as you crash into his chest.

"What the fuck, Mairi?!" you snap and flail but he's holding onto you like his arms are made of iron, pinning you to him so that you feel all the muscles underneath, "Just--Let me go!"

"No," he mumbles into your hair as he shifts to be more comfortable. You have no choice but to relent when it's clear as day he's not moving anytime soon. You slump against him, hearing the soft beats of his heart echo against your ear. It's a deep, grounding rhythm. One that automatically makes your muscles slowly melt into goo the more you listen. And it's actually nice when you slowly get used to this; to the way Liam's body feels against yours, his scent invading your nostrils as your body slowly succumbs to the comfort of his arms.

He's warm and solid and firm. And just about so comfortable you feel your eyelids getting heavy--

No.

Your hand lifts, a pitiful attempt to hit at his chest, "let me go," you mumble out.

How in the world are you even letting him handle you this way?

You've been running from people for so long. This--feeling, whatever Liam is bringing out in you--

This isn't right. It shouldn't be.

"Liam," your words are muffled against his chest, "I'm serious. Let me go."

"And I'm serious," he replies and tightens his hold, practically burying his face into the side of your head. His thumb brushes along your waistline, the act surprisingly intimate and so embarrassing you feel yourself heat up, "I'm not letting you go. Not when I finally have you."

Let yourself rest, child. Your dragon rumbles from the other end of your bond, you deserve it.

But what if he leaves too? the thought escapes your brain before you can stop it and you feel like slapping yourself. You sound pathetic.

Dionne replies before you can overthink, a quiet grumble that you cannot argue with, look at him, child. He will never leave you at this rate.

But what if--

Kaelle, your dragon growls, stop it.

It's probably the first time your dragon has ever used your first name when addressing you.

So you listen. You stop.

And actually fall asleep in his arms.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It becomes more frequent. The nightly visits. The sleepovers. The residual warmth that follows you around like a blanket every morning despite you having to crawl out of bed because of Xaden's morning training. Liam barely spends any time in his room anymore and while you've had your fair share of comments from the rest of the Marked ones about you and the blonde about "fucking" and "safe sex" and "no kids before you graduate", you've gradually learned to ignore them altogether, throwing them the middle finger every chance you get.

You spend the rest of the week babysitting the youngest Sorrengail when Xaden has to leave for another mission -- probably one that involves gryphon riders-- and for once you don't complain, for his extensive training has you limping for days on end. Soon, you find yourself exchanging more than just two words with Violet, reluctantly having to share conversations because she seems all too keen to build a friendship with you despite the fact that you're like an angry cat and reply in monosyllables.

"You can be nicer," Liam says to you one night as he walks you back to your room after practice with Imogen.

You scoff, "why should I?"

"She's trying," he throws you a look, 'at least be civil enough to ask about her day."

"I don’t give a shit about her day."

"Kaelle."

“What?” You roll your eyes, though stumble slightly when his hand grasps yours out of the blue.

He brushes his thumb against your knuckles, “for me?” He prods your shoulder, “can you try?”

Your scowl deepens. You don’t enjoy being told what to do.

A cold wind blows over and he reaches out, hand pushing away stray hairs from your face before he tugs you closer against him, “please?”

You hate how easily he makes you all putty into his hands, grumbling out a soft, “fine.”

At this point, it’s completely humiliating to have a human dictate so much of how you feel. One might think you’re developing feelings for the Mairi boy and it’s no lie that you’ve gotten quite close ever since he’s confessed his feelings a few days ago. But you are more than surprised at how easy it is, to bypass the fact that Liam might love you, might look at you in a way that’s not necessarily how you feel about him. And yet, as promised, he doesn’t ask for anything more. Doesn’t push you no matter how hard sometimes he must find it.

Because you feel it; in the way he gazes down at you sometimes, in the way his eyes flickers over to your lips — barely, but still there — or the way his touch lingers long after you’ve decided to say goodbye.

And the worst part is that you like it.

You want it.

You look forward to it.

The rest of the week goes by in peace. But that doesn’t last long, for you hear knocks raining down on your door on Sunday morning when the sun is barely out. You practically worm your way out of bed, only for a glare to settle across your features when you realize it’s none other than Xaden Riorson standing at your door.

“What?” You spit out venomously, “it’s fucking six in the morning Riorson. Shouldn’t you be with bleached hair?”

It takes him by surprise, “who?”

“Sorrengail,” you open the door a little wider, “what do you want?”

“Her hair isn’t bleached. It’s silver. Get it right,” Xaden sneers, “and good morning to you too, cadet Loo.”

“What do you want?” You hiss.

“It seems like I’ve been hearing stories,” he crosses his arms and leans against the doorway, cocking his head in that infuriating way of his, “about you and Mairi. Just wanted to fact-check.”

“Why? Are you on babysitting duty?”

“No, I’m asking because I’m concerned,” Xaden’s face tightens, “Liam is too good for you. Don’t play with him. He doesn’t need you breaking his heart.”

“First of all, that’s none of your business—“

“First of all, it is,” he cuts you off sharply, “he’s my responsibility. So take it as a warning, cadet. You either stick it out with him or you don’t. But don’t go taking advantage of his kindness. I will know. And I will feed you to Sgaeyl if that is the case.”

You reel back like he’s punched you in the face, “I don’t take advantage of him,” you snap back, rage simmering in your belly. The audacity of this man to question your integrity has you boiling, “who do you take me for?”

“It’s a warning,” Xaden’s eyes flash with emotion, “don’t fuck with him.”

The Wingleader’s words act as a wake up call. Who were you, to be so smitten with Liam anyway? There are so many other important things to prepare for, one that includes not giving yourself a death sentence at the end of this semester. The words turn over in your head like a broken record player, haunting you whenever you spend time with the blonde cadet like an echo at the back of you brain every time you’re lucky enough to be graced with his dimpled smile.

Xaden is right. You don’t deserve Liam. He’s everything that you’re not; kind, gentle, and so easy-going he reminds you sometimes of a golden retriever. You’re the complete opposite. Like a stormy grey ocean that always strikes at the wrong time, the kind of dark waters that nobody wishes to venture into. You scare people off before they get a chance to know you, make them walk away by force like you’re a hedgehog with poisonous spikes. So it shouldn’t hurt so much to hear Xaden say it out loud.

But it does. It does sting, because for some reason you’ve started to believe that maybe you’ve become a little better, a little more human, ever since you’ve met Liam.

Who are you kidding? You have too many sins to count. There’s no way you can make that up to Malek in your lifetime.

If you know what's good for you, you'd stay away from the blonde cadet, make it your mission to stop interacting with him altogether as Xaden said. Because in truth, you are -- in a way-- taking advantage of his kindness.

Meanwhile, the fact that the War Games are coming up soon means that it leaves little to no free time, and as the days unravel at your feet too fast for you to keep track of, it gets easier to brush off Xaden's words in favour of training and making sure you won't die in the upcoming events.

It's six in the morning when the alarm bells ring for formation a week later. You stumble out of your room, your hoodie half-perched along your head as you tug it over your sleepwear, still yawning and rubbing your eyes while following the rest of the cadets out in the courtyard. Finding your squad is easy and you fall into formation with a loud sigh, trying to tame your hair. There are three professors up on the dais this time, and your heart starts to pound beneath your hoodie. You know exactly what's coming up next, but that doesn't mean it prepares you any more knowing that this might be the last day you breathe.

You underestimate yourself, child. Dionne's words brush, as gentle as the wind, I did not choose you for your weakness.

No, you tell him, you chose me because I'm broken.

Indeed, he sounds certain, though his words are gentle, as am I.

But you're okay with that, something knots at the back of your throat. You spare a glance to your right, eyes finding a familiar mop of blonde spiky hair and blue eyes. Liam is listening intently, face focused, brows furrowed. He looks utterly kissable like this and the urge takes you by surprise.

You are soft for the Mairi boy, Dionne muses.

I am not.

You do not need to lie to me, child. It is as clear as the rivers of the Vale.

He does not need me like I need him, you bite down onto your lower lip as the Professors drone on about the rules of the first War game. He is everything I am not. That's unsettling.

Or maybe he is exactly what you need, Dionne murmurs gently.

"The first War Game is going to be Capture the Flag," the Professor announces, "each squad will need to find their flag at various Athebyne outposts. First Squad to find it wins and gets an advantage for the next War Game. You have twenty four hours. Not more. Good luck to everyone.”

The sea of formation breaks as soon as they are dismissed and you follow the rest of your squad towards the back of the courtyard, only to be stopped by a hand along your elbow.

You swivel, dagger at the ready, only to find Liam blinking down at you.

“It’s just me,” he murmurs, his voice drowned out in the noise and commotion of movement.

It’s dangerous to be talking out here in plain sight, especially for two marked ones. You’re well aware of this, but you can’t seem to find the strength to pull away. His touch is warm. Comforting. You almost relish in it.

“What?” Your words come out sharper than intended.

But if Liam seems affected by it, he doesn’t show. Instead, his other hand finds your wrist and he tugs it towards him, placing an item in your palm as he closes his fingers over yours.

“That’s yours,” he says gently, releasing his hold so that you turn your hand over.

It’s a ring, one carved out of the most beautiful, smooth wood, with a few symbols engraved along its ridge. A frown dips between your brows and you look up at him in growing confusion.

“It’s made out of Alpine wood. Known for it’s magical healing properties,” a hand goes up to rub at his nape, “but from where I come from, it’s also known for it’s protection properties. Something about its core being able to withstand natural disasters. So…” he trails off then, as if he’s unsure of what to say, “so yeah. I thought maybe that— that might keep you safe.”

“I don’t need anything to keep me safe,” you snap, “are you implying I’m weak—“

“No!” He answers a little too quickly, “no no, that’s not— that’s not what I meant. I just—“ he breathed out a soft exhale and you spotted a muscle in his jaw tick, “can you promise to wear it?”

The way he says it, a string of words spoken so tenderly like fragile glass, as though everything relies on whatever you will say next, as though he fears of what you might do.

“It’s … a ring,” you say, realization dawning, “Oh,” the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them, “it’s a ring.”

“Yeah,” Liam croaks, “but—I mean— you can wear it like a necklace,” and he gestures faintly towards the thin rope attached to it. As if that might help.

Heat licks at your face and suddenly you wish winter would go on forever, “right,” you mouth feels dry, “yeah. Of course.”

“So you’ll wear it?” His eyes light up.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice. And before he can say anything else, turn around and proceed to walk away so that he can’t hear how hard your heart is pounding.

You’re going to leave him like this? Dionne chides from the other end of the bond, you might regret it, child.

One step forward. Another. And another. You focus your entire body on finding your squad as Dionne continues, he is still looking at you.

I can’t, Dionne. He’s not good for me.

Yes you can. He’s yours. He was yours before you even knew it.

Dionne—

Go to him.

It’s like instinct. To jerk back towards Liam who’s been — as Dionne had said — gazing at your retreating back. You don’t give him time, striding back towards him with purpose with your arms at your sides, ring pinned to your palm.

"Kaelle--" he starts just as you grab hold of his black shirt, tug hard enough that he stumbles, and press your mouth to his.

Liam’s breath chokes against you. He freezes.

You kiss him. Softly. Hesitant. Unsure.

And yet, it feels so right.

Fire bursts through your chest. Your throat feels tight.

His mouth is warm. Softer than you could’ve imagined. He smells of wildfire and cozy sheets, of waking up wrapped up in his scent on cold mornings.

You pull back slowly, heels finding hard ground and palms settling against his chest.

“That’s for the ring,” you mutter, ducking your head and lowering your gaze so that he can’t see the redness spilling over your cheeks like wildfire, “and for… everything else.”

Eyes fluttering up to meet his wild blue ones filled with confusion, you take this chance to drink in every detail, every scar marring his face, every freckle along his nose and the curve of his lips.

“Please,” you whisper hoarsely, “don’t fucking die on me, Mairi.”

You don’t wait for him to answer. You make a bolt for it without looking back, trying your best to keep your breaths steady as your heart pounds in your ears like a drum.

This changes everything. But it leaves a small smile at the edges of your lips.

You will not die today, not when you have someone you need to return to.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Where is he?”

“Calm down cadet—“

“Where the fuck is he?!”

Xaden grabs at your forearms, his grip firm and tense, “I said calm down before I throw you out of here.”

Your breathing is unsteady and your chest rattles with fear with every breath that you take. Your thoughts are permanently swirling and there’s a ringing in your ears that you cannot stop no matter how much you try. Your body hurts in too many places to count, but the only thing that’s keeping you from collapsing to the ground is the fact that there’s a particular blonde cadet behind these closed doors that’s apparently fighting for his life.

“I need to see him,” you tell Xaden, hating the fact that your voice comes out like a shaky murmur.

“No one can until the mender gets to him,” Xaden holds you down, as though he fears you might just run off. His onyx eyes are assessing your features, calculating what you cannot understand, “he’s fine. He just got hurt during the War Game.”

"I need to see him," you repeat like you haven't heard a word he said. To be truthful, you haven't. Your voice breaks when you add, "please."

"I can't do that."

"Yes you can, just open the fucking door Riorson!"

You surge against him but he blocks you, arms caging you in his hold before he tugs you into his chest and you all but collapse against him as the tears threatening to fall finally burst like an exploding dam. You slump against his huge frame, crying silently into his tunic as every single moment you've spent with Liam flashes before your eyes.

You had barely made it to the ground when Dionne had given you the news about Liam. You haven't understood any of it; other than a few words such as hurt and something about Jack Barlowe and falling off his dragon. But you hadn't waited any longer, dashing through the courtyard like fire was at your heels and barely making it to the Healer's quadrant where you'd bumped into none other than Xaden. Fury had blazed through your chest as you'd made a grab for him and yelled bloody murder because he was supposed to be his Wingleader. He was supposed to protect him.

And yet, he hadn't. He'd let Liam get hurt. And now, the latter was busy fighting for his life.

You'd never forgive Xaden for that.

And you will kill Jack Barlowe, if it's the last thing you do.

"He will make it," Xaden whispers against your hair. His hold tightens ever so slightly, as if holding you might help him believe that, "he will not die today."

"You don't know that," your words are muffled against his chest. For once, uncaring about who's holding you because you swear if he lets you go you might collapse and crumble to the ground.

"Yes I do," he pulls back slightly so that your brown eyes lock on his onyx ones, dark and fierce with emotion, "Liam is a fighter."

"You better be right about that Riorson," you hiss, "or I'll cut your neck off and feed you to Dionne."

Amusement flickers across his face, "think you'll make it past Sgaeyl?"

You growl, shove him off and storm over to the Healer's entrance.

Time loses meaning when you're focused on willing Liam to be better. You sit, sprawled on the floor as Healers walk in and out, and would've starved to death if not for Imogen and Garrick bringing you stashes of spare food and water. You eat because you have to --well, because Imogen almost shoved it down your throat that one time you'd refused her -- but otherwise you're mostly dozing on and off, catching any stray healers to ask about Liam's condition.

All you get is "he's stable. But we know nothing more yet. The Menders will know better."

Fuck stable. You haven't seen a Mender in the past three days. So what? Is he just lying there like a vegetable?

The healers are not lying, Dionne murmurs gently. The Mairi boy will live.

How are you so sure about that?

His dragon is confident, Dionne says, he trusts his rider. As should you.

But it's impossible. The idea of losing him makes you want to throw up.

Unconsciously, your hand drifts up towards the ring attached to your neck. You grasp at the wooden piece, fingers running over the designs that Liam had carved out for you, and a little part of your heart breaks when his dimpled smile flashes through the back of your lids.

You probably drift off at some point because the next thing you know Garrick is shaking your shoulder as his voice comes into clarity, "--wake up, Loo. They say we can see him--"

"Liam," you bolt up with widened eyes, "is he--"

Garrick just nods, "come on."

You don't need to be told twice.

You practically bolt.

The Healer's quadrant is quiet, filled with rows upon rows of beds housing injured cadets from other wings as people talk in hushed murmurs. A completely different atmosphere from the chaos that inhabits the Riders' quadrant, and with a pang you realise you do miss it. Eyes searching the area until you find who you're looking for, your breath catches at the back of your throat as you stride towards the blonde cadet.

He's still asleep, chest heaving up and down in calm succession as your eyes rake over his figure. He's lost a bit of weight since, his cheekbones marred by lack of food and tired aprons lining his eyes. But he's breathing. He's alive.

You all but collapse against his bed, relief barreling into you like a truck.

"Mender says it'll take a few days," Xaden states as he approaches and crosses his arms over his chest, "but he should be up and about In no time."

"And his dragon?" you ask.

" Impatient. But fine," Xaden's eyes flicker over Liam's sleeping form and you cannot describe the look that fills his face, though you can suspect it's a mixture of concern and relief.

He turns to you suddenly, "you should go."

He's speaking like a wingleader, with the authority booming from his tenor. But you stand your ground and narrow your eyes at him, "I'm not leaving him."

"That's an order, cadet." Xaden says. He turns to Garrick, "take her with you."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not there--"

"Then act like a fucking adult and maybe I'll start taking you seriously," Xaden cuts you off with a scowl, "now go before I drag you out of here, Loo. It's not going to look pretty."

"Come on Kaelle," Garrick motions towards the exit, the tiredness in his eyes evident. He's done fighting, and something in you softens slightly at his countenance, "I promise I'll tell you if anything changes. If he wakes you'll be the first to know."

You hesitate, eyes glancing between him and Xaden, "you promise?"

"I promise," Garrick nods, "Now c'mon, before I fall asleep with my eyes open."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

It's the warmth that wakes him.

Liam groans, brows furrowing upon feeling the light dance across his face. One palm comes up and he turns his head away, blinking slowly as sleep slowly loses its grip and consciousness returns to him. He spots a huge white room at first, confusion flitting through him as he takes in the rows of bed, the injured sleeping cadets dispersed across the room, the tinkering of Healers as they check upon their patients.

And then, the memories snap back.

As clear as yesterday.

The War Games. Athebyne. Kaelle's lips on his--

Kaelle.

Your face fills his mind. Doe eyes, freckled cheeks, with hair as thick as vines falling down your back. Liam yearns to run his hands through them. That is quickly replaced by concern and panic upon realisation that he'd left you -- last seen you -- before the War Games. His head fills with questions as panic takes over.

Are you okay? Did you make it through the War Games?

Are you alive?

Dread seeps into his stomach and he hears a familiar rumble.

The stubborn one lives, Deigh growls, focus on yourself, Mairi boy.

The relief that floods him is instantaneous and he looks up at the ceiling with a soft breath, closing his eyes for a minute as he pictures your face, the final words uttered from your mouth, the way you'd kissed him goodbye--

His hand flexes against the sheets.

Gods. He can't wait to see you again. Can't wait to show you how much he's missed you, how much his heart beats for you.

"Good to see you back, Mairi."

It's Xaden, perched at the end of Liam's bed. So still that he almost appeared as a shadow.

Liam opens his mouth to speak, only to cough. His Wingleader is quick to give him a glass of water that he hungrily gulps down.

"What happened?" Liam rasps out when he finds his voice.

"Jack Barlowe happened," Xaden's eyes go dark, "I would kill him. But it seems that someone's already onto it."

"What?"

"Your girlfriend," an amused smirk dances across the Ringleader's lips, "is a force to be reckoned with."

Girlfriend. The word sends warmth up his chest all the way up to his face and he feels himself sizzle, so much that he has to look away with a cough, "we're not..." he trails off as Xaden lets out a laugh.

"Oh come on, Mairi. Don't give me that shit," his smirk only widens with mischief, "she's been moping around the Healer's Quadrant for the past week, waiting for you to wake up."

That does not help with the embarrassment. Liam swears he can feel his face go fire engine red at this point.

"Where is she?" his blue eyes dance across the room, "and the others?"

"Everyone's fine. Violet was pissed," Xaden pauses, "she almost got Jack killed. He got away at the last minute."

Indeed he has, and I believe that's a good thing, Deigh sighs against his mind.

Why's that?

Because your girlfriend, as the shadow wielder has mentioned, is out for his blood.

The thought of you polishing your knives makes him smile for some unknown reason. He loves seeing you all riled up, with fire dancing in your eyes and that satisfied smirk upon your lips. It's hella attractive, if he's honest to himself.

The Healer announces that it'll take a few more days of rest and of healing broken bones before Liam has the chance to take his first few steps out of bed, and asks that he gets as much sleep as he can. Liam does as told, dozing in and out of consciousness as the day goes by, for once taking the opportunity to heal his body as much as he can, for he knows that once he's back in the Rider's quadrant, there's no such thing as enough sleep.

The next time he wakes though, he spots your sleeping figure by his bedside. Your head rests along his body, your hand clasping his like you’re never letting go and a perpetual frown on your face. Even in your sleep, you never look peaceful and Liam has the insane urge to smoothen out your wrinkles.

His heart swells with emotion as he watches you sleep. It’s unsure when he really did start falling for you. Developing feelings had not been in his plan when joining the quadrant. To be strong was his motto, to be the best of his year, to be strong enough that he wouldn’t be pushed around by others. Because power was what got you far, that was his biggest lesson ever since he’d watched his parents burn before his very eyes.

But then you’d came along. All guarded, your tongue a sharp weapon and your countenance always rigid. Tense. Always looking around as if danger might jump out at you. Almost like a feral cat ready to pick a fight no matter what the circumstances. It had pricked his curiosity, had made him wonder what lied beyond that dense wall you put up for everyone to see.

But then things changed. Your mask slipped, that one time he’d asked you about your hatred for the marked ones. He’d seen you falter slightly, had noticed the way your eyes had brightened at the notion of dropping everything to run away from this world. And he’d wanted more.

As if on cue, a soft grumble falls from your lips. You shift, eyes fluttering open wearily as Liam watches with the softest smile gracing his face. Cute.

Your eyes find his. They widen with a sharp inhale.

“Hi,” Liam whispers.

“I—“ the shock is what makes you jump, before you realize you’re holding onto him and quickly let go like he’s burnt you, “you’re awake.”

“Were you holding my hand?” He can’t help but let out the smallest chuckle at your deer in the headlights expression.

“I—no. No, no,” you huff out with flushed cheeks. Liam’s grin just widens because gods you are so adorable he really wishes to kiss you.

But he knows it’s still very fresh. Still new. And that you’s probably run away if he comes on too strong.

So instead he lifts his hand slightly, winces when ache spreads over his limbs, “I want you to.”

There’s a bit of hesitation on your part. A few seconds of stunned silence before you move slowly, your fingers brushing tentatively over his before he clasps yours in a firm grip.

“Next time, don’t let go,” his murmur is raspy, sending skittles of heat down your spine.

You bite your lip and look away, brows furrowed, “I thought I told you not to die,” you spit out.

“I didn’t—“

“You almost did,” rage laces your tone as your eyes lock on his, words shaky with emotion, “you were hanging on by a fucking thread, Mairi.”

Liam lets out a sigh, “I’m sorry.”

“You better be!” You yell out, “I was worried sick! Do you know how long I sat outside that fucking Healer Quadrant wishing to Malek he wouldn’t take you?! After everything you said about keeping myself safe?! You should’ve kept that bloody ring yourself, damnit! I—“

You choke on your own words then as emotion bubbles up your throat. And when your eyes flutter back to his as tears burn the edges of your vision, Liam’s heart breaks a little at the sight.

“Hey,” his thumb smoothes over your knuckles, “I’m here now.”

“But I thought you were dying,” you shot back, voice wobbly, “I thought you were gone—“

“But I’m here,” he repeats it gently. Then tilts his head, “come,” he whispers.

You need no more encouragement, shuffling over as Liam makes some space on his bed and motioning for you to join him. You do, after another few beats of hesitation and looking around, sliding carefully until you’re nestled into the crook of his shoulder and trying to ignore the fact that your face is probably the colour of a ripe tomato.

Liam’s heart is a steady beat pounding against your ear, one that reassures you, slowly eases you into comfort as he nuzzles into your temple before pressing a chaste kiss there.

You hiss in a breath, not used to him being so affectionate. And yet, you’re tired of fighting it. Whatever it is between you and Liam. You want this as much as he does.

You’re tired of running away.

“You smell good,” he nuzzles against the side of your head.

Your heart stutters. Gods. He’s barely touching you and butterflies are already roaming your stomach.

“Also,” he adds, voice brushing the side of your head, “don’t think I forgot that kiss you gave me.”

You flush bright red, “wh—what?” You splutter, head swiveling to look at him with wide eyes.

He hums and leans closer. His nose brushes yours, causing your breath to hitch, “don’t worry,” he grins, “I’ll bide my time.”

Bide his time?

Bide his time?!

Calm down, child. Dionne can’t help but cackle in the back of your mind, it is just a kiss.

Oh shut up Dionne, you snap. Though you don’t mean it.

It takes almost a week for Liam to get back on his feet. It drags by slow, tedious, as you juggle the resumption of classes and all the assignments that you had been excused for tardiness, all while keeping the blonde cadet company in your free time. After what had happened, it's almost like second nature to go check up on him whenever it is deemed possible, something that Imogen and Garrick both have been rattling your head off about.

"Going to see Liam?" Imogen calls out after you when she spots your hunched figure scurrying out of the Mess Hall.

You turn, knowing that you're caught, before throwing her the meanest scowl you can muster.

But this is Imogen. She never gets scared of people. She's the one scaring people away, if anything.

"Is that a problem?" you growl.

"So have you two fucked yet?" she grins sadistically.

"No!" Your face reddens, "and even if we did, that's none of your business!"

"I'm pretty invested in your love story at this point in time, Loo. So better make it worth it. Just put the boy out of his misery. He's been pining for you for over six months now."

That only helps to darken your blush even more, "it's not like that at all and you know it."

"What isn't?" he brow disappears behind her pink hairline, "that he doesn't want to fuck you? Or that you're dragging this out longer than you should?"

"It's not just the sex. So drop it," you snap.

"Oh," she pauses. Her smirk widens when she reads your face, "oh," she adds as emphasis, "I see what you mean."

"What?"

"You love him, don't you?"

You almost choke on your spit.

"Nothing to be ashamed about, first-year. But romance isn't for the Riders Quadrant. As you've guessed. You never know when we might die, so that's not a good idea. Not even for you."

Garrick, on the other hand, has been dying to know details of how you and Liam have apparently confessed your undying love for each other. So much so that he's gotten Bodhi and Xaden involved, meaning that you have to suffer through a round of questioning ever time you spot the trio in the corridor.

"Heard you kissed Liam," Garrick commented as you brushed past him that one time during Sparring, "how was he?"

Your head snaps up to his, "what?" venom drips from your voice.

Garrick lifts his hands in mock surrender, though his grin betrays his actions, "don't kill me. Xaden's the one that told me about it."

"How the fuck would he know?!" You growl a little more aggressively than you should've. Fuck Xaden. You're really going to rip his head off.

"Xaden knows everything," Garrick counters, "so are you going to tell me? Or should I bother poor old Liam about it?"

"You are not--" you seethe, "telling any of this to Liam."

"Who says I won't?" Garrick grins, eyes dancing with mischief, "maybe I should."

"No! Argh," you wish you can rip your hair off, "why are you all so invested?! Just --leave me alone!"

You almost bump into Xaden as you storm off with barely restrained anger, leaving a laughing Garrick behind.

Xaden's brow lifts in assessment as his eyes dart from his friend to your retreating back, "should I be concerned?" he asks Garrick.

"I'm just pulling her leg. Kaelle is suprisingly adorable whenever you talk to her about Liam," Garrick says.

"Careful Garrick," Xaden throws him a pointed look, "you're starting to sound a lot like a girl."

"Says the one who told me about these two."

"Fair enough."

As Winter slowly trickles away to leave Spring in its wake, Liam finally emerges from the Healers' quadrant all patched up and ready to resume his Rider's duties. Things slowly fall back into place and go back to normal, almost that it's easy to forget whatever had happened between you and Liam a few weeks ago had been part of a reality you'd stuffed at the very back of your mind.

But that doesn't mean Liam has forgotten. You're pretty certain that his growing sense of touch towards you has increased tenfold over the past few days.

Like somehow always finding your eyes across a room full of cadets, for instance. Even in battle brief, if you're sitting all the way across the room, Liam would find a way to lock eyes with you and send you that dimpled smile that renders you weak at the knees.

Or when there's a swarm of riders down the corridor in-between classes. Liam would then find you, pressing a huge palm along the back of your spine to guide you through the crowd. His touch is firm, almost possessive, and no doubt leaves trails of blazing heat in its wake that sends desire straight down to your belly.

And as if hugs aren't enough, he's progressed to leaving short, chaste kisses everywhere he goes. Like when he bids you goodnight for example, hanging around your doorway until you forcefully kick him out with the excuse that there is training with Xaden the next day.

"It's just past ten," is what he would whine like a kicked puppy.

"No," you narrow your eyes, "just because you don't train with Xaden and have slow mornings, doesn't mean everybody is the same."

"Fine," he grumbles, and before you know it he's grasped your shoulder, tugged you into his chest before pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "goodnight then."

Or when he walks past you during sparring sessions, for instance. Like that one time you'd gotten your ass handed over to you by Imogen and was sitting by the bleachers with a dark cloud hanging over your head, so much so that everyone avoided you that day.

"Hey," Liam trudges by as he sheathes his daggers along his thighs, "you okay? You look like someone just murdered your dragon or something."

You growl at that, "no. Fine. I just lost."

"Against who?"

You sneer, "Imogen."

Liam can't help but grin because to him you're just so fucking adorable and no one sees it the way he does.

"Well," his hand pushes a few strands of hair away from your face, "you're getting her next time."

"Mairi! You ready or what?" A voice hollers from the other end of the training gym.

"Yeah alright!" Liam turns back, leaning over to drop a chaste kiss to the top of your head, "I'll see you later," he taps upon your nose fondly, "stop sulking."

And he's off, leaving you a blushing mess with a racing heart.

It would be a lie to say that you're not getting used to it, because if you have to be honest with yourself, you quite enjoy it. You try not to think about his words from that one day he'd reminded you of the kiss you gave him -- though could that count as a kiss when you had initiated it and it hadn't been reciprocal?-- it had been more a peck really. So does it count?

You find your answer a few days later during one of your Flight manoeuvres.

You're already on the field with Dionne, one hand along your dragon's chest to smooth over his scales as the midday sun beats down the back of your neck and causes sweat to pool inside your flight jacket. It's impossibly hot for early spring, though it's no doubt icy cold when you'll be up in the air on Dionne's back.

"Kaelle."

You turn to see familiar blue eyes, that dimpled smile and those spiky blonde strands.

His smile deepens when he finds your necklace, "you're wearing it." he says softly.

You nod and impulsively finger the ring along your neck. it rests against your collarbones, its weight a reminder of Liam's presence, "I forgot to take it off," you bluff.

He reads right through your lies, for his smile breaks into a grin.

"Mairi!" his name causes both of you to snap towards the sound, where Professor Kaori sits upon his dragon, "you need an official invite or what?!"

"Sorry Professor," Liam calls back, gaze darting between you and where his dragon is situated along the field, "I'll see you later yeah?"

"Yes," you watch him start towards the field, "uhm--wait, Liam?"

"Hm?" he turns to look at you over his shoulder. It's clear he knows he needs to get to his dragon fast, perturbed by the fact that Kaori might give him extra duties for being tardy.

"I--uh, can we talk?" you chew your bottom lip, "later? In my room?"

"Yeah, yeah of course, I--"

"Mairi!"

"Yes sir!" he hollers and before you can register what's happening Liam's thumb has grasped your chin and he tugs your face up, "talk to you later, yeah?"

And he drops a peck to your lips, shutting you up, and walks away like nothing has happened.

And it might have been nothing, if not for the stares that follow his back. Then trail right back to you.

You gape. Your jaw parts. You're not quite sure what has happened.

He kissed you.

He kissed you like...

Like...

Like he's been doing it all his life.

Like he can. Anytime. Anywhere. Everywhere.

The thought rams into you at full speed.

For a moment you forget how to breathe.

That is, until you hear Imogen snicker behind you, "I knew it. They're fucking."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What in the world was he thinking?

The reality slams into him the moment he reaches Deigh's legs. That, paired with his dragon's suddenly veered interest towards his love life.

Bold of you. Deigh chuffs a cloud of steam along his back, I'm not sure the stubborn one had seen that one coming.

Liam is barely making sense of anything as he climbs numbly onto his dragon's back. He stares into the distance, resisting the urge to touch his lips and he feels like he should hit himself with something. Anything.

He hasn't even kissed her properly. Not even once!

Oh gods. His father would be so ashamed of this lack of chivalry.

Liam buries his face into his hands. I'm fucked.

You are going to do better than that, his dragon rumbles, aren't you?

I know I know. I fucked up. That was not how I intended it to go, Liam groans inwardly while Professor Kari's voice booms across the courtyard, giving a debrief of their Flight manoeuvre for the day.

Liam barely remembers anything that happens during the Flight session that day, his thoughts consumed by your reaction to his actions as he plays the scene over and over in his head. An idiot, that's what he is, for acting out of character and relying on pure automatic instinct without thinking twice. That's what's gotten him into this mess anyway, one that he's not sure he can crawl out of no matter what excuse he decides to pull out.

It gets even clearer to him when you decidedly avoid his presence for the rest of the day even when Liam tries to seek you out at your usual spots. Alas, he's forced to spend the afternoon inside his own head, wondering what you now think of him and whether he's just ruined his chances of finally being able to love you like he actually wants to. Not with the kind of restraint he exercises on a daily basis. It's becoming increasingly hard to keep focus when you talk, or when you glance up at him in a certain way that has his heart folding over and exploding with butterflies. He's not quite sure where this flurry of feelings is coming from, but what he does know is that you are the source of it. No matter what you're doing, it's clear to him that he's smitten. Truly, honestly, smitten by you.

You are testing my patience with this girl, Deigh lets out a rumble through their warm, sunlight-coated bond, you better not disappoint me tonight.

Liam doesn't respond. He stares down at his plate of food, not hungry, allowing the conversation to flow across the table.

All he can think of his you. And how you haven't even turned up for dinner.

Is it because of him?

He gets his answer two hours later when he walks to your room and knocks upon your door, a few buns in hand in case you're hungry.

It swivels open after a few seconds and your face pops out. Liam takes in the wet strands cascading around your face, your dewy skin straight from the shower, and the way the heat has turned your cheeks cherry pink.

An adorable sight that almost makes him coo.

He swallows thickly and clench his jaw, "hey," he murmurs out, "can we--talk?"

Your dark eyes flit to him. Down to the plate in his hand. Back to his face.

It takes a few moments for you to respond. But you open the door a little wider and he takes it as an invitation to follow you inside.

"Here," he passes you the plate, "figured you'd be hungry."

The look you give him is one of pure confusion.

"You didn't come down to dinner," Liam explains.

"Oh," you bite your lip, look away, "thank you."

An awkward silence fills the air, turning it heavy and crisp with tension as you both avoid looking at each other. His heart is pounding against his chest, so loud he swears you can hear it from where you're sitting, and he shifts from one leg to the other, unsure of how to begin.

He takes a slow breath, a muscle in his jaw twitching, "I'm sorry," is what he starts with, "for earlier. I shouldn't have..."

"shouldn't have what?"

"The kiss," he bites the inside of his cheek. looks away, "it shouldn't have happened."

A frown dips between your brows, "I see."

"No, not like that," Liam quickly responds, "I did--want to kiss you. Just not--Just not like this. Not in front of everyone. And definitely not--- this way."

He's flustered and blubbering a lot of nonsense that doesn't click, and from the growing confusion on your face it's clear that you are just as lost as he is. With a soft groan, he rakes a hand through his spiky blonde strands, "I'm making this worse, aren't I?"

"I don't understand," you start off slowly, "what you're saying."

"Sorry," Liam mutters. He moves closer to you, finding a seat on the ground before his hands slide to the back of your calves so that he can part them to make space for his body.

Tilting his head up to gaze at you, you're stuck by the intimacy of this scene and heat permeates through your cheeks at his closeness.

"Look," his tenor turns raspy. Dips even lower. Your tummy tightens deliciously, "what I mean to say is that I didn't want our first kiss to be in flight leathers and in front of everyone to watch. I was stupid and it was an accident. Because --" his voice dips even lower as one of his hands caress the back of your calf, "--you deserve better than this."

You gaze down at him in silence as the room buzzes with unspoken feelings.

That's what he's worried about? That you deserve to be kissed somewhere other than on the flight field?

It's cute. And frustrating at the same time, how good he wants to be for you. How romantic he wants to be.

But he doesn't have to try so hard. You're already wrapped around his little finger. Or does he not know that?

"Didn’t take you for a romantic," you finally reply, throat knotted. Your'e glad that your voice doesn't betray how giddy you feel.

"I'm not," he murmurs. His hands slide up the back of your calves, brushing against your lower thighs and leaving hot trails in their wake, "I just love you."

Bold words for someone who's barely lived to know what they mean.

But it still makes your heart skip a beat.

You flush bright red, "stop that. You cannot just--"

"I can," his arms wound round the back of your legs, "and I will."

He tugs.

You yelp, all but falling into his lap as his arms lace around your waist to pin you to his chest.

And before you can protest, his mouth covers yours.

He kisses your next breath away.

You inhale sharply as Liam takes over everything; his scent clouds your judgement and it's on impulse that your mouth slowly moves along with him in a dance that only he understands. He kisses you with intent. Not like the first time you'd kissed him, a tentative and slow and hesitant. Not like on the flight field, fast and efficient in a way that lovers did when they ran out of time.

This time, Liam kisses like he wants to savour you. His mouth stains yours as he presses his body closer like he wants to consume you completely. Your head tips back on accord as his teeth goes to suckle on your lower lip, drawing out a soft gasp from your throat. Liam's chest rumbles in response, taking this as his cue to slip his tongue into your mouth all while his hands slide under your pyjama shirt and leave a hot, scorching trail of heat along your spine.

You shiver, your own hands finding purchase along his tunic like he's your only anchor and when your tongue slides along his with such innocence, Liam lets out a moan low in his throat. He presses close, closer to you and liquid heat zips down your stomach to pool between your legs.

“Gods,” he growls against your mouth, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your heart flutters.

His voice. There’s so much emotion. It almost vibrates through you.

Without warning, big hands grasp your hips and you're suddenly picked up and thrown onto the bed. You yelp, but Liam follows soon, huge, firm body sliding along yours before his thigh nudges your legs open. You whimper and he kisses your noises away with a soft growl, one of his hands trailing along your abdomen before sliding under to skim past your naked stomach as you all but fall apart underneath him.

Hands sliding up the back of his neck, you gently card your fingers through his locks, shivering upon hearing the blonde suck in a sharp breath at your ministrations. He nibbles along your lower lip, suckling upon your mouth as you writhe against him and melt in his hold. Stars fill your vision and you swear you feel like floating on cloud nine from all this stimulation, so much that you gasp when you feel the softest brush of fingers against your lower breast.

Liam lets out a groan so feral that butterflies explode through your stomach, his grip tightening ever so slightly as his hand ghosts over your chest. He hums in satisfaction at what he finds there, lips parting from yours with a gasp so that he can trail a rain of kisses along the column of your throat.

You’re so wrapped up in your cocoon of bliss you barely take note of his other hand sliding down to your ass until he squeezes the flesh and causes another moan to spill from your lips.

Embarrassed and red in the face, you try to turn away from Liam’s mouth so that his lands along your jaw. He nibbles on it fondly as you try to scramble for words, “Liam—“

“Hm?” He grumbles it out, completely entrapped by all that is you. His thumb ghosts over your nipple and you suck in a sharp breath, body shuddering at how good his touch feels.

Gods. It’s pathetic. How putty you are in his hands.

Your face flames, your brain scrambling for composure despite the fact that Liam is now kissing his way down to your collarbones, “I…uhm… I’m not…”

It’s hard to speak when you’re squirming at the feeling of his palm sliding up the back of your thigh, trailing up underneath your shorts and drawing soft patterns around your panties.

You can feel the ache trapped between your legs. It’s practically shaking with want, dripping with the desire to let this man do whatever he wants to you because you would, it it comes down to him. Because that’s how goddamn bad you have it for this man.

But there are things you need to discuss.

Sensing the sudden change in composure, Liam draws back ever so slightly, nose still brushing yours and hands stilling along your body.

“What is it, princess?” He murmurs with a rasp, brows furrowed.

Your stomach coils at his pet name, “I—I’ve never…done it.”

Liam pauses. Blinks.

“And?” He prompts.

“Well, I…I don’t know.” You turn your head away when embarrassment flames through your cheeks, “what to do.”

There’s a pause. Silence falls over the room. Your eyes glue themselves to the wall in the corner, to the soft dent you’ve made once upon a time with your dagger, all so that you don’t have to look at Liam as shame slowly fills you up.

And then, Liam’s letting out a soft breath.

Lips suddenly flutter over your forehead.

You turn to face him in surprise, only to find him already gazing down at you with a tenderness that causes a rock to lodge at the back of your throat.

He leans in close, and when he speaks next, his voice is so soft you barely hear him over the pounding of your heart:

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers against your lips, “if you let me.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Waking up next to Liam is a surprise.

But that’s not what concerns you.

It’s the fact that you’re void of clothes.

Soft rain pelts along the windowpane, the clouds gathering over Basgiath as you rub sleep away from your eyes with a soft, tired groan. There’s a delicious ache spreading over your legs and pulsing around your pelvis, and it takes you a full five seconds to realize why you’re feeling so comfortable and so warm you barely want to move.

But then, someone nuzzles into the back of your neck and you freeze.

Realization splashes over you like cold water.

Oh fuck.

Oh no.

This cannot be happening.

Oh fuck.

Liam’s here. Liam is breathing down your neck. Literally. And Liam is also—

Very, very naked.

Fuck.

You need to get out of here.

Actually, you need to get Liam out of here before Xaden walks in and sees the two of you.

As if summoned by your thoughts, there’s a loud knock that resounds upon your door and you jump, heart going to your throat while you feel soft movement behind you.

Liam groans, burying his face into your back as you hear Xaden’s voice from the other side:

“You have five seconds to get dressed before I blow this door down, cadet.”

“No!” You yell out before you can stop yourself before trying to nudge Liam awake. The blonde barely moves, mumbling incomprehensible words as he burrows even deeper and causing warmth to spread through your cheeks, “uhm— give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you there!”

There’s a pause. Then:

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes! All dandy!” You reply a little too quick.

Another pause. Your heart is thundering through your chest. You swear you hold your breath.

“Fine. Don’t be late. Ten minutes.”

Footsteps echo across the stone floor as Xaden walks away and you slump in defeat as relief washes through you like a tidal wave. For fuck’s sake, what you do for this stupid blonde with that fucking dimple—

“All dandy? Really?”

Yelping, you jerk back and make a grab for the sheets, twisting over to see Liam grinning like there’s no tomorrow, blue eyes gleaming with amusement as he regards your flustered self.

“Get out of my room,” you snap, “you overstayed your welcome.”

“I did?” He cocks a brow, slides closer as his arms cage you by the waist. He tugs and you fall against him, red cheeks and all as he nuzzles into your neck, “that’s not what you said last night.”

Flushing to the tips of your toes, you try to shove him off the bed but he’s having none of that, holding you hostage against him before kissing his way up your neck.

“Mairi,” you warn, though your tone falters as he nips at a particular spot along your jaw, “stop it.”

His head lifts. He grins at you and leans in close, “make me,” he whispers.

And before you know it, he spins you so fast you gasp when your back meets the mattress. Liam towers over you, one arm next to your head, the other ghosting down your body to grip your hips, his nose brushing yours with a soft smile.

You can’t help but watch him. Admire the way his muscles bunch under his skin. Watch the marks roaming up his arm and cording up his bicep.

He’s utterly beautiful. Mesmerizing. And you feel your heart sputter just by looking at him.

But when your eyes find his face, you notice him doing the same thing; admiring you like you’re a piece of art.

Your breath stutters.

You’ve never been looked at this way before.

Not like this.

Not like you’re the definition of beauty.

But in Liam’s eyes, you can feel it.

And when he leans down to part your lips, the moan that leaves you causes his own chest to rumble.

You melt like a pliant leaf and he grins against your mouth, kissing you over and over again like he hasn’t had enough from last night. Your hands cradle his cheeks, traveling over to his back and digging your nails into his skin when his tongue twines with yours with a skill that leaves you breathless. He groans at your actions, his own hands roaming down to grab your derriere.

He squeezes and you gasp. Your head tilts back against the pillow, lips parting with his while he busies himself scattering butterfly kisses along your collarbone.

“Beautiful,” is what he murmurs against your skin. He bites at it playfully and you gasp, the sound turning into a soft whine when his tongue darts out to lick at your breast.

You try to find logic and reason. Though it’s a tough feat when all you want to do is let Liam get his hands on you.

“Right,” your arms come up to push gently at his chest, “I need to go—“

But Liam kisses you, as if drunk on your presence. As if he can’t quite stop himself.

“Mairi,” you mumble against his mouth, feeling his hands grip your hips a little tighter, “Xaden’s gonna kill me if I’m not there on time.”

A growl erupts from the blonde’s chest, but he finally parts from you with a soft sigh, forehead resting against yours as thumb rubs soft circles along your hip.

“When you come back,” Liam’s murmur is tender, almost hesitant as he searches your gaze, “promise me one thing.”

You search his eyes for an answer you can’t quite find, “what thing?”

“Nothing will change between us. That all this—“ his beautiful jaw ticks, “all this was real.”

“It was real,” your voice comes out shaky.

“Good,” and with that he presses one last chaste kiss atop your temple, “it is real.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

[lumosflairr]

U write for Charlie!!!!! I wanted to request one where him and reader are getting married at the burrow (honestly that man wanted to elope but molly guit tripped him) and they're doing the whole "not seeing the bride before the wedding" but he just can't help but sneak up to readers room

Before the Vows - Charlie Weasley

word count: 1.5k

i am absolutely SMITTEN OVER THIS OMG thank you for the request!!

If it were up to Charlie Weasley, you’d already be married.

In fact, if it weren’t for Molly Weasley clutching her pearls and swearing she’d disown him if he dared to elope, he’d have married you barefoot in the Romanian mountains with nothing but a dragon and a bottle of firewhisky as witnesses.

But here you were. At the Burrow.

On your wedding day.

“Charlie, no, you can’t go up there—”

“She’s just one floor away—”

“That’s the point!” Ginny hissed, stepping in front of the stairs like a human barricade. “It’s bad luck!”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. “You believe in that sort of thing now?”

“Today I do,” she said, arms crossed. “Because if Mum sees you sneaking into the bride’s room, she’ll combust.”

He snorted. “She combusted when I said we didn’t need monogrammed napkins. What’s one more fireball?”

“Charlie—!”

He leaned down slightly, softening his tone. “I just want to see her. One minute. That’s it.”

Ginny groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You Weasley men and your dramatic romantic streaks…”

But she stepped aside.

“Five minutes,” she said. “And if Mum asks, I’m blaming you entirely.”

Charlie grinned and kissed her cheek. “You’re a saint.”

“I’m an enabler,” she muttered.

Your room smelled like lavender and parchment. A breeze filtered through the cracked window, carrying the scent of wildflowers and Molly’s garden. Somewhere below, someone was setting up chairs and tripping over a gnome, judging by the string of curses that floated up.

You sat by the mirror, hair pinned up, half-dressed in your wedding robes. There was still time before the ceremony. Enough time to pace. To re-check your vows. To worry about whether or not Charlie had put his dragon-hide boots in storage like you’d asked.

You hadn’t expected the soft knock.

And you definitely hadn’t expected him to slip in and shut the door behind him with that familiar, mischievous glint in his eye.

“Charlie!” you gasped, spinning around.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“You’re not supposed to be in here!”

“I know.” He smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But I missed you.”

You crossed your arms. “It’s been seven hours.”

“Too long.”

Your heart melted a little.

“Ginny let you in, didn’t she?”

“Eventually. She threatened to hex me with something pink and glittery, though.”

You turned back to the mirror, trying to ignore how good he looked — his shirt collar slightly askew, his tie half-done, freckles standing out like constellations against his tanned skin.

“You’re ruining the tradition, you know.”

“I know,” he said again, stepping closer. “But you’re ruining me, so I figure we’re even.”

You blinked, thrown off by the softness in his voice.

Charlie was rarely poetic. He was blunt and warm and loyal, but he didn’t speak in flourishes. Which is why, when he said things like that — low, quiet, real — they hit you like a firework to the chest.

You turned to him slowly.

He was staring at you, eyes scanning your face like he was afraid he’d forget it.

“You’re not even in your robes yet,” you said gently.

“I’ll put them on,” he murmured. “But I had to see you first. Before all the noise. Before Mum cries and George says something inappropriate and Percy starts giving out seating instructions like it’s a Ministry meeting.”

You walked to him then, resting your hands on his chest. “Are you nervous?”

“Not about marrying you.” His hands found your waist, rough palms warm even through the thin fabric of your robes. “Just about getting through the ceremony without Mum launching into some story about my nappy years.”

You laughed softly, and he leaned in to press his forehead to yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The house creaked softly around you, and somewhere downstairs, Molly shouted something about someone forgetting the ring cushion. The usual Burrow chaos. But up here, it was still. Soft.

“I was going to wait until we were standing in front of everyone,” he said, “but I need to say it now.”

You looked up at him.

“I love you,” he whispered. “More than dragons. More than flying. More than quiet mornings in the mountains. Being with you feels like…” He trailed off, brows drawing together as he searched for the right words. “Like I’m home. And I’ve never really felt that before.”

Your chest tightened. “Charlie—”

“And I know you said you wanted the full thing — the cake and the music and the toast Fred’s probably going to ruin—”

“You said you wanted to elope,” you teased.

“I do want to elope,” he grinned. “But I also want to make you happy. Even if that means wearing stupid shoes and eating salmon rolls and letting Mum pick the table linens.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest. “You’re making me very happy right now.”

A pause.

“Even though you’re technically breaking the rules?”

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow.

“We are having a honeymoon after this, aren’t we?”

You kissed him, smiling against his mouth. “Deal.”

Another knock jolted you both.

“Charlie, I swear to Merlin if you’re still up there—” Ginny’s voice called through the door.

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I’m going.”

“One minute!” you called, laughing.

Charlie kissed your cheek, then your forehead, then hovered just an inch from your lips.

“See you at the altar, love.”

You nodded, fingers brushing his.

And then he was gone — slipping out the door with one last look that said everything his words didn’t have time for.

You stood there for a moment after he left, heart racing, face warm, everything suddenly feeling real.

You were marrying Charlie Weasley.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have had it any other way.