#started singing a PERFECT rendition of it. knew every word by heart.

[saltyground]

Midnight Oil - "Armistice Day" live 1982

[rebelhan]

yield

pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

word count: 5.2k

warning: 18+, explicit sex, unprotected sex (pls wrap it before u tap it), fluff, a bit of pining, sword fighting as foreplay... if u squint

a/n: this was just an excuse to put fighting with geralt and smut in the same story oops

masterlist

AO3 link

“You think you can take me?” The question is asked with an amused lilt and you can see the smirk playing on the Witcher’s face. Though his hand is on the hilt of the sword at his hip, as if he already knows your answer.

You juggle the question for a moment. Realistically, no. You could not take him. You were going to end up flat on your ass in a few minutes and you knew this. Though you also knew a duel with Geralt would only help you improve your own skills. So, not two minutes earlier, you had asked him tauntingly, “You up for a fight, Witcher?” That, and Jaskier had been sent off to fish in a nearby river so you were alone with Geralt. Being alone around him made your mind foggy in a way you didn’t know how to deal with.

Geralt wouldn’t have entertained the thought of saying yes to you had he not seen your skills with a blade first hand. The Golem he had encountered just under a month ago was quite the challenge, even for him. And of course Jaskier was of no help against the beast. Then you had appeared out of nowhere and slain the monster with your meteorite sword. When you had shyly asked to accompany him to his next destination, Geralt had already made up his mind to say yes before Jaskier begged him to agree.

It was twenty-eight days since that encounter and the three of you had been making your way through the lands, eliminating the monsters that plagued the towns you visited in exchange for coin. Geralt half expected you to end your journey with them at each inn you stopped at, but the next morning you were always ready to go, on to the next adventure. Geralt didn’t mind as much as he thought he would. You could take care of yourself and you pulled your weight, proving a valuable ally against beasts more than once.

So here you stood in this clearing of woods, the sun shining low in the sky. Instead of answering his question, you unsheathe your sword from its place slung over your back and point the tip of the blade at Geralt’s chest, a sly smile on your face.

You can’t even blink before his steel blade clangs with your own, the force of the vibration rippling down your arm. You duck as he slashes, his sword slicing through the air where you once stood. You stab towards him and he avoids it with a step to the side. When he jabs at you again, you spin against the blade, catching his sword with your own near his hilt. The sound it makes is grating and you know he felt that clash in his wrist.

You step away from him to catch your breath. He knows you’re winded. “Is that all you’ve got?” you goad, though you are the one panting. A low chuckle rumbles through his chest at the taunt; with the way you’re breathing, he knows there’s no bite behind it. He spins the blade once in his wrist while you fill your lungs and you charge at him again, hoping to catch him by surprise. The sound of your blades crashing together over and over rings through the air. It’s punctuated by the sound of your grunts, struggling with the force of each move. The birds have long fled the trees around you from the sounds of your fighting and the sun falls lower in the sky with each meeting of blades.

With the next jab, your swords lock together at the hilt. Between the cross of the blades, your face is near Geralt’s, close enough to see the vein protruding his forehead in effort. You push against his sword, groaning with the strain of holding him back. “Not strong enough to beat a human?” you jest, but the words are grunted out and you know you will lose soon enough. You may be a decent sword fighter, but your strength is no match for a Witcher’s. As you strain with the effort of holding him back, you take pride in the fact that he’s breathing hard, too. At least you weren’t making this easy for him. You weigh your options quickly, your arms are trembling and you know you can’t hold him off much longer.

Before you can maneuver away, the ground disappears from beneath your feet and you hit the dirt with a yelp, the impact knocking the wind out of you. Geralt had kicked a leg behind your ankles and sent you tumbling to the ground. He stands above you, the tip of his sword touching the fabric at the center of your chest. The smile on his face reaches his amber eyes. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for the words to end the fight.

You huff in annoyance. “I yield.”

“Is that all you’ve got?” he teases, throwing your words back at you. You can’t help the matching grin that falls on your face. He sheathes his sword again before offering you a gloved hand. You sit up, grabbing his hand, a retort on the tip of your tongue. But when he pulls you up, you stand with your torso against his, looking up at him. You’re close enough that you can feel the rise and fall of his chest and trace the specks of black in the yellow of his eyes. It’s like the wind has been knocked out of you all over again.

“What? No witty remark?” he asks, tilting his head closer to yours, just slightly. You feel the words rumble through his chest and it sends a shiver up your spine. Heat creeps up your neck and you’re not sure how much longer you can stand to be this close to him. The sly grin on his face tells you nothing. Either he doesn’t notice your dumbstruck expression and is content to tease you on the outcome of your duel, or he is entirely aware of the effect he’s having on you.

Your hand is still gripping his in a vice, unable to find the biting words you had planned to say. You’re lost in his eyes, the orange of the setting sun bringing out the same shade in his irises.

Then, just as suddenly, you hear Jaskier’s voice. “Oi! Look what I’ve caught.” You jump away from Geralt and miss the look of disappointment that flashes across his face. Jaskier seems to be blissfully ignorant of the position the two of you were just in, cheerfully gesturing at the net in his hand holding two fish. You move to pick your sword up from the where it had landed during your fall and resheathe it while Geralt and Jaskier start a fire.

You eat in silence, but Jaskier fills the quiet, prodding the two of you to approve of his new lyrics every few minutes. By the time you’ve eaten, the sun is long gone and Jaskier has the makings of two new verses. He has taken to singing them over and over again in the name of perfecting them. You glance up at Geralt across the fire as Jaskier is beginning to sing the same line for the seventh time. His gaze was already trained on you, his eyes glowing against the low flames of the dying fire. Your heart jumps into motion again and the heat of the fire suddenly feels suffocating. You give a half-hearted excuse about needing some rest and step away from the fire to find a flat area to get comfortable on for the night.

When you wake to the sun streaming in through the trees, the thump of your heart has not subsided. Your hand falls to your neck where the ghost of a pair of lips lingers. With a jolt, you sit up, mortified. You had dreamt of him. You shut your eyes tightly, willing yourself to forget, but it’s a mistake and the images of your dream flash behind your eyes. His hands wrapped tightly around you, ghosting your cheeks, running down the sides of your body. His lips on your chest, your neck, squarely against yours. His eyes piercing yours as pleasure overtook you. His hair, falling around your face as he leaned down and kissed you, your hands tangled in white mane with his head between your legs.

The heat returned to your cheeks and you furiously rubbed at your eyes, hoping to dispel both the offending images and the last remnants of sleep. A rustling noise pulls you from your thoughts and your eyes open to Geralt packing up camp and stroking Roach’s mane. It takes everything in you not to curl up into a ball and the thought of running away crosses your mind before you chastise yourself for being stupid.

The day of walking is uneventful. You keep a safe distance between yourself and the Witcher, necessary to keep your heart at bay. Though you’re consumed with your own feelings, you think you maintain an air of nonchalance successfully, especially if Jaskier’s indifference to the situation is anything to go by. The regular banter between the three of you is easy to fall into despite your thoughts being elsewhere. And when the sun beating down is too much and silence encompasses your companions, Jaskier never fails to sweetly croon, “Toss a coin to your Witcher.”

“O Valley of Plenty,” you follow without fail. It brings a smile to both your faces. Though Geralt walking behind the two of you only responds with a disapproving grunt, you can hear the smile on his face, too.

You arrive at the nearest town just as nightfall is settling in. The sole inn of the village is above a rowdy bar and though the three of you are weary from the journey, the promise of strong ale is too good to resist. You pile your things into the single available room before crowding around a table together, pitchers of golden liquid filled to the brim in front of you. Jaskier downs his first pint in the blink of an eye and his second and third go just as fast. While you’re still working on your first, Jaskier grabs his lute and leads the patrons of the bar in a drunken rendition of The Fishmonger’s Daughter. The crowd takes to him rather quickly and you’ve lost sight of him in the middle of the establishment, though his voice still rings out clear above the others.

Geralt looks out at him and though his gaze is steely, you swear there’s a hint of affection behind the hardness. You admire the straight line of his jaw over the rim of your glass, content to observe him while he’s distracted. Then his head twists towards you and you rush to move your gaze down to your drink, taking a hefty gulp and nearly choking on it in your attempt to pretend you weren’t ogling him.

You drop the glass down to the table with a thunk and dab at the ale that escaped your mouth with your sleeve. When you look back up, Geralt’s amber eyes are still fixated on you. It’s an effort to keep your voice steady when he’s staring at you so intently. “Penny for your thoughts?” you prompt him.

You’re met with his silence. Then he shrugs and his eyes flit about the bar, as if he’s deciding what he should reveal to you. “You’re not bad with a sword,” he says.

The heat flares in your cheeks. Was he thinking about the day before? Just as you had been? Compliments from the Witcher came few and far between and you dared to guess this was only the second one you had ever received, though it barely qualified.

“Though not as good as me,” he continues. The corner of his lip is raised. He’s teasing again. Whatever fluttering was in your belly is quashed by your indignation.

“I beg to disagree! You won because you’re stronger than me, that I’ll admit. Had you not been a Witcher I would’ve had you on the ground in seconds. And I was barely winded!” It’s a bit of an exaggeration, yes, but he had successfully baited your competitive nature. His face reveals amusement at the flare of your temper. He takes a generous sip of his ale before returning his attention to you.

His eyes are alight with mischief. Even before he opens his mouth, you know he’s about to say something meant to rile you up and get some reaction from you. Though, there’s no way for you to anticipate the exact words he utters.

“Your heartbeat said otherwise” The memory has blood rushing to your cheeks again. He pauses, waiting for your retort, and when none comes he continues. “Or maybe that’s just because you like me.”

Your chest seizes in shock. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, unable to come up with anything to defend yourself. Damn his Witcher senses. He hides his grin behind another sip of ale and you can’t meet his eyes anymore, your gaze drilling a hole into the wooden table. The tavern around you is loud and lively and Jaskier is still leading the crowd in some other drunkard’s song but all you can hear is your heart thumping in your ears.

Between Geralt’s piercing gaze and the small table, there is nowhere for you to run and you quickly calculate the fastest escape you can make to save yourself from any further mortification. With clumsy hands, you raise your glass and down what remains, clearing your throat at the burn. “I think I’ll retire for the night,” you say, your voice uncharacteristically meek. Although there is just the one room, you figure you can fall asleep, or at least pretend to be asleep, by the time Geralt is done drinking, and Jaskier will no doubt find himself in someone else’s bed for the night. If you’re lucky, maybe Geralt will make his way to a brothel and save you from the embarrassment of being around him.

Just as you get up and scrape your chair back, his voice cuts through your thoughts. “I think I will, too.”

There is no way out, you conclude. You’re fated to die of embarrassment tonight. As you make your way through the tavern towards the stairs, you spare a desperate glance towards Jaskier, but his eyes are glazed over in drunkenness and he is draped over the lap of a beautiful maiden: he will be of no help.

The hallway of the upper level of the inn creaks with each step you take. Geralt follows closely behind you as you carefully walk to the end of the hall where your room is. He is so close that you can feel the warmth emanating from his body, even through the clothes he wears. If you were to stop walking, he’d surely bump into you.

When you stop at your door and fumble with the latch, his chest is mere inches from your back. The proximity has every one of your nerves on edge. The bolt creaks against the wood as it slides out from the door frame. Before you can push the door to open it, Geralt’s arm comes up beside your head and does it for you, caging you between himself and the door.

Your mind clouds with lust at the simple action and you push forward into the room to give yourself some distance to clear your head. He enters behind you and you turn to close the door and bolt it when you find his chest at your back yet again. He places his hand over yours and you freeze. You’re sure the pounding of your heart is loud enough for him to pick up with his Witcher senses. When you fail to move, he gently pushes your fingers to help you bolt the door.

You pull your hand out from underneath his and spin around, your intention to duck away from him. But you find yourself trapped between Geralt’s body and the door at your back, his arms on either side of you to keep you in place. You can’t bring your eyes to his face, instead dropping your gaze to your hands which you clutch together in front of you. The question of what he’s doing flits through your mind, though you settle on the answer that he’s figured out you like him and he’s now enjoying teasing you and watching you squirm.

“Look at me,” he says quietly, though your combative nature is stronger than your embarrassment and you keep your gaze on your own fidgeting fingers as some form of protest.

“Look at me,” he repeats. This time, there’s something in his voice you can’t place. It’s a little gentler than you’re used to, the banter between you has always been abrasive. Regardless, you can’t seem to stop your body from listening as your head tilts up and your eyes find his. The stupid smirk is still on his face and that is enough to solidify the idea that he is making fun of you.

Your ears heat in anger and you huff indignantly, “Fine, I like you. There’s no need to be an ass about it.” There’s an angry line dividing your brow and you don’t cease the wringing of your hands until one of his hands leaves its place on the door to stop the motion.

He leans down, until there is but a hair’s breadth between the two of you. You hold your breath. Your eyes drop to his lips, and even as your heart is hammering in your ears, you’re still convinced that he’ll play out this teasing for as long as he can.

And then his lips are on yours.

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders and one of his grabs at your waist. And even as you move your mouth against his, your mind is still racing. Just how committed was he to maintaining this ruse? And as much as you were enjoying this, at what point should you push him away and come back to reality?

Then, his tongue swipes at your lips, begging for entrance, and all thoughts fly out of your mind. He licks into your mouth and you are entirely consumed by how solid he is under your hands. His frame envelops you and you are pressed between his chest and the door. His lips leave yours to venture down the side of your neck and a whine involuntarily escapes your throat. You feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin at the sound and you fight through the pleasure that clouds your brain to push him away. He looks at you questioningly as you take a moment to catch your breath.

“All right, I think that’s quite enough of teasing me. Wasn’t it enough for you to let me die of embarrassment, you had to take it this far?” you ask him, jabbing a finger at his chest accusingly. His face morphs from confusion to amusement to incredulity in the span of a second.

“You’re as thick as a brick, woman.”

Your indignation is halfway out of your mouth before he slams his lips against yours once again. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if you had missed something, but then his nimble fingers are at the ties at the front of your blouse and you can’t hold on to a single thought as the garment is loosened and his rough palm is splayed against the bare skin of your chest.

He grabs at your flesh and drags a coarse thumb over your nipple, drawing air from your chest in a gasp. That sound is enough encouragement for him to repeat the action and pinch the nub until it’s hardened. He gives the same treatment to your other breast before seemingly growing impatient. He pulls away to tug your blouse off completely and lets it fall to the ground. His gaze lingers on your heaving chest for a moment before traveling up to meet your eyes.

The yellow of his irises is nearly swallowed by his pupils in a darkened look you have never seen on him before. With a jolt, you register for the first time that your feelings may not be one sided. He holds your gaze while you allow yourself to process that thought. When you bring yourself back to reality, your brow is set in a determination Geralt only sees when you’ve got a steel sword in your hand and the taste of a fight on your tongue.

With renewed fervor, you surge toward him, a hand grabbing at the nape of his neck and crashing your lips against his. The kiss is desperate and bruising. He nips at your bottom lip as you claw at the material of his shirt, breaking away for a moment to tug the piece of clothing over his head. He spins you around, walking you back until the backs of your knees knock against the rickety frame of the tavern bed.

His teeth bite at your pulse point, eliciting a whimper from you. One hand makes quick work of the laces of your breeches and when the material pools at your ankles along with your undergarments, he presses against you until you fall onto the bed. You raise yourself onto your elbows and watch as he undoes his own breeches and takes them off. As he crawls on top of you, you’re caught between the embarrassment of holding his gaze and his arms that cage you in.

Geralt’s golden eyes scan your face, enjoying the way your wild eyes glance around and breath passes through your kiss bitten lips. He drops his head into the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against the dips of your collarbone. One hand trails your side in a feather light touch and comes to rest at the top of your thigh. A sharp nip at your skin has your chest arching up towards his, but his hand on your leg holds you down and he eases the reddening spot with a swipe of his tongue.

The hand lingering at your hip ghosts towards your center and he presses his thumb at your bundle of nerves. You suck in a sudden breath and you can feel his lips form a smile on your skin yet again, though the haze of pleasure is too thick for you to come up with a witty remark to wipe the smirk of his face. Two fingers at your entrance gather the wetness there and your body tenses in anticipation.

He suddenly raises his head to look you in the eyes. With a start, you realize he’s asking for permission. And when you nod yes to him, two fingers slip past your folds. His eyes shut in appreciation and he groans at the sensation of your warmth around his fingers. The sound comes from his chest and has wetness pooling at your core. He moves his digits in and out slowly, scissoring them gently. Each of your whimpers has a grunt falling from his lips, like he draws his pleasure from yours. His thumb presses circles at your clit, slowly increasing pace as your pleasure builds, spreading from your core to every inch of your body. He slips a third finger inside you and your hands find purchase in his white hair, tugging at the strands.

Your chest arches up, toes curling and thighs tensing, head falling back as you near closer and closer to the edge. And then his hand is gone. You groan at the loss of the sensation, having been so close to coming. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin and when you open your eyes again, Geralt’s face is twisted into that cocky smirk that you are quickly coming to despise.

“I was so close,” you glare at him indignantly, though the quick rise and fall of your chest and the wetness between your legs gives you little leverage against him. He controls your pleasure and by the grin he sports, he is well aware of this fact, but he presses a gentle kiss to your lips in apology.

He leans back to stroke himself twice before he’s positioning himself at your entrance. This time, he asks you aloud, “Can I?”

You nod quickly, but he’s intent on teasing you at least a little longer.

“I need to hear you say it.” There’s mirth on his face but it’s overwhelmed by lust. He can’t hold back much longer.

Your response is breathless. “Yes.”

He enters you slowly, groaning with the feeling until he bottoms out. He pauses to let you adjust. Your eyes are screwed shut as you struggle to get used to his girth. When the sensation subsides you nod that you’re ready and he begins rocking into you.

His pace is steady and you meet each thrust with a raise of your hips. The pleasure slowly builds again and you feel warmth creep into every extremity of your body. His hands grab at your thighs and push them up until you lock your ankles behind his back, allowing him to hit a new spot inside you that has you babbling praises and curses alike.

His hips move faster, slamming against yours with each movement. The bed creaks rhythmically, though you barely register the sound amongst that of Geralt’s skin slapping yours and the guttural noises that fall from his throat. As you near the edge yet again, he snakes and hand between your bodies to flick tight circles against your clit, eliciting his name from your lips. 

“Geralt Geralt Geralt…" you mumble like a mantra, unable to form any other phrase as the coil in your gut twists tighter and tighter

And even in the throes of pleasure you recognize the glint in his eyes that tells you he’s about to say something to rile you up.

It’s a single word, grunted as a command.

“Yield.”

You comply, tumbling over the edge as every nerve in your skin is set alight. White flashes behind your eyes and a long drawn out whine escapes from your throat. Your thighs tremble around him as he moves through your release, chasing his own high. With a few quick thrusts, he spills inside you, your name falling from his lips in a gasp, spoken like a prayer.

He collapses above you, your chests heaving in harmony as the buzz lingers in the air around you. You feel his lips at your neck again, pressing a few breathless kisses, before he rolls over onto his back. His hair is a mess from the agitation of your hands and sweat lingers on his skin.

For a beat, the nerves return and you wonder if you should say something, or perhaps get dressed and make yourself scarce, but Geralt wordlessly tugs you to him until your head rests on his chest and pulls a thin sheet over your bodies.

“Sleep,” he says, and for once, you’re content to listen to him, falling into a slumber almost immediately.

You awaken to sunlight filtering in through the dingy window of the room. You lay in the same position you had fallen asleep in, save for the thin sheet now pooled at your waist. In the morning light, the memory of your actions brings heat to your face . You hastily decide that detangling yourself from the Witcher, getting dressed, and disappearing until it is time to leave is the best way for you to avoid the embarrassment of confronting your lingering feelings.

You’re sitting at the edge of the modest bed, tugging your breeches up your legs and overthinking how to avoid talking to Geralt, when his sleep laden voice promptly cuts through your frantic thoughts.

“Where are you going?”

You nearly jump from fright, but calm your heart enough to remain indignant. You twist towards him to find the man propped up on one elbow on his side, shamelessly observing your form. The sheet across his waist leaves little to the imagination and despite the previous night’s activities, the image still has you flustered.

You turn forward again to continue dressing and mutter, “Nowhere.”

“Turn around,” you follow, “I would like some privacy, please.” The ire in your voice is apparent and you focus on the feeling. At least while you directed your energy towards anger, you could avoid thinking about everything else.

“Why?” he retorts. “It’s not like I didn’t see it all last night.”

Your hands pause at the laces of your breeches as you process how difficult he is making it to avoid discussing what happened. “It was... dark,” you respond lamely.

“Did you forget I’m a Witcher?” There’s an amused lilt to his tone and sure enough when you turn around again his lips are raised on one side. You scowl at the expression and his grin only grows wider at your irritation.

Before you can decide between smacking the smirk off his face and begging him to leave you alone, he raises himself to sit and leans forward, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. His palm tenderly cups your cheek and you feel his thumb stroke the ridge of your cheekbone. When he pulls away, all traces of anger have left your face.

He rises off the bed to get dressed and the wood creaks with the loss of the weight. The kiss, though sweet and short, leaves you inexplicably giddy and you fumble with your blouse thrice before fastening it properly.

Geralt sits back down beside you on the bed to lace up his boots as you do your own. When you finish, he stands and offers you a hand, looking at you expectantly with golden eyes. The voice in your head screams through frantic thoughts to run away from that hand as fast as you can, but you ignore it. You clasp his work worn hand with your own and he pulls you up off the bed. He lets go momentarily, strapping his swords to his back and grabbing his belongings while you do the same with your rucksack. At the door to your room, he takes your hand and tugs you out into the hallway while your mind is still catching up to the feeling of your fingers interlocked with his.

You find Jaskier in the lower level of the inn, looking miserably hungover in front of a plate of eggs. He doesn’t register your presence until the two of you are standing right in front of him. The bard nods solemnly and rises from the table to leave, anything but eager to start the day’s journey. If he notices the hands clasped between yourself and Geralt, he says nothing. Though you suspect his Witcher song will have a new verse by dusk.

It’s your mistake that you hum the melody to Toss A Coin To Your Witcher that night at your campfire, even if you are bored out of your mind. Jaskier’s colorful new verse, featuring a rather suggestive description of yourself, has you chasing him around the clearing with your sword in hand. Jaskier begs for mercy while Geralt looks on in fond amusement.

--

thank you for reading!

[mojjisxng]

Hiii! Do you remember the amazing scenario you wrote where enhypen uses your insecurity in an argument and how they will make it up to you? If requests aren't closed can I get the reverse: you use enhypens insecurity in an argument and how you would make it up for them? Thank you very much ❤️

thanks for requesting anon, i hope you like it❤️

a/n- this descended into madness by the end, i got too carried away. i don’t even think this can be considered to have any angst in it at this point, especially niki’s. i do still like this reaction a lot though haha

heeseung

- any amusement that he had towards the argument instantly vanishes

- his face goes completely blank

- there’s just an awkward silence as you both stare at each other for a few moments (which honestly feels like five hours)

- you understand that you’ve taken it too far

- so you walk over to him and throw your arms around his waist

- you murmur constant apologies into his hoodie, close to tears yourself

- he just pulls you back, looks into your eyes and explains why you should never do that to anyone EVER

- and that you should make him four cups of ramen and buy him chicken, to make it up to him

- after that, heeseung is rejuvenated with mischief

- and he starts to plot ways that he can get you back for a being a little bitch, so good luck :D

jay

- not to bring astrology into this...

- ...but jay is an aries-taurus cusp like me

- so mans has some built up anger and he’s quite stubborn

- this means that he’ll hurl some pretty mean insults right back at you

- so the both of you are now MAD mad, and totally not willing to apologise first even though you know you should definitely be the first one of you to apologise at some point

- this is where the problem lies, because the two of you go to storm out of the house at the same time

- so you’re stuck between jay and the doorframe, trying to squeeze out first

- that’s a RAS moment for you both there

- this leads you and jay being reduced to a laughing mess on the floor, hoping your neighbours didn’t catch the embarrassing scene

- which they did on their security cameras

- you also seriously apologise to jay, because your dignity has already been flushed down the toilet, so you felt that being stubborn would do nothing for your ego at this point

jake

- jake processes the snide comment you made on his insecurity, and just says in the tiniest voice...

- “i’m not gonna lie, that’s kind of stung. but i know you don’t mean it, so it’s fine i guess :/”

- he also has this tiny, emotionless smile on his face, as looks down at the floor

- your heart sinks at how defeated he looks and you just break

- you know you fucked up badly

- how could you be so heartless towards sweet angel jake?

- so you sprint over to him

- stare at him for a second

- and burst into tears

- and then you hug him so tightly he might burst, while chanting apologies to him and telling him that you did not mean it and you don’t even know why you even thought to say that

- you just cuddle for the rest of the day, you insisting that you’re the big spoon because you want to protect your sweet baby jake from the world that was a bit dramatic but oh well

sunghoon

- you say some stupid bs about something he’s insecure about, while you’re arguing about who knows what

- there’s a pause

- a blink

- and a breath

- and then sunghoon bolts out of the room as quickly as possible

- so you’re just left there in the middle of the living room, with guilt crawling into every cell of your body

- meanwhile, sunghoon is in the furthest room away from you, because he doesn’t want you to hear him s o b b i n g

- i feel like sunghoon wouldn’t usually show you when he’s even a little bit sad, so he would be humiliated if you saw him upset because of something you said to him

- but unfortunately for him, you heard him crying, while you were looking for him

- you already felt horrible, but now you just felt like you had committed the worst crime possible, because your emotionally strong boyfriend was now curled into the foetal position on the bed, crying

- you basically jump on him, so that he can’t escape and you engulf him in your arms, even if you’re tiny

- and you’re rambling a huge apology and telling him that you will do anything for him

- you also kiss his tears away awwww not me being soft for once

- after he’s calmed down, he will go back to his usual cocky self, and start teasing you by asking for lots of things

- but the thing is, you actually do everything that he asked because you feel so terrible

sunoo

- so after you’re done talking your shit on sunoo’s insecurity...

- ...he just glares at you for a whole minute, in silence

- then turns on his heel and struts out of the room with his head held high

- he will not show you that he is hurt by your words

- he won’t let you win

- you’ll find him in the kitchen, seething

- and aggressively making a sandwich

- you tip-toe closer to him, back-hugging him, while giving your apologies

- but he just shakes you off and stalks into the living room

- this continues for two days

- and you can’t stand his silent treatment

- so you keep bugging him with saying “sorryyy” and “i love youuu”

- until he finally gives in

- you’re like “i’m so incredibly sorry; i would despise it if you talked to me like that. i should never have acted in such a way, even if i was angry. there’s no excuse. i love you to the moon and back and beyond, i hope you know that.”

- and then sunoo replies “i do know how much you love me, and i know you didn’t mean it. i was just very hurt and very angry. i love you too, so so much...even though you’re not all that...”

- it was time for him to run 🚪🏃‍♀️

jungwon

- jungwon would fucking stare at you

- you’d be so intimidated by him

- you already knew how much you’d messed up

- but he would make sure you knew even more

- this child would firmly take your hand and drag you to sit down on the sofa

- and then he’d GO IN

- jungwon would lecture you for like two hours on why that was a horrid thing to do, why that would upset someone and why you should absolutely not do that to anyone again

- this would be his punishment to you, by treating you like a little kid, really patronising you to convey his disappointment

- you can tell he’s the leader of enhypen, because he would transform into a fifty year old mother

- he honestly might even make you cry by accident of course

- you would then proceed to do a very solemn and formal apology, like a berated child

- and then he would pull you into a hug

- i feel like it would all turn quite comical from an outside view

niki

- speaking of a serious situation that descends into something ridiculous, it’s niki’s turn!!

- you shoot the insult in his direction

- and then there’s a beat of silence

- you know you’ve fucked up

- so you start yelling out apologies before he can even open his mouth to say a single word, like “I’M SO SO SO SO SORRY! I DID NOT MEAN IT AT ALL! WHY DID I EVEN SAY THAT?!?! OH MY GOD DON’T HATE ME PLEASE!!!”

- and tbh niki finds this VERY funny

- but he plays up to it

- “no...no...i can’t believe you would say something as preposterous as that. you’re the definition of EVIL!” and then probably dramatically falls back onto the sofa with his hand over his face mainly to hide his laughter

- and you’re just stood frozen, on the edge of a mental breakdown

- until he goes “but you could make it up to me by making a musical about how sorry you are :DDD”

- you let out the biggest sigh of relief, that you didn’t even know you were holding

- but then you process what you’re going to be doing, so you’re just staring at into space like 😟

- long story short, you end up giving up all the pride you had left, to entertain niki with your horrendous singing and dancing one man show about how apologetic you were

- you and niki were on the floor crying with laughter by the end of your finale, which was a less than perfect rendition of ‘purple rain’ by prince

[rosyfingereddawnn]

spellbound

pairing: jimmy page x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of substances, one (1) swear and a little nsfw at the end

words: 3k

summary: when in new orleans, there’s always something new and exciting to experience. when the boys take shelter in a quaint jazz lounge, they discover a hidden gem.

author’s note: this was an idea born from @timetraveller4 and her lovely mind, so thank you for that ash <3 no beta as always, and i really hope you enjoy :)

masterlist

It was Bonzo’s idea, originally.

The drummer had proposed that the band, accompanied, of course, by the infamous Richard Cole, go to a lounge for the night. See what the music scene was like, outside of their little bubble.

Touring had become almost monotonous, the endless flow of groupies blending into a hazy background of alcohol and drugs. They were in New Orleans for the night, and needed a release from the antics; a release of pressure.

Walking along the cobbled streets, lit only by tall, blinding streetlights, the hunt for the perfect spot continued. Rain twinkled like stardust upon them, landing in their hair and falling down their backs. Jimmy shivered, burrowing further into his coat, a rich navy blue, butterflies made of sparkling sequins fluttering across his shoulders. Cigarette dangling from lush, pink lips, he sighed out a faint white cloud of smoke. His long, dark hair stuck to his face and neck, and a swear burst past his lips. His curls hid emerald eyes from view like a curtain of darkness, and he shook his head.

It’ll be fun, he said. Don’t worry about it, he said. Just relax.

Robert, unaware of the glare the raven-haired guitarist was sporting, strolled ahead, eyes catching on a glowing sign, slick with rain and slightly weather-beaten. The place must be old, he thought.

Sliding closer, he gazed up at it, ocean eyes squinting against the rain that seemed to pour harder, faster, the further they ventured from their hotel. The sign, neon lights blurring into haloes of colour, read ‘The Whispering Wind’. Underneath sat a truly artistic rendition of wispy winds fading into a cloud, the pure ivory of its light cascading across the damp sidewalk like a graceful stream. You could almost feel the warmth and hospitality behind the closed doors, and Robert, whose smile seemed to light the path better than any streetlamp could, turned to his companions.

“This looks like a fine place, doesn't it?”

“Let’s go inside. Better than staying out here,” Jonesy replied, slipping past the singer to grasp at the ornate golden handle of the mahogany door. The bassist pulled the door open and stepped through, and almost immediately, he was enveloped by the comforting heat that seemed to settle into his chilled bones. “Definitely better.”

One by one, the boys stepped into the lounge, smiling as they took in the atmosphere. By the door sat a long bar, maple wood shining in the dim light filtering out from the fixtures hanging from above. Paintings of old Hollywood royalty decorated the taupe walls, while a spotlight affixed to the ceiling bathed the wooden surface of the stage against the wall in faint yellow light. The ruby red of the curtains complimented the exposed maroon brick of the opposite wall, and booths, with scarlet upholstery streaked through with pristine gold, littered the floor.

It was cramped and dimly lit, certainly not fit for the rock gods it sheltered. It was perfect.

Jimmy stood just outside the door, taking a final drag of the cigarette burning between his lips. Glancing around the cove of the entryway, his eyes locked onto a poster plastered across the wet brick of the building. The silhouette of a woman stood against a simple black background, gripping a microphone stand in manicured hands, mystery and class in the subtle curve of her lips. Half of her body was painted in a silvery light, and Jimmy stared at the long crimson dress she was wearing. Tantalizingly long legs are just visible from the slit that splits the gown.

In bold white lettering, a collection of dates are scrawled across its surface, but it’s the name that rippled across the paper that caught his eye.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Hm…”

Must be tonight’s performer, he thought. She’s gorgeous, from what Jimmy could tell; the sultry gaze, the teasing uptick of her rosy lips. The guitarist just hoped that she’s as talented as she is beautiful.

Jimmy let the cigarette in his hands drop to the floor, crushing it under his heel, smoky ash mingling with the scent of petrichor. Grasping the frigid metal of the door handle, the man’s ebony curls flew in every direction as he shivered once more. Slipping through the open door, a wave of comfort rushed over him, warmth settling into his core. The light din of unimportant conversation settled over him like a plush blanket, calming his perpetually racing mind.

Jimmy, spotting his friends at a table far back from the stage, sidled up to the bar, signalling for attention. Ordering his favourite of gin and tonic, the dark-haired guitarist walked back over to join the group, sitting down right next to Robert. The blond glanced over at him and grinned, wrapping a tanned arm around his shoulders.

“It’s a wonder you’ve stopped frowning, Pagey.”

“I was warned I’d get stuck like that, you see,” Jimmy grumbled, the hint of a smile that graced his lips shattering the image of dissatisfaction. “Hasn’t happened yet, but who knows what the future holds.”

“Ah. If it weren’t for your sunny disposition, we’d be in trouble.”

“You—”

The retort died on his tongue, and his mossy green eyes went impossibly wide.

An alluring voice, smooth and rich, rang clear and sharp through the air, charming the patrons of the lounge. The rasping tone made Jimmy’s mind go utterly blank, too entranced to react. Mingling with the droplets that danced from the black grand piano, the performer made his heart pound in his chest like a bass drum. Shaking Robert’s arm off, he turned to face the stage, and promptly forgot how to breathe.

“I put a spell on you, because you're mine. Oh, mine…”

Up on the stage, stood the most beautiful woman Jimmy had ever seen. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders, a lovely contrast to the skin of her exposed shoulder. The woman fluttered around the stage, her dress, the colour of a midnight sky, swaying as she moved. She was full to the brim with restrained confidence: she knew she could dazzle the audience, but really, she didn't need to. They were already eating out of her palm.

Jaws hit the floor and every eye in the room was firmly trained on her, and the graceful smirk painting her features served as proof. She was a siren, and the audience her doomed admirers. Jimmy couldn't tear his eyes away through the whole performance, and his distracted clapping as she curtsied alerted his bandmates.

“You okay, Jim? Looks to me like,” Bonzo started, glancing over at Robert with mischief shining in his dark eyes, “You’ve got yourself a little crush, no?”

“I’m… She’s just—”

“Perfect? Gorgeous, talented,” Jonesy interrupted, catching the guitarist’s attention. A smug grin at home on his lips, the bassist shrugged, turning to face his friend. “And… standing right over there.”

Following the path pointed out by Jonesy’s outstretched finger, Jimmy’s eyes locked on a familiar figure, floor-length gown shimmering in the dim light. Stood at the bar, she rested her arms on the surface as she leaned closer to talk to the bartender. Throwing her head back in a genuine laugh, she bares her throat, and Jimmy’s mouth goes dry. The performer takes the drink offered to her, a glass filled with what looks to be whiskey in her manicured hands. A finger lazily traced the rim. The beautiful woman turned towards them then, locking eyes with the guitarist over her shoulder. She winked, and walked away, a ring of condensation on the tabletop all that was left of her.

“Hey, Cole,” Jimmy whispered into the silence that had fallen over the table, and turned to the man, whose only response was a telling smirk. “Would you… Could you, uh…”

“On it, boss.”

In a split second, the man shuffled away from the table, his parting gift a wink at the sable-haired guitarist.

------

As you step on stage, the crowd’s chatter continues, and you smile to yourself. Nights at The Whispering Wind were always like this: the snippets of conversation fading into a symphony of white noise. It calms you, being so used to the bustling New Orleans streets. This is a little slice of paradise, in your eyes.

You flatten down your dress, velvet soft against your hand, and gaze over to your pianist. Nodding back, he launches in, soft at first, but crescendoing soon after. His hand raised in the air, he looks over to you.

Your cue.

You take a deep breath, lungs filling with smoky air, and sing your heart out. Light and shade battle for dominance as you play the audience like a fiddle. Your voice, full of lust and desire, floats around the room, and you smirk to yourself, looking at the sea of faces in front of you. Everything is hazy, the spotlights blurring your vision, but you can swear someone is staring at you. A man, it looks like. His dark hair shines in the faded light, and his eyes sparkle with intelligence and, interestingly enough, appreciation. It takes effort to tear your eyes away from him, but you succeed, and belt out the last line. Your smile rivals the bright lights shining down on you, and you curtsy. The cheers of the audience serves as your soundtrack, as you step off stage, scurrying over to the bar. It takes a special effort not to gaze at the mystery man as you pass.

“Lovely evening for a drink, isn’t it? I’ll have whiskey, neat.”

“Coming right up, Madam,” The bartender winks at you, a smile blossoming on your face. He sets the drink into your waiting hands, and leans against the counter, smirking at you kindly. “Wonderful show, tonight. You’re a talent, my dear.”

“Well, thank you,” you reply, cheeks flushing a pretty pink. Your smile grows brighter, and your giggle is featherlight as it floats past your lips, “It’s what I love to do.”

Your conversation is interrupted by the sounds of whispers from behind you, and you look over your shoulder. Those eyes, the bright shade of green you had seen from the stage, were looking right back at you. He looks shy, nervous even, almost hiding behind his tawny-haired friend. From your spot at the bar, you can tell, now, just how handsome he truly is. His dark hair falls in tastefully mussed curls, and his skin looks clear, almost like porcelain. His lips are petal-pink, and look soft. His jaw is sharp, and he’s rather thin; scrawny even, but he’s still gorgeous.

Holding his gaze, you wink, and his eyes go impossibly wider. You tip the bartender and walk away, a “thank you” thrown over your shoulder. A safe distance away from the mystery man and his posse, you chance a look back, and spot a man standing from the table, patting the black-haired beauty on the back. To your surprise, he weaves through the crowd towards you.

“Excuse me, Miss,” he says, catching up to you. He smooths down his button-up shirt, and sends a charming grin your way, holding out a hand to shake. “May I ask your name?”

“It’s Y/N. And yours, if I may?”

“Richard Cole.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Cole?” This is met by a chuckle from the man, his hand going up to stroke his dark beard.

“Well, lovely, do you see that man over there, with the black hair?” You follow his outstretched hand, and your eyes fall upon your mystery man. He’s looking back at you, hands fiddling with each other. His gaze finally drops from yours, and the tell-tale blush rising on his cheeks makes you laugh softly. “He’d love to have a chat with you.”

“If he wants to talk to me, he can come over here himself and tell me that.”

Cole chuckles, and shakes his head fondly. Glancing over at the mystery man, he waves him over. From your spot, you can see the way he approaches on shaky legs, and you smile, recognizing him instantly. With a pat on the back of the curly-haired man, Mr. Cole is gone, and you're alone together. This is going to be fun.

“What’s your name, darling?” You ask, though you already know the answer. It’s not every day that a world-famous musician stops by ‘The Whispering Wind’, after all.

“I-it’s Jimmy… uh, Page.” His hands, you notice, are clenched into fists, and he shuffles from foot to foot. You press closer to him, and he blushes harder, cheeks almost aflame.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jimmy. I’m—”

“You’re Y/N, aren't you? I saw the poster outside, and I thought you were beautiful,” Breath hitching as he realizes what he just said, Jimmy slaps a hand over his mouth. His emerald eyes signal that he’s embarrassed, but you can only giggle. “I only meant that—”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not too bad yourself.”

Jimmy’s thin hand flies up to scratch the top of his head, and his hair falls in his face, effectively blocking him from view. You can see the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

“Thank you. I, uh… you’re an amazing vocalist. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, your stage presence was… arresting.”

“So you admit to staring at me?”

“Well, I… You…”

I’m just playing, Jimmy,” Your laugh twinkles as it fills the silence, and Jimmy’s lips quirk up in a small smile upon hearing it. “If anything, I should be the one staring. Led Zeppelin’s a big deal, y’know.”

“You… you recognized me?”

“You boys aren't exactly rising stars. Being as famous as you are, I didn’t think you’d be this humble.”

He chuckles under his breath, and looks up at you through his eyelashes. It seems he’s grown more confident now, and you smile, gaze drifting down to his mouth. If you leaned in, just a little, your lips would meet, and you could finally know if his are as soft as they look.

“We’re in New Orleans for another day, uh… I was wondering if, well… God, I’m terrible at this.”

“Jimmy—”

“Could I… take you out, sometime?” His halting, nervous speech only makes him more endearing, and you gaze into his eyes as he squirms. Jimmy sputters, trying to take his words back, but you silence him with a hand on his bicep. Lean muscle ripples under your hand, and you smile at him.

“Jimmy.”

“Oh God, I’ve fucked it all up, haven’t I? J-just forget what I said, I don’t know what—”

“It’s—”

“Seriously, it was probably a mistake to ask you that. I mean,” Jimmy’s head droops, hair shielding him once more, and you can’t help the fondness that rushes through you. Unaware of the smile that nearly splits your cheeks, he presses on, hands flying back and forth to prove his point, “You’re absolutely divine, and I’m just— Uh...”

Close enough that you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him, you put a hand to his shoulder, wiping off imaginary dust from his coat. Your fingers catch slightly on the bedazzled butterflies that adorn it. His eyes follow your hands as they dance and twirl across the fabric, and you can hear his sharp intake of breath echo in the slight space between the two of you. A lone finger finally finds his chin, and you lift his head to look at you.

“Eyes on me, chéri.”

His gorgeous green eyes meet yours from under his curly fringe, and you push a stray lock to rest behind his ear. His cheeks redden even more, something you hadn’t thought possible, as he stares into your eyes.

Pressing close to him, his scent surrounds you, and your lips brush against the curve of his ear.

“Tu veux un rendez-vous? Tu dois travailler pour cela, chéri.”

You pull away, and he is left with the ghost of soft lips against his cheek, the scent of your perfume floating after you as you walk away. Jimmy stands in place, too stunned to even react, until a hand at his back makes him jump. Glancing over his shoulder, he spots his bandmates, smirks at home on their faces. Jonesy pipes up, looking him up and down.

“You okay, Page? You’re looking pretty red…”

“It seems, and correct me if I’m wrong,” interjects Bonzo, as he slips an arm around Jimmy, guiding him back to their table. Jimmy slumps into a chair, stunned into silence, a hand raising to his cheek. Bonzo chuckles, and continues, “Like your crush just got a lot more serious.”

------

Safe behind the door of his hotel room, Jimmy trudges to the bathroom to turn on the shower. Slipping out of his clothes, that he folds neatly on the bed, the guitarist steps in. Steam curls in tendrils around the small bathroom, and Jimmy takes a deep breath. Hand settling on his cock, he begins stroking it slowly; experimentally. The pleasure feels incredible, euphoric even, as his mind drifts to the intriguing woman he had met just an hour ago. Her image is seared into his mind, and every touch she had given him felt like a wildfire licking at his skin. His groans match the speed of his hand as he speeds up, gripping the tiled wall for support.

The scent of her perfume, something floral, unplaceable, lingered in his nose, and he wishes to see her again. To have that scent invade all of his senses, again. Jimmy’s whimpers, quiet, yet keening, echo off the walls, as he reaches his peak. He imagines her there with him, raking a hand roughly through his hair, her hands roaming every inch of skin they could reach.

His muscles twitch as warmth spills over his hand, a soft grunt slipping past his gritted teeth. He’s in ecstasy, something better than any drug. Something he doesn’t ever want to come down from.

As he recovers from the high he had just experienced, his gasping breaths fill the space. Knees trembling from exertion, he grips onto the slippery shower wall, and whispers into the steam that fills the room.

“Y/N…”

------

(the french sentence: you want a date? you have to work for that, darling)

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmypages (let me know if you want to be added!)

[berrynarrybanana]

breathe me in - ws pt. 4

A/N: I feel like this is a boring chapter, and it’s a little shorter than usual, but omg the smut. I hope you all enjoy this, and thank you so much for being so patient with me. I am hoping that life mellows out sooner rather later! I hope you enjoy and don’t be afraid to let me know what you thought about this chapter!

Word Count. 7.7k 

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, i don’t think there’s anything else tbh 

Bea’s POV 

It was loud on the side stage. 

Harry had to yell in my ear for me to understand anything that he was saying, but I found the entire thing to be exciting. He kept his arms around me, holding me against his chest as he sang along to every word of every song. I knew a few of her songs, but she’d only played one that I was familiar with so far. Harry’s margarita disappeared quickly, so I handed him mine to finish off. I didn’t want to be hammered for his performance, so I decided to stop drinking for about an hour or two. Instead, I was nursing a bottle of water while Harry squeezed me tight.

“Are you having a good time, honey?” His breath was hot against my ear as I nodded, a smile on my lips. “You look like you’re having a lot of fun.” 

“I am.” I chuckled, turning my head back to him. 

He pressed his lips to mine, stealing a few pecks before the crowd cheered for the ending of Kacey’s song. I turned towards her, watching as a stagehand walked towards Harry with his guitar. I felt his arms tighten around me before they released me. I grabbed his drink, holding it as he put his guitar around his body, a pick hanging between his teeth casually. 

He explained that normally, Kacey would come out during his set to sing with him, but tonight it was different. He had a surprise planned for the end of the show, and it would take up a lot of time in his set. So instead, he was joining Kacey on stage for one final rendition of their cover song. I smiled at him, taking a deep breath as I prepared myself for the emotional duet. 

Harry leaned closer to me, ducking to my ear. 

“Be good for me, yeah?” He said. “I’ll be right back, honey.”

He pulled back, landing a soft kiss to my lips before a few soft pecks. 

When he pulled away, he winked at me before turning towards the stage. 

I watched him hug Kacey, moving around as his guitar was attached to the amp cord lying on the ground. Kacey waved at me from her spot on the stage, and I waved back with a smile. I met her right before she went on for her set, and I adored her personality. She was just like Harry, positive and bright and funny. Harry’s eyes darted over towards me, and he tried to fight off a smile as Kacey started talking into her mic, but he couldn’t do it. 

I pressed my lips together, holding his drink to my chest as he strummed over his guitar strings. 

As the music began, my heart started to beat faster. 

This was the first time that I would see him singing in person. I couldn’t believe how close I was to him, his facial features still perfectly clear from my spot on the side stage. He gave Kacey a quick nod, his fingers forming the G chord on his guitar before he strummed out. As the rest of the band joined in, I became more excited to hear them sing a classic country ballad from my childhood. I didn’t have too many memories of the song, but I knew it by heart. It was one of those songs that played on the radio non-stop, but somehow, it never got old. 

When Kacey opened her mouth to sing, I felt my eyes begin to water. 

I wasn’t one to cry easily, but this was such a sweet song. 

Kacey kept her eyes on Harry, the two sharing a few smiles here and there as they performed together. I watched Harry as he leaned towards the mic as the chorus started. 

“You’re still the one I run to, 

The one that I belong to, 

You’re still the one I want,

For Life”

Harry’s attention was divided between the audience, Kacey, and me. 

I felt my heart soaring in my chest, the attention he was giving me enough to send my mind flying off into space. Each time he smiled at me, I felt like I was the only person in the entire world that mattered to him. I wondered if I was bewitched by the entire production, or if it was just Harry that had me so emotional and flustered. His eyes met mine, and I felt the air leave my lungs as he sang out a particular line.

“They said, “I bet they’ll never make it” 

But just look at us, going strong.”

I pushed my bottom lip out in a soft pout as Harry winked at me, turning back towards the crowd in front of him. I sniffled, swiping away a few stray tears as he finished out the song. 

When he handed his guitar off to a stagehand, he gave Kacey a quick hug before waving once at the audience. He ran back to me with his head ducked down, watching his feet. I didn’t wait for him to pounce on me first, this time. I looped an arm around his neck the second he was in reach, pressing my lips into his as his hands fell to my sides. He pushed his hands under my jacket, his fingers digging into my sides as he pulled me into his body. 

“That was beautiful.” I exclaimed, a wide smile on my lips as Harry ducked down. “You winked at me.”

“I did.” He laughed, holding me tighter. “I saw you getting emotional, I thought I could make you smile if I did that.”

“It worked.” I pulled my head back, receiving another kiss before Harry moved behind me. 

“She’s going to play your favorite now.” He said in my ear. “I asked her to play it now, because I have to be off stage after this.”

“Thank you.” I kissed his chin before turning my attention back towards the stage. 

When Butterflies started to play, I clapped my hands together. 

Harry swayed our bodies back and forth as we both sang the lyrics together. At one point, he took the margarita from my hand before twirling me around, pulling me back into his arms as we slowly moved together. He sang into my ear, his voice sending shivers up my spine. 

When the song was nearing an end, I pulled back from him with a giddy grin.

“You give me butterflies.” 

Harry repeated my facial expression from earlier, his eyes going soft as he looked at me singing to him. During the last line, he pulled me into him for one more kiss before we were being guided off of the stage. It was hectic backstage as crew members raced around to get things in order. Harry made me stand in front of him, guiding me with his hands on my hips through the maze of people and equipment. When we finally broke into the back hallway, I let go of the breath that I didn’t know I was holding.

“Harry, we need you with the rest of the band.” Jeff pointed at Harry before looking at me. “Bea, Dave is going to take you down to the barricades with the rest of the group. Claire is waiting for you down there with Gemma and everyone else.”

“Cool.” I nodded, turning back to Harry.

“Give us a minute, Jeff?” Harry asked his friend as his hands pulled me closer. “I swear, it’ll just be a quick goodbye.”

“You have two minutes.” Jeff’s brows lifted, adding some edge to his new stern expression. “I mean it, H.”

“I understand.” Harry said. “Two minutes.”

“Go.” Jeff nodded, turning around to talk to someone else behind him. 

Harry spun me around, his hands lifting to cup my face. 

“I’m gonna miss you while I’m up there, but I hope you have fun.” He brushed his thumbs over my cheekbones. “You look beautiful, and I swear that I won’t be able to keep my eyes off of you for the entire night. I don’t know how I’ll make it through my set honestly.”

“You’re going to do such a great job.” I said, tilting my head to the side. “I’m really proud of you for making it this far, and I can’t wait to see you up on that stage. Break a leg, yeah?”

“Kiss.” He mumbled as he ducked his head down, connecting our lips. 

This wasn’t like our other kisses shared throughout the day. 

This one was tentative, and slow.

Our lips moved together in perfect harmony, pushing and pulling like ocean tides as his hands kept me anchored. I opened without hesitation when his tongue swiped over my bottom lip, and I moaned when it slipped into my mouth with ease. Harry tasted like tequila and mint, an absolutely intoxicating flavor that I never wanted to forget. 

“H, we gotta go.” Jeff pulled us from our little paradise, causing Harry to pull away with a small frown.

I lifted my hand, brushing my finger over his chin before landing a peck on his lips. 

“Go on, darling.” I said. “I’ll see you after, okay?”

“Stick with Dave.” Harry said. “Have fun, honey.”

“Bye.” I whispered, offering him a soft wave as Jeff started to pull him away. 

I turned to Dave when Harry was out of my line of vision, offering him the best smile that I could muster as the butterflies in my stomach started to flare up again. 

“I think I need a drink, Dave.” I said. “Can we make a stop before we go to the barricades?”

“Absolutely.” Dave chuckled. “I’ll show you the way.”

                                              🎸🎸🎸🎸

Harry’s POV

The crowd roaring always made me feel nauseous. 

It was insane to think so many people wanted to see me perform my songs on stage. I was just Harry, a boy from a small town in England. I didn’t have anything important to say, and most of my songs were about frivolous things like love and partying. I was just me, not the bloody queen. But people were still cheering for me as the screen lifted, the lights cutting completely as I moved towards my mic out of pure habit. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as I tried to take in the moment as it was unfolding before me. This was my last show of my first solo world tour. I had made so many memories that I hoped would stick with me until my dying day. 

My favorite memory was standing in the barricades, waiting for me to give her the show of a lifetime. I was most worried about disappointing her. Not only was she a true fan, but she was my girl. I had to give her a reason to be proud of me, to be proud of her man. I smiled at the thought, reaching up to adjust my in-ear as I approached the mic. 

The music was loud as it played through, blaring into my ear over the sound of the crowd. I lifted my left in-ear up, stuffing it in as I stood in front of the mic. As the lights flicked on, I sang into the mic before moving backwards to the beat of the song. I knew this was one of Bea’s favorites, so I really had to impress with my performance of Only Angel. I glanced towards the barricades as I sang into the mic, fiddling with a few things to get them properly set. 

I saw Gemma first, nursing a gin and tonic as Michael bopped his head along behind her. I noticed Claire and Niall chatting, and I especially noticed Niall’s hand on her ass and the grin on his face. I decided to deal with that later, my eyes trailing over Kendall and a few other people until they landed on her. Dave was guiding her towards Gemma, his broad shoulders blocking her from the crowd as they moved closer towards the end of the line. 

She settled next to my sister, looking up at the stage with a bright smile as I sang. 

I nearly lost my wits when she stripped her coat off, her bare arms on full display in that little, red lacy thing that I adored so much. I licked over my lips, smiling in her direction as she looked up at me. I knew that she noticed my smirk, one that was meant just for her. She sang the words back to me as I all but screamed them into the mic, her hips swaying to the beat. 

Any meaning that this song had before was now completely erased. 

This was her song now. 

She owned it, just like she owned my heart. 

                                               😇😇😇😇

Bea’s POV 

Harry sang Kiwi three times. 

By the time he dropped to his knees on stage, I was practically a goner. I was indeed dripping down my legs for him, just like he’d promised. With every song played, I felt that knot in my stomach growing tighter and tighter. Each dirty smirk or sly wink sent my way only made it worse, my fingers gripping the empty glass I had finished during the first four songs. I was stone cold sober, and absolutely drooling for the man I was lucky enough to call my boyfriend. 

“Did you have fun?” Gemma asked as Dave guided us backstage, her hand tightly gripped in mine as I led the group. 

“He’s so fucking amazing, Gem.” I called back to her. “He was born for it, I fucking swear.”

“Don’t tell ‘em that, it’ll go to his big head.” She laughed, stumbling into me as we stopped in the hallway. “I can’t believe his first solo world tour is over. Seems like just yesterday he was auditioning for the x-factor.”

“Alright, Bea-” Dave turned around. “I need you to go in Harry’s dressing room just there. His car is going to be the third out of the venue.”

“And the rest of us?” Gemma asked. “We’re gonna be stuck here for ages, aren’t we Davey?”

“No, you’re going now.”  Dave laughed. “Claire, Niall, Gemma, and Michael are all in one car.”

“Where are we going?” I looked back at Gemma. 

“Probably back to Harry’s.” She shrugged. “Maybe out to a bar, I don’t know.”

“Dinner.” Dave said. “Well, a late dinner and a tiny celebration.”

“Oh, food.” I sighed happily. “I can’t wait.” 

“Well, get on with it then.” Dave gestured towards the door. “Everyone else, follow me. You guys are going out before the band. They’ll meet you there.”

Dave opened the door, and I stumbled in before he pulled it shut. 

Lou was wrapping up hair tools, and Harry was slumped over on the couch as Jeff talked. 

I could tell that Harry wasn’t really listening to Jeff, however. 

I bit the inside of my cheek, carefully walking over before I sat down next to Harry. He lifted his water bottle to his lips, nodding as if he were listening to Jeff. His hand found my thigh, giving it a quick squeeze as Jeff rambled off a list of things that still needed to be taken care of. 

“Alright, so we’re going to Wise Guys next.” Jeff looked at his phone. “I’ve arranged for a cake there, and a little birthday cupcake for Mitch and for Claire.”

“That was sweet.” I said softly. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Jeff nodded. “The band just left, and everyone else is following behind. Your car is gonna leave in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks.” Harry sounded spent, his voice hoarse and low. “I appreciate everything, mate.”

“Anytime.” Jeff smiled, lowering his phone. “You did good tonight, Gary. I’m proud of you.”

Harry gave Jeff a small smile. 

When Jeff was gone, Lou turned to us with a soft smile before she disappeared. 

I didn’t say anything to Harry as he sipped at his water. I merely rested my head on his shoulder, slotting my fingers between his as we sat there in silence. The sound of the crowd rumbling was still vibrating through the floors, but it was quite otherwise. Harry let out a soft sigh, tossing his water bottle to the coffee table before he started to shift around. 

“I want a shower.” He mumbled. “Can you join me?”

I rolled my lips in, debating on whether or not I was comfortable enough to do that yet. 

After a few moments of careful consideration, I finally lifted my head up. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” I said, patting his thigh before I stood up. 

“I’ll have Jeff bring you some merch to wear when we get out.” Harry smiled, standing up after me with a groan. “S’not as easy as it used to be, I’m getting old.”

“You’re twenty-four, not eighty-four.” I chuckled, wrapping my arms around him for a quick hug as he laughed. “You were the picture of a perfect rockstar tonight, Harry. I had an amazing time watching you on that stage, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

There was a knock on the door that interrupted Harry’s response, his brows furrowing. 

“Didn’t know Jeff and I were telepathic now.” He mumbled. “Let me go see who that is.”

He pressed his lips to mine as I untangled my arms. 

I moved aside, watching him open the door slowly. 

“Hey, I just thought I’d stop by and-”

“Oh, I’m kind of busy.” Harry said quickly, interrupting Kendall’s sentence. “I’m actually kind of knackered, Ken. Probably gonna go home and go to sleep.”

“You’re not going out?” She sounded shocked, and a little hurt. 

I wasn’t one to gloat, but a small smile creeped onto my lips. 

“No, Kendall, I’m not.” He said sternly. “I have to go. I need to shower before my car leaves.”

“Is she-”

“Goodbye, Kendall.” He shut the door, turning around with an exasperated sigh before he met my eyes. I raised my brows, pressing my lips together as he rolled his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I said softly. “You’ve had a really long day.”

“Yeah.” He mumbled half-heartedly. “Let’s go before we run out of time.”

I nodded, walking towards the bathroom as he grabbed his phone. 

I started the water while he texted Jeff, his hip pressed against the sink as his fingers moved rapidly over the screen. I turned around, offering him a tiny smile before I tilted my head forward. I reached for the elastic on my wrist after I gathered my hair into a messy bun. 

I didn’t feel like dealing with wet hair at a restaurant, and I hoped that I could keep my face out of the spray to avoid losing the makeup still on my skin. Harry was still texting when I finished with my hair, so I dropped to my knees in front of him to help him out of his shoes. I pulled the zipper down as Harry shifted, clearing his throat as he adjusted in his pants. 

“Hmm, I said a shower.” His lips curved into a smirk as he focused on his phone. “We did that earlier, didn’t we honey?”

“Don’t be cheeky.” I snorted. “I’m just taking your clothes off.”

“I can do it.” He mumbled. “Just gotta finish a few more texts.”

“I’ve got you.” I shrugged, patting his leg. “Lift your leg.”

I pulled both shoes off, tossing them aside before I made my way up to his pants. 

I pulled his zipper down before undoing the button. 

Harry set his phone on the countertop, looking at me fondly as I finished pushing his pants down his legs. He kicked them aside as I tugged his boxer briefs down, letting them fall to the floor. I lifted my hands, my shaking fingers working on the buttons to his top as I held my breath. It was so intimate, undressing him while he watched me with hungry eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, brushing his knuckles over my cheek. “I can’t believe that I’m this lucky.”

“I think I’m the lucky one.” I mumbled. “My boyfriend is a musical sex god, so I think I win.”

“And my girlfriend is a sweet, southern minx.” He chuckled, brushing the strap to my bodysuit with his fingertips as I undid the last button on his shirt. “It’s my turn now.”

I inhaled sharply, nodding my head as he dropped to his knees. 

I felt the air leave my lungs the second he glanced up at me with those beautiful green eyes. 

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to my stomach as he closed his eyes. I couldn’t move a muscle as I watched him, his fingers fiddling with the zipper on my boots before he tugged it down. I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling the heat coursing through my body as he tugged my shoe off slowly. He ducked his head down, resting his forehead on my hip as he tugged my shoe off. He tossed it aside to join his own shoes in the corner of the room before he pulled my other shoe off just the same. 

“You have another tattoo down here.” He mumbled, tracing his finger over my ankle before he started to stand. “What does that one mean?”

“It’s a lily of the valley.” I mumbled, my eyes glued to his as his fingers occupied themselves with my pants. “It’s the flower of my birth month.”

“When were you born?” He asked softly, leaning his forehead against mine. “Talk to me.”

“May.” I mumbled, closing my eyes as he tugged the zipper down. “May fifteenth.” 

“A spring baby.” He sounded happy at that. “That explains why you’re always glowing.” 

“Shut up.” I laughed, opening my eyes again as he tugged my jeans down my legs. 

I shimmied a little pushing them aside with my feet as Harry’s fingers immediately started to knead over the globes of my ass. I gasped as he hitched my hips closer to his, digging his fingers harder into my bum as I gripped onto his shoulders for support. 

“You’re sexy.” He ducked his head down, peppering kisses over my shoulder. “I was so fucking hard on stage, because of you. I saw you take your jacket off, and I fucking lost it.”

“Can you imagine how I felt?” I asked him, closing my eyes as I felt his hand slide around my waist, ghosting over my thigh. “You made good on your promise, at least.”

“What promise was that?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, as if he didn’t know exactly what I meant. “I can’t recall.” 

“Why don’t you move your hand up and find out?” I asked him, pulling my head back as I sucked in a deep breath. “We have time.”

Harry’s lips were pressing into mine moments later, the pent up frustration from our day leaking into every movement. I gasped when he raked his teeth over my bottom lip, pulling it away from my teeth before he let it snap back into place. His fingers were digging into my sides, helping me roll my hips as he pressed his thigh between my legs. I whimpered, dropping my head back as his lips started to trail down my neck. Little nips and harsh suction greeted my sensitive skin, leaving a trail of damp and sore skin in his path. I didn’t care about it though. I only cared about the pleasure I was receiving as my body limply rested in Harry’s arms. 

“I want to make you cum.” He gasped, lifting his head up, his eyes trailing over my body like a madman. “How do I get this thing off?” 

“Zipper on the side.” I turned, lifting my arms as his fingers fumbled for the zipper. 

Moments later, it was stripped from my body. 

I couldn’t think about being insecure when Harry was guiding me towards the shower, my feet moving backwards as he stuck a hand out to feel for the glass. He pulled the door open, lifting his head for long enough to guide me over the small. He snaked his arms around my body, keeping me close as we entered the warm spray of the shower. His naked body pressed against mine was a completely foreign feeling, and I didn’t know how to respond to it. 

Luckily for me, Harry made sure that I didn’t have time to think about anything besides him. 

“M’gonna try something with you.” He pulled away from my lips, pressing his forehead to mine as I tried to catch my breath. “If you spread your legs just a little, I can slip between your thighs and…we can um-” 

He stuttered, the tips of his ears going red. 

“I know what you’re trying to stay.” I said. “Do it.” 

“Yeah?” He asked me. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” I dropped my arms over his shoulders, tangling my fingers into his hair as the water cascaded over him. “Let’s try it.”

“Fuck, okay.” He nodded, sliding a hand between our bodies. 

I felt him shift his cock around, wincing softly when it brushed against my hip. 

I nearly lost my legs when he brushed the tip of his cock over my clit, gently massaging the bundle of nerves between my legs until I was crying out, my fingers grasping at his hair. 

“Fuck.” I whimpered, clenching my eyes shut as he kissed over my jaw. “Harry, I-”

“I’ve got you.” He grunted out, sliding his cock fully into the small space between my thighs. “Oh my god, that’s so good, honey.” 

He dug his nails into my hips, holding them as he pulled his hips back. 

I bit my lip at the feeling of his cock sliding over my lips smoothly, coated in the arousal that he caused. I dropped my left hand to his shoulder, my nails digging into his skin as I tangled the fingers of my right hand in his hair. He ducked his head down, resting his forehead on my collarbones as he continued to move his hips at a slow pace. 

“I’m not gonna last very long.” He kissed over my shoulder, pulling my hips against his with a little more force. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Cum.” I said softly. “Cum for me.”

“No.” He lifted his head, his eyes staring into mine with a burning determination. “I want to make you feel good.” 

“I promise I feel fucking fantastic.” I chuckled softly. “But I don’t know if I can cum from this alone.” 

Harry didn’t say anything. 

He merely pulled himself away from my thighs before he turned me around. I felt a new wave of excitement wash over me as he guided us towards the shower wall, his hands pushing me gently against it before his feet pushed mine aside just a little. I gasped when his fingers dipped into the sensitive skin of my hips, pulling them up just a little so that my ass was perched up for him. I felt him dip his finger towards my mound, slowly easing it between my lips to collect a bit of my arousal before he slid his finger  back up to circle my clit. 

“Fuck.” I dropped my head forward, pressing my palms into the wall for support. “Harry.”

“That’s it.” He kissed over my shoulder blade, sealing our bodies as he aligned his cock with that little space between my thighs and my cunt. “Do you feel okay? Is this good?”

“Perfect.” I nodded. “Please, do something.” 

From there, all I could hear was the sound of our bodies colliding and a mixture of our moans.

We sounded so beautiful together, the perfect mixture of soft and rough as he took me to a world I’d never known before. It was different than having his fingers in me, and I did miss the full feeling that came with penetration, but I was getting off on the motions of our bodies as the tip of his cock massaged my clit. He held onto me with his left arm, keeping my body supported as my knees started to grow weak. He could tell that I was close when I started to get quiet, a few squeaks and moans coming out in between long periods of holding my breath. 

“Let go for me, angel.” He gasped. “I’m right behind you.”

The feeling that erupted throughout my body had my jaw practically unhinging, a desperate cry spilling from my mouth as I dropped my hands to grip at his arm. I felt my nails dig into his skin as he stilled his hips, his cum shooting onto my thighs in thick, warm spurts. 

“Bea.” He buried his nose into the crook of my neck, holding me upright as his hips jerked in quick motions. “Yes, angel.” 

When Harry finally stilled behind me, and I finished unraveling under his touch, I let out a series of giggles. Harry held onto my tighter as I dropped my head back against his shoulder, his lips pressed against my neck as he laughed along with me. I felt like I was fucking floating on cloud nine after that, and I didn’t even know it was possible to feel that good after doing something so simple. Harry playfully bit at my shoulder to get my attention, but I groaned. 

“I have to actually shower now.” He whispered. “And I think you might want to tend to your makeup.”

“Do I look like a racoon?” I asked him through another giggle. 

“You look like a very pretty raccoon.” He squeezed me gently, kissing my cheek. “Jeff should have left the clothes out for you by now. I’ll be out in just a minute, okay?”

“Okay.” I turned around, tossing my arms over his shoulders before I kissed him. “I’m leaving now.”

“Okay.” He pressed his lips to mine again. “Bye.”

“Bye.” I responded with another kiss, a smile breaking out on my face. 

‘“Bye.” He mumbled into my mouth, dropping his hands to my hips. 

“I’m going now.” I whispered as he pressed my back against the wall, ducking in for another kiss. 

“You really should.” 

But I didn’t go. 

Not for another fifteen minutes. 

And Jeff was kind of pissed about it.

                                                 🦝🦝🦝🦝

Harry’s POV

“I just want to thank each and every one of you for making my dream come true.” I lifted my glass, looking around the private room as everyone stared back at me. “Without you, I would not have been able to do the thing that I love most in the world, and I am forever grateful to you for being a part of this journey. I am so grateful to have found a chosen family that understands me for who I truly am, and I cannot wait for our next tour to start so that we can make many new memories together. I love you all, and I hope to see you again very soon.” 

I lifted my glass of champagne before taking a sip as everyone clapped. 

When I sat down next to Beatrice, my hand rested on her thigh as she continued to talk with Claire about something. I was beyond exhausted, especially after our little shower tryst. I squeezed Bea’s thigh at the thought of her soft moans, tossing the remaining contents of my drink back with ease. I saw Bea turn her head towards me with raised brows, but I merely shook my head before leaning over for a quick kiss.

“You two might be the most handsy couple I have ever seen.” Claire said. “Harry, I didn’t peg you for a PDA man.”

“I’m not.” I said. “But I don’t mind it so much with Beatrice.”

“Oh, barf.” Niall scoffed, rolling his eyes at me. “I can’t believe you’re that guy.”

“Fuck off.” I flicked my middle finger up at Niall as he lifted his pint glass to his lips. “She’s extremely gorgeous, and I just can’t help myself.”

“Oh, Squid.” Beatrice dropped her head to my shoulder with a soft coo. “That’s so sweet of you.”

I felt my cheeks heating up as she looped her arm around my own. 

I loved feeling her warmth surrounding me.

She had such a warm and comforting presence, and it made me want to spend my entire life wrapped up in her arms. She was a lot like the sun, beaming down on me in scorching hot waves of good vibes. I turned my head, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head as Niall and Claire picked up their conversation. I watched Niall laugh at something Claire said, his head dropping back and his eyes crinkling at the corners. He wasn’t one to open up to someone new so easily, but apparently Claire had quite the effect on him. They spent most of the concert in close quarters, yelling in each other’s ears and laughing while I sang on stage. I could have sworn I caught them sharing a kiss at some point, but that had to be in my head. 

Niall didn’t do one night stands anymore. 

He was still healing from the last one that left him battered and broken.

I inhaled sharply, looking at the remainder of Bea and I’s food as I felt her weight pressing into my side just a little harder than before. I tilted my head forward, glancing at her face. I tried not to laugh when I realized that she was fast asleep on my shoulder, her perfect lips pushed out into a cute pout. I squeezed her thigh one more time before I turned to Jeff on my left. 

“I think we’re gonna head out.” I said softly. “Someone is a bit tired.”

“Glenne and I were just talking about ditching.” Jeff shook his head, laughing as he lifted his drink up to his lips for a quick sip. “It’s been a long run, man. I don’t think anyone would blame you for disappearing into the night with your beautiful new lady.”

“I’ll text you about our farewell get together.” I said softly, carefully sliding my left arm around him for a quick hug. “It’s been a good run, mate. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without by my side.”

“We make a good team.” Jeff smiled. “Go home, Styles, you look like the walking dead.” 

I chuckled, shaking my head before I turned back to Bea. 

“Honey, it’s time to wake up.” I whispered, pressing my lips to the soft hair on top of her head a few times as she stirred under the palm of my right hand. “We’re gonna go home now, okay?”

“But Claire-” 

“Claire is gonna go home with Gemma and Michael.” I said. “They’re going back to the air bnb because they want to surf tomorrow morning.” 

“Gemma is going to surf?” Beatrice lifted her head, a confused look on her face that made me want to laugh. “She doesn’t seem like the type to surf, and I mean, I’m not either but-”

“She’s got a good book and a nice little umbrella to sit under.” I leaned forward, kissing Bea’s lips softly. “C’mon, let’s get home. I’m absolutely knackered.” 

“You’re so cute and so british.” Beatrice giggled, leaning forward to press her lips to mine. “I like you.”

“I like you too, honey.” I chuckled, watching her as she slipped out of her chair onto wobbly feet with a large yawn. 

I followed suit, tossing my napkin down to the table before I turned to Gemma and Michael who were sitting in front of Jeff and Glenne. Gemma smiled at me before giving me a soft wave. I smiled at her as Beatrice walked around the end of the table until she was standing behind Claire. She wrapped her arms around her friend's shoulders, leaning down until she kissed her cheek. Claire rubbed her forearm gently, talking softly as Beatrice nodded at her. 

“I love you, C.” Bea gave her one last squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I doubt it.” Claire chuckled. “Please, have fun tomorrow.” 

Beatrice pouted, but Claire merely rolled her eyes and told her to go. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m spending my day in the ocean.” Claire called out.

“Have fun, don’t forget your sunscreen.” Beatrice smiled at her friend. 

When Beatrice was finally by my side again, I reached for her hand, slotting our fingers together. 

Dave was going to drive us home in the Tesla so that I didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. 

As Beatrice and I walked towards the exit of the restaurant, my nerves started to flair up. I knew there would be paparazzi standing outside of the restaurant waiting to get a glimpse of Beatrice and I. I turned my attention to her as she slowly walked beside me, her eyes heavy. 

“Beatrice.” I said softly, stopping just in front of the exit. “We’ve never talked about the media, and the influence it’s going to have on our relationship-”

“There won’t be any negative influence if I can help it.” She looked up at me. “I know what being with you entails, Harry. I’ve never experienced it, but I’ve seen it tear couples apart from a fan perspective, and I like to think that I’m stronger than the pricks with cameras standing outside.” 

“I know that you are.” I cleared my throat. “But you won’t have any privacy, Beatrice. People are going to dig into your life, and they’ll use anything they find to tear you apart. If you step outside with me now, holding my hand, it’s all fair game. It’s going to be the beginning of a shit show that will disrupt your entire life-”

“But at the end of the day, I get you.” She squeezed my fingers, moving closer to me until her hand was pressed to my cheek. “I get to be with the kindest, and sweetest man I’ve ever met. I think it’s worth it, and I’m not afraid of the price I have to pay to be yours.”

I felt my heart squeeze in my chest, the doubt still settled in my chest. 

It was going to be hard. 

But I had to trust her on this. She knew her limits better than I did, and I had no reason to doubt her word. I inhaled, holding my breath as she stared up at me with those soft, blue eyes. 

“Alright.” I nodded, exhaling quickly. “Let’s do this then.” 

                                               📸📸📸📸

Bea’s POV 

I absolutely fell asleep on Harry during the car ride to his house. 

He didn’t say anything about it when I rested my cheek on his shoulder. He merely adjusted his body until I was wrapped in his arms with my head in the crook of his neck. I didn’t even remember Dave taking off from the restaurant parking lot. I only remembered the scent of Harry’s body wash and the warmth of his arms around my body as Dave merged onto the freeway. I felt Harry’s cheek press into my head at some point, soft snores rousing me slightly before they lulled me back to sleep. 

I had a vague memory of Harry and Dave talking, and it reminded me of being a kid in the backseat of my parents car when we got home. I was awake, but not really all there. I felt Harry moved from under me, leaving me propped up on the seat for a second before I felt him pulling my arms around his shoulders. I clamped his legs around my waist, whimpering as I buried my nose into the soft material of his Treat People with Kindness hoodie. 

I fully woke up when Harry walked into his large kitchen, dropping his keys down on the granite countertop before he started walking through the open floor plan. 

“Put me down.” I mumbled, wriggling in his grasp. “I’m gonna break your back, squid.”

“You’re fine.” He snorted out a laugh. “Light as a feather, you are.”

“Harry, I’m serious.” I frowned as he walked towards the stairs. “I’m too heavy.”

“I bench press five times your weight, honey.” He turned his head to the side with furrowed brows. “You’re okay, I promise.” 

“But-”

“Beatrice, I’m being cute here.” He said softly. “I’m just giving my girlfriend a piggyback ride before I tuck her into bed.”

“Don’t come crying to me when you wake up with a sore back tomorrow, darling.” I rolled my eyes, letting out a sigh. “It won’t be my fault, I warned you.” 

“I promise not to complain to you.” He dug his fingers into my thigh just a little harder, hiking me up before he started to take the steps. “Hold on tight.”

I rolled my eyes, tightening my legs around him as he started to walk up the stairs. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that we didn’t fall backwards as he took each step. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, it was that I didn’t trust the concept of him carrying me up a flight of stairs after putting on a concert for thousands of screaming fans. He was tired, and I was just weighing him down...literally. I heard him let out a soft chuckle when I gasped as he adjusted his hands under my thighs. I thought for a second he was going to let me fall. 

“I’ve got you, honey.” He whispered. “Won’t ever let you fall.”

I felt my heart melt in my chest, my bottom lip pushing out into a soft pout. 

I ducked my head down, kissing his shoulder. 

When we finally made it to the end of the hallway, Harry pushed the white wooden door open with one foot before he walked into the darkness. I was afraid of the dark, but with Harry holding onto me, I didn’t feel nearly as freaked out by the absence of light. He turned around when his shins collided with something, his hands squeezing my thighs before he whispered. 

“M’gonna put you on the bed, okay?” He whispered. “Do you want to sleep on the right side, closer to the bathroom.”

“Yes, please.” I nodded, loosening my arms from around his shoulders as he lowered my body down gently. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, honey.” He turned around, dropping a kiss to my forehead. I heard something shifting around, and seconds later, a light came on. “That’s better.” 

“Much better.” 

“Are you comfortable in what you’re wearing?” I felt his eyes trail from my legs back to my eyes, examining my comfy outfit I put on in his dressing room before dinner. “I have your bag downstairs that Claire packed for you if you want something else.”

“This is fine.” I moved myself back towards the headboard, stretching my legs in front of me with a soft groan at the ache in my muscles. “You should get ready for bed, darling.”

“I’m ready.” He smirked, glancing at his hoodie before looking back at me. “Gonna sleep just like this.”

“I was hoping you’d be naked.” I tried to hide my smirk as I mumbled, watching Harry’s lips part slightly before his brows lifted towards his hairline. “But I guess sweatpants are okay.” 

“Oh, you little brat.” He kneeled on the bed, reaching out to brush his thumb over my cheek. “If I wasn’t about to fall asleep standing up, I’d wreck you.” 

“I’m looking forward to the day you come through on all of these promises you’re making me.” I narrowed my eyes at him as he snapped his mouth shut, exhaling through his nose as his jaw tensed. “Did that make you mad, Harry?”

“It made me want to pin you against the mattress.” He moved his second knee onto the bed, crawling towards me as I lowered my back against the pillows piled on his bed. “You’re trouble.”

“I know.” I dropped my head back as he pressed his palms into the mattress beside my ribcage, his body hovering over mine. “You like that about me though, don’t you?”

“You have no idea.” 

He pressed his lips to mine in an innocent kiss, pulling away after a second before he tilted his head. He went back in with a little more vigor than before, his lips pressing hard into mine as I lifted my hands to grip at his sides. I let his tongue dip into my mouth, massaging over my own in a sensual dance as he kept his body above mine. I pulled at his hoodie in attempts to get him closer to my body, but he didn’t budge. I whined out, pulling my lips away from his. 

“You’re starting something we can’t finish.” He whispered. “I should lay on my side of the bed, Beatrice. If I -”

“I just want to feel you on me, that’s all.” I shook my head. “I want you to lay on me, Harry.” 

“Trouble.” He stressed the word with a pained look on his face, lowering his hips between mine before he pressed the rest of his body against me. “Is this what you wanted? I’m not crushing you, am I?” 

“No.” I smiled, sliding my hands under his hoodie, brushing my fingers against the warm skin of his back. “I like the weight of you, it’s comforting.”

“Your hands are cold.” He hissed out. “They’re like blocks of ice.”

“Sorry.” I whispered, lifting my head to kiss his lips. “Maybe they’ll warm up if I keep them here.”

“Or maybe, I’ll get frostbite.” He brushed the tip of his nose over mine. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, because it’s so cheesy, but I’m so happy that I met you. Being with you makes me feel so...content and carefree. I feel like I can be myself with you and that’s so hard to find these days.” 

“You can always be yourself with me, Harry.” I giggled when he pressed his lips to my forehead, pulling away with a soft mwah. “I like who you are, inside and out.”

“Good.” I felt him shift around, lowering his body until his head was tucked into the crook of my neck, a soft sigh escaping his lips moments later. “I like who you are, too.” 

“Goodnight, Harry.” I turned my head, kissing his temple. 

“Goodnight, Beatrice.” 

[littlemisslipbalm]

“You Get Me” Pt. 3 (famous!y/n x harry)

Aka “Kissy” 🥺

honestly its really just domestic harry bahaha and I added that they have a slight age gap ?but seriously I hope y’all enjoy the third and final installment of my first ever writings -  a little miniseries if you will. I loved writing this part sm, probably my favorite part yet. I linked a spotify playlist that was some inspo (I literally listened to your summer dream on repeat for one part that I wrote, that song is so beautiful) anyways - not really proofread and I tried to break it up more so it was less big chunks to read formatting wise

here’s part 3! read: part 1 | part 2

word count: 4.0k  | warnings: makeout sesh, shirtless harry!, nothing graphic tho (I think!)

tag list : @marauderswhisperer, @morgannope, @daddystevee, @kthemarsian, @bi-andready-tocry

playlist for the inspo✨

-

One Week Later

“Hey, Har...change of plans!” you exclaimed as you peaked through a door in Harry’s house.

You’d hung out together at your apartment once since your phone retrieval visit and the two of you had been texting constantly. You loved Harry’s company and Harry couldn’t get enough of you. Harry had called you late last night, ‘Want t’take you out tomorrow, love.’ his voice was groggy as if he was about to fall asleep. You’d instantly agreed and drove over to his house the next day. He was leaving back to London on Saturday, so it was your last day to see him for awhile.

Inside the door you had just opened, a beautiful vintage convertible sat. You had found the garage. “You are so driving this,” you turned to see the man who held your entire heart in his hands walking up beside you. Harry reluctantly agreed and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Ready?” he questioned, holding up the soft blanket he had retrieved for your coastal picnic. You nodded, proudly displaying the little picnic basket you had packed full with food. Simultaneously the two of you reach for each other’s free hands, clasping them together and walking out to the car.

“I’m on aux, you can focus on the road,” you told Harry when both of you went for the cassette device that functioned to allow you to play music from your phone despite the age of the car. Harry loved how assertive you were even if it meant he didn’t always get his way. That was one of the reasons he liked you so much, your strength, your ability to hold your own in any situation, even with him, opposite of how a lot of people treated him in the industry in bids to get in his good graces. You were his match, so similar, yet so unique.  

The pair of you started out on the road. Harry wore a white t-shirt with a blue bee slogan,  purple trousers, and some clean white vans. His rings and pearl necklace wrapped up the look. His tattooed arms starkly contrasting the crisp white of his shirt. His eyes on the road were covered by large sunglasses, but his hair flew out behind him as the wind rushed over the car. You had chosen high waisted mom jean style denim shorts and a lavender femme top with a mesh white floral overlay, it had ties on the shoulders and it complimented your skin color perfect, tanned in from your life in the golden state. You too had your rings on and a silver necklace with your first initial hidden in the pendant. Even your clothes complemented each other.  

The first song to play through the speakers was Joni Mitchell’s “California.” You looked over to see Harry smile and you two began to sing along. You didn’t talk much on the ride, staying silent other than singing along when you pleased, but you always made sure not to overpower the actual song, you didn’t like to do that if the music was there for ambiance. Harry would speak up a little when passing various things, just simply pointing them out. Then, after the first notes of “California Dreamin’” came on Harry couldn’t help buy say, “Y/N, seriously?  S’not like I don’t love these songs, but please tell me you didn’t just search up ‘California’ and are playing tha’?” All you did was shush him and tell him this was one of your favorite songs before singing along.

Then, as the Mamas and the Papas voices began to fade out, Harry started again, “This next song’s title better not be fuckin’ California or somethin’ with-” but he stopped as the light quick notes of “Golden” came through the speakers, followed by his own voice. You grinned and gave his shoulder a little push. You had just gotten on the PCH and you remembered his mention of it being the quintessential coastal drive song a couple years ago so you had queued just in time.

A grin spreads onto his features that had been in slight exasperation at your antics previously and shakes his head at you, does a little finger shake vaguely in your direction, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.”

You both burst out in song, practically yelling the first chorus, Harry taking little harmony parts that most wouldn’t even notice, but he notices them, he made them. You dance in your seat to the song, taking control of the background ‘da da da’s. Harry is in awe of how well your voice sounds with the track, when you sing along to the second verse, much more seriously than the first one you had screamed together. He glanced over at your moving figure that began to sway at the slowing of the song. You weren’t wearing sun glasses and you had your eyes closed, basking in the shining sun. You looked at peace, yet completely fulfilled and overjoyed. In that moment, Harry knew he wanted to keep making you feel the way you did right now every time you were together. The song ended and your playlist continued, random songs regarding California and the feeling you get with someone you care about - makes you feel sunkissed.

-

“You’re literally so corny,” Harry laughs to you when ‘California Girls’ by the Beach Boys came on. You throw side eyes at him, “What can I say, Brian Wilson knew, California girls are where it’s at,” you roll your lips into your mouth and then bite your bottom lip.

-

The drive continued with you giving a rousing rendition of ‘California Gurls’ with Harry as Katy Perry and you as Snoop Dogg as you had insisted. Harry even busted out some minimal dance moves while driving the car, honking the horn at the appropriate moment. You made Harry feel like he was 19 again.

Then, straight into ‘Canyon Moon,’ Harry really was in disbelief of the woman next to him. You got so into the “I’m goin’ home” part of the song. Harry said, “Really like tha’ one, I gather,” after it finished. It was your turn to look at him in disbelief, “It’s my favorite, Har, I remember listening to Fine Line the first time and loving it immediately. Still loved it even after everyone else barely talked about it. Deserved so much more, s’amazing.” You finished with a half smile slipping onto your face. Harry gave a quiet ‘thanks’ and returned the smile.

-

Harry was finally satisfied with where you had landed along the coast. There had been no set destination, just a plan to drive to a lookout for the picnic. Finding a small parking area, you two gathered your items and set out for the perfect spot. The California coast really is beautiful. You’d lived there your whole life, just further up north, moving down to Los Angeles when you started your music career. You ran ahead of Harry to seek out a little bluff you’d seen in the distance. “Oi!” Harry called, but didn’t run to catch up, he had taken the picnic basket and it had drinks that wouldn’t be great if they were all shaken up.

You were right, it was the perfect spot, a little ways up from the set path there was a flat surface on the edge of a cliff, it was safe, with wildflowers and tall grass around a more bare area. You layed out the large blanket, then stood and watched as Harry made his way to you. His hair was every which way due to the wind whipping through it during the car ride, you subconsciously ran your hands through your hair for that reason. He looks gorgeous, you thought.

When he arrived at your little patch, he sat down the basket and you threw your arms around his neck. You pulled yourself into him and basked in his glow, his warmth and scent. He held you and ran a hand through your hair. The pair of you could have silly fun, but you could also be extremely intimate. In these quiet moments you wished you could stop time and live here forever. To live in his arms would be a wonderful thing. “So happy right now, darling,” Harry whispered, the soft swish of grass and the distant crash of waves the only sounds he had to speak above. You said nothing, but pushed yourself even further into his body, a response in and of itself. In this moment, there was no one else, just you, Harry, and the beautiful nature you stood in. This moment was everything. And you didn’t want to set it free.

Eventually, the two of you parted and relaxed into the blanket. For once, neither of you played music, you talked and ate and listened to the ambient sounds of nature. The melodic waves carried the conversation, when neither of you felt the need to say words. After eating, you let Harry pop the bottle of champagne he had brought along, unbeknownst to you, nevertheless when you saw it you wanted to be the one to uncork it. Still, your protests fell on deaf ears. “Y’seem to be getting very used to getting everythin’ you want, huh? Already a spoiled princess after a couple months of fame,” Harry teased as he worked to open the bottle. You huffed at his teasing and your failed attempt to get the bottle from him, which had caused him to move off the blanket and have his shirt be stretched from you grabbing at the bottle and only getting fabric.

“Whatever, don’t act like you’re not a total diva sometimes, Styles.” You couldn’t deny that him calling you a ‘spoiled princess’ made you feel things, unholy things. Of course you found Harry unbelievably attractive, but this was your fourth time being with Harry and the two of you hadn’t done anything besides heavy makeout sessions. You loved the way he said your name, but you also loved his nicknames for you, but this was a new one that seemed to hold some meaning within it.

Harry liked to see you all worked up, but knew he could get the exact same way, upset when things don’t turn out the way you want them. Frustrating. Finally, he popped the cork and you both cheered for the golden bubbly liquid. You had spent almost about an hour on the road and an hour or two already on the cliff, so the sun was starting to make its farewells to this side of the earth. The sky was beginning to light up with pinks, oranges, and lavenders. You both sat back down on the blanket, this time with you sat up inside of Harry’s spread legs, reclining back onto his chest.

You continued to talk, about the view before you for a little, but then each other. Whenever you were together, the two of you gravitated to the topic of enjoying the other so much. Today was apparently Harry’s turn to share. “When we were in tha car, earlier,” he started as you twiddled your fingers on his thigh, drawing shapes. You looked up into his eyes to encourage him to continue. “Haven’t had tha’ much fun in awhile. You…” he hesitated again and averted his eyes from your stare. You whispered a little ‘yeah’. You really cared about Harry feeling comfortable with you and making him happy, so you knew encouragement was helpful when he was trying to gather his thoughts. “Y’make me feel young...tha’ sounds so dumb, but y’really do,” he finally got out as put his hand over your moving one on his thigh. The two of you didn’t talk about the fact that Harry was a bit older than you. He was famous when you were a puberty-stricken teenager. The age gap wasn’t really an issue, you were both adults, but his statement reminded you that he would be 30 soon and you were still in your early 20s.

You twisted around to sit on your knees and face Harry. You placed both of your hands on his face, cradling his jaw and cheeks on each side of his face. This forced him to look you right in the eyes. You appreciated the beauty of his piercing green eyes for a moment and then went to kiss his crows feet on the sides of his eyes, his forehead lines, his hairline, his five o’clock shadow, and his smile lines, that had cropped up as he giggled at you. You were making exaggerated kiss noises as you loved on his face. “First of all, you are young,” you finally said in audible words. You waited a beat, then you kissed his soft lips that were smiling up at you. He was still smiling when you kissed him so your lips hit a bit of a tooth and you both giggled. But, you stood strong, not pulling away to laugh. Harry kissed you back. He shifted and brought his hands up from the ground where they had been holding him up to cradle your body instead. The kiss stayed chaste, despite Harry’s protests when you pulled back.

“And second, you make me feel alive.” “Alive…” Harry echoed you slowly, “Tha’s a better way to put it. I am young,” He smirked and then winked at you. You moved your hands to sit on his upper chest and could feel his heart beating soft, but strong beneath his skin. You grabbed his arm and moved it from around you. Harry quirked a brow at you. Then you placed his hand above your left breast and below your collarbone. Now he could feel your heartbeat, too. Yours, you thought, was beating a bit faster than his, but you didn’t care. Touching like this, made you feel close to him. Like you could see inside each other.  

-

You finished off the bottle of champagne because Harry had to stop drinking to be able to drive the two of you home safely. You felt very warm from it, despite the sun setting a while ago and your bare arms and legs. Luckily, besides the slight buzz you had, it was summer in California, and the nights stayed relatively warm. You skipped to the car and bent over the convertible to put the picnic basket in the backseat. Harry was right behind you and gave your bum a light pat, you pulled yourself up and flipped around, giggling. You tugged Harry in by his shirt and demanded, “Kissy.” Harry snorted and obliged, but with an open mouthed kiss where his tongue basically slobbered over your lips, mouth, and a bit of your nose. You whined, “You’re fucking disgusting, Har.” “Ya’ love it,” he responded with a faux posh voice before giving you a quick peck to your lips and rounded the car, telling you to get in and buckle up.

The whole ride home, Harry had his hand on your thigh. With it there, you occupied yourself with twisting his rings and and dancing your hand around his fingertips. The champagne had made you quiet, but smiley. The music you played was softer on the ride back home, you knew Harry needed to focus with the dark road and you didn’t want the music to distract him.

One song that was of note was “Lavendar (Take 4)” by the Beach Boys. The recording is somewhat unpleasant, but the song is beautiful. It had reminded you of the clothes you and Harry had worn on your date, the wildflowers that had just surrounded you, and the color of the sky when the sun had set on the scene of you and Harry tenderly kissing each other. The Beach Boys are known for their California, Surf pop sounds, but this sound is soft and filled with lushious harmonies, an ode to lavender, maybe a girl named lavender, but nonetheless it was for lavender. Harry harmonized along with their voices, returning to his original state. It ended and went straight into Simon & Garfunkel’s “America.” Paul Simon’s voice passed through the speakers and whispered to us sweetly. Harry again hummed in appreciation for the song choice.

-

When you arrived at the house, you helped Harry clean up the dishes and trash in the picnic basket. Then you sat on the couch, it was around ten o’clock and Harry had offered to make a pot of tea. You looked over the back of the couch as he moved around his kitchen. He padded around, putting the kettle on, opening cupboards for mugs and tea choices. When the water was ready, he got the tea ready, choosing a loose-leaf blend he’d found at a fancy restaurant in Amsterdam. “No cream tonight,” you called, still watching him work his way around his home.

Admiration shown in your eyes as he nodded and finished up the tea, bringing it over to you at the couch. He chose your mug tonight. Different from the previous two, his and yours were a matching set with dark blue interiors with tiny cartoon sailboats. You loved his collection of fun mugs, it fit him so well. After handing it to you, he snuggled in beside you and you took a sip, then rested your head on top of his strong shoulder. You turned your head to give a light kiss to his shoulder, and then moved back to staring ahead of you.  

“Wanna stay?” Harry asked, his arm around your body, holding you close to him. “Can just drive ‘ome in the mornin’,” he continued. “That’d be really nice,” you sighed. This was so comfortable, how was in possible to be like this with someone you’d known for a little over a week? It didn’t matter to either of you how quick it had happened. But it happened, and it felt right, so you went with it. This, what you and Harry had, made you happy so there couldn’t really be anything wrong with that.

-

You two chatted a bit more - about your week of tour preparations, Harry’s flight time tomorrow, various random thoughts, - and you drank your tea. At about midnight, Harry suggested that you and he get ready for bed and then watch something on his laptop. You agreed and ventured into an unknown part of his home. You’d started to snoop earlier today when you had found the garage, but had only gotten that far because you got distracted by Harry’s car.

His house was beautiful and perfectly him. It was big, but his decor and things made it specifically Harry, even if he didn’t live here full time anymore. You reached the master bedroom, located in the back of his house, with french doors, identical to those in the sitting room, opening out to the grass in his backyard. His bed. His bed. It was a California King with tasteful bedding and a beautiful wooden headboard and frame.

You ran and jumped onto it, the bed sinking beneath you and the bedding fluffing around you. You snuggled and rolled around in the sheets, “This is so much nicer than my bed in the apartment, it’s only a full…” you trailed off. Harry leaned against the doorway of the room, smiling to himself as he watched you make yourself at home among this life. “You’ll be gettin’ a new place, soon, I reckon?” Harry asked and went to grab you both some clothes to sleep in from his closet. “Yeah, maybe!” you called out to him in the little room connected to the master that housed his clothes.

When Harry returned, he was only in boxers, but was holding two large t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants, and another pair of boxers. “D’ya mind if I sleep like this? I can put more clothes on if that makes you more comfortable?”

You couldn’t keep your jaw from dropping. You’d seen Harry shirtless before, everyone had, but to see him right in front of you, that was something else.

He noticed you staring at his body and smirked, but then threw a shirt and the pair of boxers your way, “Stop bein’ such a perv, love,” he teased. “Rude,” you muttered, “Was simply admiring...but if you don’t want me to look, you can sleep fully clothed,” you scratched your nose and then shrugged your shoulders.

As you worked to slide off the big bed, Harry crossed the room and trapped you on the edge, leaning over you with both his hands landing on either side of you on the bed. You scrunch your eyes and nose up as he tries to make eye contact with you. He goes to kiss you, but you turn your head and your cheek receives a kiss. He stays against your cheek, drags out your name and groans, “s’teasin’ you.” “I know, baby,” you respond and kiss his cheek now. You duck under his arm and run into his en suite bathroom, shutting the door to change. When you re-emerge, Harry’s in the bed, with the sheets pulled back, and his computer in his lap.

Harry calls out to you without looking up from his screen, “S’was thinkin’, y’know, since you’re always saying your apartment is tiny, y’could house sit ‘ere while I’m away?” You tilt you head as you approach the bed as you ponder the idea. “I mean, I guess ‘why not’? It would be a longer commute into the studio, but this place is gorgeous, and I’m gonna start traveling a lot anyway so I won’t need my apartment for much longer…” You continue to think on it as you climb back onto Harry’s bed and snuggle yourself into his body. Harry looks slightly down at you by his side, he’s put on his glasses, “Think you should, I’d also like knowin’ someone was ‘ere, keepin’ things running while I’m away.”

You nodded and move slightly to rest your head on Harry’s naked chest. His sunkissed tattooed body is mesmerizing, you reach your hand up and start tracing the various designs and running your hand along his collarbones and veins as well. Then you flattened a palm and smoothed it over his right pectoral. Harry hummed and pushed himself further down the bed. “Can we not watch anything actually, m’kinda tired,” you whisper up to Harry, your voice the only sound in the house besides the light clicking of a clock in a different room. Harry responds by closing the laptop and readjusting your position in the bed. You and Harry are a tangle of legs and bodies pressed against one another. Everything is calm and Harry says one word, “Kissy.” And you smile and let yourself pull slightly away from Harry to lean up and kiss him one more time before the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms. It’s soft and chaste, completely closed mouths, but you linger in the kiss, feeling his warm nose brushing besides yours. A hand moves up to his hair and gives it one good run through and then you pull away, “Kissy,” you finalize. The two of you giggle and snuggle even further together.

Your bodies fit so well together and again you were struck with the feeling that you never wanted this to end, even if tomorrow he was flying away, to somewhere halfway across the world. The distance didn’t matter. You knew the two of you had what it took to be there for each other, even if you couldn’t touch or feel the other. Even if laughter over the phone had to suffice for awhile. What the two of you had was greater than all of those obstacles of space and proximity. It was powerful because you were both powerful. Powerful in the way you loved, in the way you worked, in the way you simply were. You fell asleep in Harry’s arms that night filled with contentment. Harry fell asleep with you in his arms that night filled with joy that he’d found someone to share everything with. Someone who was willing to give him all of themselves. Someone who was finally able to get all of him.

-

love y’all sm 🤍🤍 hope you enjoyed and have a nice day

[chelsfic]

Leftovers - Part 12/12 - Nandor the Relentless x Female Reader Fanfic

For Previous Parts: WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: The reader shares her last night alive with her new family.

A/N: I realized as I was writing this that this whole fic could really be read as an elongated metaphor for my falling in love with this show and this fandom. I hope you guys like this ending and aren’t disappointed. 

Warnings: Angst, Emotions, Crack humor, Turning into a vampire

---

It’s an hour after sunset and you can hear your housemates stirring. You’re still lying in bed. The ceiling overhead is cracked and peeling in places. You suppose this probably won’t be your bedroom for much longer. Nandor will want you to move into his crypt. Will you have your own coffin? Or will he want to keep sharing? How does one even purchase a coffin for...personal use?

You know you’re stalling. Nandor is being uncharacteristically patient, but he won’t wait all night. You’re not afraid. Okay, you’re afraid. But, you’d be stupid not to be. You saw Guillermo during his transition. He looked like hell for about three whole days. But you know Nandor will take care of you. Well, strike that. You know Nandor will try to take care of you and if he fails, Nadja and Guillermo will be there. 

The night you met...the night you almost became a meal...was your birthday. So much has happened since then. You’ve been kept prisoner, fed upon, attacked, hurt. You’ve also fallen in love with every vampire in this crazy house, even Colin Robinson, bless his heart. Nandor and his bizarre mix of vicious lust and achingly sweet softness has somehow pulled you into this world, into a place you’ve always belonged without even knowing it. So, yeah, you’re afraid. But the idea of not spending every night for the rest of eternity surrounded by these beautiful, damaged, stupid idiots is even more frightening.

A knock comes at your door and Nadja’s voice trills, “Hello, human? May I come in?”

You roll onto your side and sit up, dangling your bare legs over the edge of the bed. You’re wearing one of your few dresses because...well, because you’re going to die tonight and shouldn’t you dress up a little?

Nadja slips inside looking resplendent and deadly as always. She gives you a sympathetic smile and comes to sit next to you.

“Feeling a little nervous about our unholy transition, are we?” she ducks her head and gives you that mama-vampire-knows-best look of hers.

You lean your shoulder into hers, taking comfort in her presence.

“Maybe a little…” you admit. “I’m not having second thoughts or anything it’s just…”

“A little spooky wooky, yes?” Nadja supplies. She wraps her arm around your back and pulls you closer. “Don’t concern your head off, darling. I don’t know if you realize this but I am considered a bit of an expert. I’ve turned many, many humans in my time. Including my dear Laszlo. I’ll make sure Nandor does not slip up and accidentally make you into a zombie monstrosity like my poor Topher.”

You rear back and stare at Nadja with horror stricken eyes, “That’s a possibility!??”

Nadja chuckles and tweaks your nose, “I am giving you sarcasm! To lighten the mood! It’s working, yes?”

You let out a long-suffering sigh that hiccups into nervous laughter.

“I love you, Nadja,” you say with sudden, overwhelming emotion. You dive forward and wrap your arms around her in a fierce hug.

Nadja is stricken for a moment and she pats your back gingerly, “That’s...very nice. You think you want to come downstairs now? Because Nandor is being a real donkey dick down there waiting for you, but his balls are too shriveled to come up here and get you himself.”

You laugh and pull back from the hug, wiping tears from your eyes, “Yeah, let’s go. I’m ready.”

---

“SURPRISE!” 

“HAPPY DEATHDAY!”

“SMASHLEY’S IN DA HOUSE!”

“What’s crack-a-lackin’?”

Nandor looks supremely put out when everyone yells something different as you walk through the door to the fancy room. Does no one listen to him? They had an agreed upon plan! He scowls at at the other vampires, especially fucking Colin Robinson, before sweeping over toward you and taking you from Nadja’s arm.

“Welcome to your Death Day Party! Do you like it?” Nandor looks down at you with those wide, sparkling eyes that make you forget he’s a centuries old blood-sucking fiend who once conquered nations and slaughtered thousands. 

You take in your surroundings with a look of wonder. There’s a giant glitter banner hanging above the fireplace that reads “Congratulations on your Dark Awakening.” You recognize it as Nandor’s handiwork at once. Also, Guillermo has obviously been to Party City because everyone is wearing pointed birthday hats with little Dracula emojis all over them and the whole room is absolutely covered in crepe paper. 

“It’s...so cute!” you squeal, grabbing him around the middle in an enthusiastic hug. This is...just want you needed. A little goofy, human levity before stepping off the edge of the unknown. Your eyes continue wandering over the room until they fall upon a long table set up against the wall. “Oh...my g--gahhhh--is that mac and cheese?”

The table is covered in dish after dish of all your favorite comfort foods. Macaroni and cheese, pizza, lasagna. Apple pie, blueberry pie, cherry pie! There’s a whole giant bowl of Reese’s peanut butter cups. You pull away from Nandor and dash across the room, launching yourself into Guillermo’s arms.

“You’re the sweetest monster I’ve ever known!” you cry, doing your best to squeeze the unlife out of him.

Guillermo laughs, “Listen, you’re going to be puking for days either way. You might as well have one last chance to enjoy human food.”

You roll your eyes, “Thanks for the reminder, Memo.”

“Alrighty!” Nandor is suddenly picking you up from behind and plucking you out of Guillermo’s arms. “That’s enough of that. Why don’t you have some of this--” he turns his head away from you and gags “--yummy food and then we’ll listen to some human musical arrangements that Nadja and Laszlo have prepared.”

Nandor hovers at your side, watching with a wrinkled nose as you pile food onto your plate. You’ve barely made a dent in the impressive spread and you’re feeling guilty about the waste when Colin Robinson ambles up.

“So, nervous about Nandor draining all your blood and killing you tonight?” he asks breezily.

You ignore the question and instead ask one of your own, “Hey, you think you can bring some of the leftovers into your office tomorrow? I’d hate to waste all this…”

Colin’s face lights with a maniacal grin, “Barbara’s on a diet...Yeah...this will be perfect!”

You settle onto one of the couches, sandwiched between Guillermo and Nandor. Both vampires look vaguely nauseated as you tuck into your food, but they’re holding it together.

Laszlo stands up with Nadja and starts strumming a guitar as he addresses everyone, “When I first met our human I assumed she’d soon be fertilizing my vulva garden--”

Nadja slaps his arm and Nandor hisses indignantly.

“But! But!” Laszlo continues, bowing with a flourish in your direction. “I came to realize that this particular human was something special. I decided to accept her into the fold. Mostly because she kept Nandor off my back and also my wife threatened to maim my testicles if I ate her…

“So, here we are, human. The last night of your life and we’ve got just one thing to say…”

The couple launches into a screeching, cloying rendition of “(I’ve had) The Time of my Life” from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack (blatantly stolen from Laszlo’s catalogue of compositions). Your face is frozen in horrified laughter and you flick your gaze to Guillermo’s to see that he’s covering his mouth to stifle his own laughs. On your other side, Nandor is clapping along and bobbing his head with the music. Yup, this is your tribe.

The party goes on for another couple hours. Laszlo and Nadja perform several more “hits” before finishing up with “The Girl in the Village with the Very Small Foot.” Nadja’s singing voice is still ringing in your ears when Nandor bends down to whisper, “It’s time, my human.”

The levity of the party has done a lot to calm your nerves, but you can’t help the sudden grip of anxiety around your throat at his words. You look up, falling, once again, into the fathomless depths of his lovely, dark eyes and you think, That’s what this is. You’re going to live in that deep, dark beauty from now on. There’s nothing scary about that. 

You both stand up to leave and say your goodbyes. Laszlo and Colin wish you luck. Guillermo hugs you and presses several quick kisses to your cheeks as Nandor murmurs warningly, “Watch it!”

When he releases you, you’re suddenly engulfed in the arms of a crying Nadja.

“I do love you, you magnificent, ruthless baby!” she sobs. “Nandor, if you fuck this up I’m going to make a hat out of your asshole.”

You laugh into her shoulder and Nandor complains, “Yeesh! Alright, calm down, Nadja!”

By the time you’ve pried yourself from Nadja’s grip you’ve joined her in crying and your face is soaked. Who knew vampires could be so sentimental?

Nandor grimaces in distaste as he brings his hands up to wipe away the tears.

“Ready!?”

---

Nandor’s crypt looks just as it always does. No crepe paper or glitter in sight. Just the warm glow of candles, the rich red and gold accents of the decor, and the solid familiar bulk of the coffin where you’ve spent so many nights wrapped in his protective embrace. He leads you over to the chaise lounge and you both sit, fidgeting nervously and darting shy glances at one another.

Nandor plucks at the fabric of your dress, “This is nice.”

You smile faintly, “Thanks, I--I thought maybe I should dress up for the occasion. Is that stupid? I guess it’ll just get stained…”

“No,” Nandor cuts in, looking earnest and serious. “No, I’ll be careful.”

You nod and fall silent again. The knowledge of what you’re about to do seems to hang like a thick curtain between you. The easy intimacy that you’ve shared is strained with the gravity of what is to come. Nandor finally huffs out an exasperated sigh and pulls you into his lap. At first you think he’s just going to bite the bullet, so to speak, and dig into your neck at once. But instead he grabs your face and pulls you into a searing, all-consuming kiss. 

He tangles his fingers in your hair, pushing his tongue into your mouth with a low groan. You stroke your hands down the long column of his throat, running them across his broad shoulders and down his back. How this man--this perfectly imperfect, wonderfully fragile, fierce warrior man--has come to choose you, you can’t begin to understand. For countless other human souls, catching the eye of Nandor the Relentless has meant grim misfortune. For you, finding yourself the prey of a murderous vampire is the best thing that’s ever happened in your life. 

Except maybe being MVP at last year’s championship bout.

Nandor’s lips fall away and he looks up at you, panting heavily with his hair mussed and tangled. His gaze flicks down to your exposed throat and you see him swallow in anticipation. He reaches for something on an end table and shows you the stainless steel travel mug containing his blood. You take it from him noting the strip of masking tape on the lid with Nandor’s elegant scrawl--his name and the date.

You snort, setting the container down on the cushions beside you and looking back up at Nandor.

“Prepare yourself, my mortal,” he growls, fangs elongating and eyes flashing with a predatory gleam. 

You turn your head, baring your neck for your vampire boyfriend, and answering lightly, “I have a name, you know.”

---

THE END

A/N: Hey, thank you so so so much to everyone who read and supported this fic from the beginning! Your comments and encouragement mean the world to me!

Tags:

@festering-queen, @kandomeresbitch, @strangestdiary, @glitterportrait, @scuzmunkie, @redwoodshadows, @sarasxe, @rileyomalley 

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Mixtape

A/N: Here is my fic for A Very Harry Potter Summer so wonderfully organised by @the-hufflefluffwriter​ and @kalimagik​! My prompt was summer songs/mixtape. I loved writing this - I got to create a playlist and think of my favourite place in the world. The playlist will be at the bottom of the fic. There are a LOT of flashbacks in this, they’re bordered by asterisks and in italics! I have removed the taglist for this fic as there is content in here not suitable for those under the age of 18. If you are under 18, please read the warnings. I cannot stop you from reading but I will do my bit by warning you all. The smut starts with a boat scene, so that’s my warning for you all. As always, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: summer holidays and anniversaries.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mentions of food and alcohol, allusions to sex as well as a smut scene so under 18s, do not read. 

Word count: 3.3k

The September wind is cold and brisk as it wraps around you on your way to work at the Ministry for Magic.

Summer had come and gone in a rush of sun, sea, sand, and Sirius Black.

The build-up to the holiday was something else; he wouldn’t tell you where you were going. It didn’t matter how many times you guessed or argued; he would not crack. He even went to the extent of enlisting Lily to pack your things.

“It’s our first holiday together,” He said one night, his fingers trailing up and down your arm. “I’d like to keep it a surprise for as long as I can.”

The sincerity in his voice was reflected in his eyes, and you couldn’t remain angry at him, “Okay, I’ll just have to wait.”

He flipped you onto your back; pressing the right amount of his weight on top you, enough so you couldn’t wiggle away. He pressed kisses all over your face, “You’re going to love it.”

“I know I will, I’m with you.”

“Sap,” he mouthed before kissing you, effectively distracting you from your inquisition.

-------

Clocking in, you think back to the moment you arrived on the small Greek island:

******

The warmth of the sun settles over your skin as you step off the plane; Sirius close behind you. You tilt your face into the light, feeling all the tension make its way out of your body. Sirius’ hand is a steadying presence as you take in your first sight of the island. You had seen it from the sky; had gripped your seat in fear and anticipation as the plane made its awkward landing – the island being too small for a traditional landing but seeing the island from this level has you breathless from its beauty.

Your leg bounces up and down for the entire coach transfer to your hotel. Sirius chuckles as his hand grips your knee to keep it from bouncing. Your eyes are wide as you take in the full beauty of the island; the constant views of the Aegean Sea as well as the greenery of the trees. Even through the windows of the coach, you can hear the unrelenting chorus of the crickets – their song heavier in the mid-July heat.

The coach stops outside your hotel; Sirius pulling you off by hand and picking up your suitcases. It’s a small family run establishment – as is every hotel on the island. And from your first look of the whitewashed walls and terracotta tiles, you were in love. The eldest son walks you to your room for the next two weeks; he hands you the key with a kind smile, explaining that the attached restaurant is open until eleven that night, but the bar is open until the early hours of two.

He departs with a goodbye and a thank you, leaving you and Sirius to explore the medium-sized room you would call home for the next fortnight.

Upon sight of the bed, Sirius drops the suitcases and promptly jumps on the mattress, landing on his back. His hair fans out around him, resembling a halo. You snort at him in amusement, grabbing your suitcases from where he had dropped them to place them on the small bench across the room.

Flinging open the balcony doors, you leave your lover on the bed to see more of the resort. You hold your head up to the sun, enjoying the feel of its rays of your face. You sigh happily, opening your eyes and scouring them over the resort. The pool looks so inviting as does the restaurant area by the bar.

Arms wrapping themselves around your waist make you jump but you soon relax into the familiar touch of Sirius. He chuckles as he shifts a piece of your hair so he can kiss your neck. You lean into his touch, enjoying the feel of his lips on your already overheated skin.

“It’s so gorgeous here, Sirius, thank you,” You gush, turning your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

Sirius’ hand pats your waist, “Anything for you, my dear.”

You hum, turning in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. You kiss him for a minute before pulling away. You grin up at the love of your life, “How about we take a shower then go get some food?”

A wicked smirk takes over his face as Sirius drags you back into the room. “I think you read my mind.”

--------

The both you decide that for your first night on the island, you shouldn’t travel too far from the hotel. Instead, ambling down to the restaurant on the beach, hand in hand as you breathe in the night air.

The food is delicious; as is your company. Sirius keeps your gaze as he clinks his wine glass against yours; the conversation between the two of you flowing effortlessly.

Leaving the restaurant, your tangled hands swing between your bodies. You grin at Sirius as you stop outside a heavily populated bar. He beams in earnest before leading you inside.

The wine had gone to your heads; topped off with the cocktails you down at the bar. Sirius drags you into the centre of the dancefloor where other couples are pressed tightly to each other; so tightly you can’t see where one ends and the other begins.

Sirius spins you before drawing you back into his arms. You laugh as your wrap your arms around his neck. His hands find purchase on your waist. You dance together; bodies wrapped up in each other as the upbeat song from the eighties washes over you – the artist singing about an invisible touch.

You fall back into your hotel room; groping at each other. Sirius pulls off your shirt as you undo the buttons to his. Your hands run over the sculpted muscles of his stomach, not missing the way his breath hitches at your touch.

The sex isn’t hurried, but from the alcohol running through your systems it’s sloppy and full of laughter.

It’s perfect.

*******

You groan at the pile of folders perched precariously on your desk. Removing your coat and setting down your bag, you eye the heap with a venomous glare.

The pile of folders has you wishing for the sun of your holiday and the closeness of Sirius.

Opening the first folder, you think back to one of your favourite nights of the holiday:

*******

The young couple clearly fancy themselves the latest duo to hit the charts with the way they belt out the song. You see Sirius’ shoulders shake as he tries to quash the laughter building up inside him.

If only the young couple knew how they were butchering the song about not breaking hearts. Sirius leans over to whisper in your ear, “They won’t be breaking hearts, but they are breaking ear drums.”

His comment has you snorting into your drink, spilling it slightly.

The couple at the karaoke machine finish their rendition of the seventies hit, bowing as they leave the stage. Sirius doesn’t hold back his laugh as he stands up, drawing you up with him. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull you up on the small stage which would be nothing short of a disaster since the karaoke machine would not hold any magical singers.

Instead, Sirius leads you out of the bar to walk by the harbour. He pauses by the war memorial dedicated to the second muggle war; pulling you closer to him, arm settling around your waist.

“Hey, Sirius?” You ask.

Sirius hums in answer; grey eyes bright in the moonlight.

“Don’t go breaking my heart,” you sing, laughing as Sirius’ face lights up.

In his gravelly voice that reminds you of a rock singer from the eighties, he sings back, “I couldn’t if I tried.”

Underneath the moonlit sky, you sing the words back to one another – adding the song to the list of promises made to each other through the years of your relationship; first starting on your first anniversary in Seventh Year.

The waves crashing onto the harbour provide the backdrop to your duet and promises.

*****

Lunch isn’t a big affair; something simple brought from home so you can eat at your desk as you catch up on the paperwork. You pause with a forkful of food on its way to your mouth; another memory gripping you in its clutch:

******

The speaker system attached to the hotel resort plays on a loop for the majority of the day. It’s both a dream and a curse. A dream as you get to know the latest muggle chart songs, but a curse as it’s repeated on a loop.

You sit on the bed, running a brush through your hair. You bark out a laugh as Sirius shimmies around the room, thrusting his hips in time to the beat of the Donna Summer song that was playing for the third time in two hours.

“What do you say, babe? Am I ‘hot stuff’?” He asks, thrusting his hips again in emphasis.

You continue to laugh, fanning yourself, “The hottest stuff.”

Sirius dances across the room to you, laughing along with you.

With a tug of your hand, Sirius is sprawled out on the bed next to you. In a second, he has you pressed into the mattress as he straddles you. His hands run up and down your body as he presses kiss after kiss to your face – your eyes, cheeks, lips. He kisses everywhere.

Soon, the kisses become longer and more insistent. Hands start to pull at clothing; discarding them across the room.

The reservations at the restaurant are forgotten as Sirius’ hands find that spot at the apex of your thighs, and you throw your head back into the pillows with a moan.

For the rest of the night, Sirius reminds you just how hot he really is.

******

As the day continues, your thoughts consistently hark back to your holiday.

The September weather has taken a turn for the worse; the rain battering the windows of your office at the ministry.

Balancing your chin on your hand, your desire for the warms beaches of the small Greek island grows stronger. With a longing-filled sigh, you think back to one of the many days spent on the beach:

*****

You run your hand gently down Sirius’ arm, enjoying the goosebumps that rise in your finger’s wake. Through the tinted glass of your sunglasses, you watch the man you fell in love with way back in Fourth Year. His chest rises and falls in a slow motion; he’s utterly relaxed in this place – he has no worries here.

Sirius’ hair is tied up in the leather band he keeps around his wrist. It elongates his neck and reveals more of his face. You bite your lip at the sight of the fading bruises on his neck, knowing you were the one to put them there on your first night here. Your stomach flutters as you know your neck looks something similar… as do your inner thighs.

The tattoos painted on his body stand out in the sun; the magical symbols and the memorial pieces litter his chest and arms with a fair few on his legs.

He really is something else.

He had always been handsome; had always had the attention of boys and girls alike through Hogwarts. It was expected that you had fallen for him too; realising your feelings in Fourth Year but not confronting them until Sixth Year.

Through your relationship, you had witnessed him transform into the man he is today. A man who will always have a glint of mischief in his grey eyes, but a man who loves you fiercely and will do so for the rest of his life.

A sing from the hotel plays in your mind; a Swedish band singing about kisses of fire, and Sirius’ really were.

The feelings for this man had you burning from the inside out; and you had been burning since you first kissed in Sixth Year.

Your hand runs over a scar on his arm; received in a duel through the wizarding war. That night had been one of the worst of your life; using the entire bottle of Dittany on his arm in panic whilst trying to stem the bleeding. Losing him would be a nightmare unto itself; a thought that you couldn’t even comprehend.

The song continues to play in your mind and the lyrics settle deep within your bones. Never before Sirius had you felt like this; you were entirely infatuated with him, and he you.

As your eyes run over his body; from his tied up hair to the tips of his toes, you felt even more in love with than you were before the holiday.

*****

Instead of apparating home, you decide to take the tube, letting the menial aspects of your job leech from your body as you rest your eyes.

The rocking of the carriage hauls you back into another memory:

*********

The waves lap against the boat. The azure blue of the Aegean looking as if it spans for miles and miles. You hold your hand to your forehead, shielding your eyes from the sun as you sunbathe on the deck of the boat.

It was Sirius’ idea to rent the boat; deciding to see more of the island from the ocean and simply spend the day just the two of you where you couldn’t be bothered.

It was a surprise to learn that he could drive boats, but with a sheepish grin, he explains how he was taught by his grandfather when he visited the family villa in Italy one summer.

The tinny noise of the radio sounds quietly in the background; an upbeat muggle song becoming the theme of the boat ride. The singer croons about how love really hurts without his lover. Sirius surprises you once again by knowing some of the words; he shrugs at your questioning eyebrow.

Sirius anchors the boat just off the coastline of an empty beach. He switches off the engine, letting the boat bob in the water.  

The heat of the midday sun changes the atmosphere. Sirius’ touch starts to linger; first on your shoulder, then as he thumb pulls down your lower lip. He taps your bottom lip once before pressing a kiss to your mouth. You gasp into his mouth and Sirius takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

His hands undo the fastenings to your bathing suit; dropping it to the side with a salacious grin. With a light chuckle, you pull him back down to your mouth, humming at the feeling of his hands roaming your chest. You draw away from the kiss, instead, moving your mouth across his jawline and down his neck, sucking hickies on the way.

Your hands slip into his trunks; he inhales sharply at your touch before pouncing on you with a laugh.

The weight of his body is enough to keep you pinned underneath him, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him further into you if that was at all possible. He braces a hand above you as he rolls his hips into you; you arch your back wanting him as close to you as possible. Sirius sucks hickeys wherever he can reach – your neck, your collarbone, your chest. He takes his time with you, eliciting drawn out moans and groans from your mouth which he swallows with his own. You run your fingernails down his back, leaving behind red marks on his shoulder blades.

In a small boat anchored by the beach, you lose yourselves in each other until your skin is slick with sweat and you’re panting into each other’s mouths.

*******

The holiday defined so much for the both of you. It was needed; the both of you beginning to feel the stresses of everyday life starting to pile up on your shoulders.

The holiday helped you reconnect as a couple, bringing you closer together than ever before. The island would always hold a special place in your heart for that very reason.

-------

The house is quiet as you unlock the front door. Toeing off your shoes, you hang your coat on the rack and drop your bag next to it. The smell of food wafts to you from the kitchen and you follow the mouth-watering scent.

Two pillar candles are lit in the centre of the table. Two plates filled with food are settled on either side, and the love of your life grins as you enter the room.

“Darling,” He greets, “How was work?”

“Long,” You sigh, pecking his lips in hello.

Sirius pulls you back in for another before letting you settle at the other end of the table.

For a minute, the only noise between the two of you are the scratching of knives and forks on plates. You take a sip from your wine glass, letting the crisp taste settle on your tongue before swallowing. You beam at Sirius, “Happy Anniversary, my love.”

He raises his wine glass to you in a toast, “Happy Anniversary to you too, darling.”

Sirius reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, silver rectangular box. He stares at it for a minute before sliding it across the table to you.

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts this year!” You cry, “I haven’t gotten you anything!”

Sirius chuckles, “Knowing you love me is enough.”

“Sap,” You mouth across the table, picking up the small box.

“I didn’t want to forget it.” He whispers, watching you unwrap the small box.

“Oh…” You whisper as the wrapping reveals a tape nestled in the small box.

“It’s a mixtape… of the songs we heard on holiday.”

“How did you do this?” You ask, picking up the tape in your hands.

“Well I made a note of all the songs I knew and then if I didn’t, I asked the wait staff when you went to the bathroom. They’re all songs from my favourite parts of the holiday, though I did love it all.”

“Sirius, this is wonderful.”

“Remus explained how to make the mixtape.”

“I’ll need to send a thank you gift to him.”

“You like it?” He asks, insecurity lining his voice.

“Like it? Sirius, I love it. I love it so much, it’s perfect. I’ll listen to it always.”

“There’s a note underneath.”

You look down to see a small folded piece of paper nestled among the tissue paper. You sit the mixtape down carefully before unfolding the note from Sirius.

There, written in his elegant script are the words: “For the best summer I’ve ever experienced. I love you. Happy Anniversary, my darling.”

“Sirius… I love it. I love it so much. I love you. I’m going to play it right now.” You say, standing to pop the tape into your stereo system.

You gasp as the first song begins to play – immediately recognising the opening bars to one of the many songs you and Sirius had danced to on your holiday.

“Oh! It’s the song from our first night when we fought tiredness and went out. We were at the restaurant down the road from the hotel and then danced to this song we had drunk too much wine and cocktails.”

“One of the best nights of my life.”

You hold your hand out to the long-haired man, “Dance with me,” you whisper.

He takes your hand without question, spinning you before drawing you into his arms, holding you tightly. You sway to the beat of the song; letting the memories of your holiday wash over you in a tidal wave of emotions.

Sirius keeps his eyes on you, holding your gaze through it all. He dips his head, pressing his lips to yours for a long, sensuous kiss that has your toes curling and your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him pressed close to you.

Summer had come and gone in a haze of sun, sea, and sand.

But Sirius Black would always be a constant.

*********

MIXTAPE:

Genesis - Invisible Touch (first night on the island)

Elton John and Kiki Dee - Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Karaoke scene)

Donna Summer - Hot Stuff (hotel room scene)

ABBA - Kisses of Fire (beach scene)

Billy Ocean - Love Really Hurts Without You (boat scene)

[tryingmybestpls]

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Summary: Marcus and his girlfriend make cookies.

Word Count: 1K

Rating: T

Warnings: none, Marcus being cute

A/N: This was written for @mxndoscyarika !!! I’m so sorry it is so late! Happy holidays to all!

The first thing that Marcus Pike noticed when he walked through the front door was the aroma of freshly baked sugar cookies. It greeted him, enveloping him almost immediately. The FBI agent inhaled deeply, letting a smile appear on his face as he shut the door behind him, slipping out a small wrapped present out of his coat pocket.

The second thing he noticed was his girlfriend's singing along to Frank Sinatra singing "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas". It was definitely out of tune, but it made his heart swell in his chest. Marcus quickly hung up his coat, setting down his things as he made his way through the house. The scent of well decorated fir tree greeted him as well as he stopped in front of it, a carefully wrapped small present in his hands.

Marcus had wrapped it on his lunch break, trying his best to wrap the present as neatly as possible. Sure it wasn’t as pretty as the presents Y/N had wrapped, but it wasn’t his worst work. He wanted to be as perfect as possible, but wrapping such a tiny box had been difficult and the bow he had chosen was almost comically large on top of it. The tree was almost overflowing with presents, so Marcus was very easily able to hide the small box under all the others. When he felt confident that it was out of sight, he continued his trek to the kitchen, sending a prayer to whoever was listening that Y/N wouldn’t see it until Christmas Day.

Christmas was sacred to his girlfriend. Y/N didn't go overboard with the holiday, refraining herself from covering every surface in their shared house with Christmas related paraphernalia. However, the decorations she did put up and the traditions she did follow were done perfectly because they had to be perfect. Marcus didn't mind in the slightest. He loved how warm and cozy the home became starting the day after Thanksgiving. And he certainly loved the way Y/N's face would light up when she started to decorate for Christmas, how much thought and care she put into every little thing.

"Next year our troubles will be miles away," Y/N sings softly, carefully transferring cookies onto a wire cooling rack. Marcus can't help but grin at the side in front of him, silently watching as Y/N works. Dozens and dozens of cookies covered every free counter space, a lot of them already decorated. He was sure she had been hard at work, spending most of her day off baking.

"It's not polite to stare, Marcus." She teases, her voice as sweet as the empire of cookies that was currently covering ever surface. He chuckles as he walks over to her, pressing his lips against her temple. Y/N immediately leans into him, smiling as Marcus wraps an arm around her. She looked incredibly comfortable, dressed in one of his shirts, her black sweatpants tucked into a pair of fuzzy snowman socks.

"Can't help it, baby. Just wished I could've been here for your rendition of "Santa Baby"." Marcus replies as Y/N turns her head to look up at him. He leans down and kisses her softly, his hand moving to rest on the small of her back. Marcus can taste a mixture of cookies and icing on her lips as she kisses him back.

"It was quite a show. You really did miss out." Y/N jokes once they pull away, still leaning against him. Marcus chuckles, not caring that flour and powdered sugar is getting on his dress shirt and slacks. She was covered in the stuff, almost as if she got into a fight in the pantry and lost.

"Oh, I bet it." He teases, his free hand moving to grab a freshly baked, golden-around-the-edges sugar cookie. Before he can even get close enough to feel the steam coming off of it, she slaps his hand.

"Hey!"

"Pike, you told your coworkers that I was going to make cookies for them so these cookies are for them." Y/N scolds, her boyfriend pretending to be hurt by her action, trying (and failing) to hide his smile. Marcus knew that what she said was a half lie; all he had told Y/N was that he wanted to bring something in for holidays to show his appreciation. Y/N was one who had offered to make the cookies, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree at the thought.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. Thank you for making the cookies.” He smiles at her, pressing another kiss into her temple where a splatter of green frosting had landed. Y/N’s smile only continues to stretch across her face as she continues to move the cookies onto the rack, Marcus’ arm wrapped around her middle. Marcus has been thinking about this all day, the thought of coming home to her getting him through a shit load of paperwork.

“You know I don’t mind. Helps me take my mind off of things.” Y/N responds, slipping out of his grasp momentarily to put another round of cookies into the oven. Marcus watches as she moves around the kitchen island, picking up a piping bag full of white icing. His eyes study her as she bites her lip in concentration, carefully piping delicate designs onto snowflake shaped cookies.

He feels warm all over as he watches her, grinning when she starts singing along to “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”. Y/N makes him laugh-a deep belly laugh that makes his sides hurt- as she moves from a deep voice to her regular one in order to do both parts of the song. Marcus is extremely glad that he had bit the bullet, pushing aside his insecurities, and bought her that present, unable to think of spending the rest of his life with anyone but the woman in front of him.

Even if she wouldn’t let him sneak a cookie.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Song

The 3E exam was Toyama’s most difficult day. Afterwards, he always had to do a difficult counseling and comfort session with all the students about their visions. And for some who didn’t make the cut, his sessions would include brainwashing and memory wiping to make them forget everything about Cassell so they could go home and continue their lives, ignorant of everything they experienced here. 

He made his way back to his office and sat behind the desk.

He sighed and cleaned his glasses while he waited. No one ever knew what was going on in there. Only those who were monitoring with the cameras namely EVA. Whatever happened, the medical team was ready to take care of it.

But he felt the muscles in his neck were tense and his heart was beating faster than normal. His analytical brain told him he was worried about Tigre. Even though he told himself it was pointless to worry about him, that his fate was with the College now, he couldn’t stop.

So he spoke to himself in casual calm language. “I think its time to admit, that your care for that boy has gone beyond what is professional.” He slid the glasses onto his nose. 

“You could barely leave him there properly without tears coming right? That’s why you left so abruptly. Right now the test is starting and his dragonblood is waking up. He might attack the students inside once he realizes what he is. And then he has no future. You tried. You did all you could. But it’s possible he was doomed from the start.”

“But the heart will do what it will do. Heh... you’re not immune, Toyoma-kun.” He chuckled to himself. “But you cannot drink. Your students will need you now more than ever. You can go drink later.”

The phone, a traditional rotary, rang loudly in the silence. He picked up. “Toyama speaking.”

The raspy inhale told him who was speaking. Schneider’s voice came over the earpiece, “I can patch you into the feed. I would like you to watch.”

“Watch the boy turn into a monster? I don’t think so...”

“That’s not what’s happening. I’ll send the link to your cell.”

Toyama’s cellphone let up and he cradled the landline against his ear while he clicked the link provided.

The video feed showed the classroom. 

Normally the 3 E was absolute mayhem as each of the students’ minds were lost in the sound, like listening to a favorite song, the mind wandered and the body followed and they were compelled to write down their visionary inscriptions on the paper or on whatever other surface they could find. But what Toyama saw made his jaw drop in shock.

Tigre was singing.

He wasn’t just singing, he was singing with a smile of rapturous joy, tears pouring down his face. He wasn’t writing down his answers, he was singing them, speaking each dragon word in turn. As the dragon verses shifted, he would listen briefly and his eyes closed and he would hold in hands to his chest, his face beaming with joy before belting out a full throated perfect rendition of that Yanling.

Toyama felt his eyes burn and quickly blinked away tears for a moment. Relief washed over him like a flood and his smile started to echo Tigre’s. He felt proud that Tigre was succeeding. He wasn’t just performing well on the test, but he wasn't being violent. Quite the opposite. He was joyous, happier than Toyama had ever seen him.

But then in the next moment Toyama’s blood ran cold.

Dragon language wasn’t just words. They were commands. They could impose a rule upon an area to control the elements. They could command a forest to burn. They could command a storm, a drought, a flood, an earthquake, or lightning. Some abilities were so strong, they would destroy the user. If it wasn’t for the restriction placed on the use of this sacred speech by the College’s alchemical array, Tigre would have joyfully sang out and destroyed the entire college and possibly all of Chicago.

“Dear... God...” Toyama whispered. “Is he a Dragon King?”

“No. If he was, we would have erased him and shoved his body in the Ice Cellar. But he is a hybrid of Dragon King level resonance. He’s different from the other hybrids in other ways too. We’ve run other tests. Nothing about this man is natural... and yet everything is.”

“Is this why you have brought him here? Why you were interested?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. We’re still studying. In the meantime, you should probably go out to meet him. He doesn’t have anyone else to talk to.”

Schneider hung up the phone. Toyama was brought back to reality. Yes he did feel fond of Tigre... but he was still a doctor and Tigre was his patient. He would have to carefully maintain his mind so he didn’t go berserk and bring ruin to the college. He stood up and made his way back to the library. When he came back outside, the thunderstorm had intensified. Lightning cut across the sky and thunder roared, as thought the sky itself were cracking apart. The trees swayed heavy in the wind.

----

When Tigre came out of his trance, his throat hurt, his jaw hurt and his face was sticky with tears. He was shaking and exhausted. He wasn’t at his desk any more but standing in the middle of the room. He wanted to see Toyama and tell him that he wasn’t mad at him for leaving him alone. So when he found him waiting outside, he ran up to him and hugged him, babbling uncontrollably all sorts of silly things while Toyama told him to get some rest while stroking his hair. 

He suddenly realized after that that other students were filing out. All the other students looked exhausted and limp. He turned to them with a joyous face, but they all just flinched away from him, looking at him with tear streaked faces. Even Porsche, who seemed vibrant and sassy before, hugged her two sisters while crying uncontrollably. Celeste glared at him accusingly and Tigre flinched away. 

“Don’t mind them. Most people don’t experience joy like yours.” Toyama pulled him away from the other students. “I will have to go help them with their feelings.”

Tigre was confused. Why would anyone be sad about what he’d just heard? “Toyama-san, I saw something amazing. You knew right? You knew what I was!”

“I had no idea exactly what you were.” Toyama said patiently. “No one did. Your vision is one that’s personal to you, something deep in your heart.”

Tigre reached up and touched his chest. “But... I don’t have anything there.”

“Maybe that’s...” Toyama wanted to say ‘for the best’ but he didn’t finish his sentence. “I have to go. You’re a student now, so you’re free to roam about as you like. Stay out of trouble. Okay?”

“Okay...” Tigre said meekly and watched Toyama walk towards the three sisters. Only Celeste wasn’t crying, she only looked extremely angry.

No one was happy, except for him.

He walked out to stare at the pouring rain in the entrance. He looked up at the sky that also seemed to be sad. But why? Those voices in his head were still ringing. He could recite every single word. But he whispered them, staying quiet. He continued to whisper those sacred words into the grey. They were still beautiful in his ears.

“Do you not have an umbrella?” 

His dampened mood rose again! “Chu Zihang!”

Without thinking he hugged the flinching man who just tolerated it. 

Tigre released him quickly. “Oh... I’m sorry.”

“It’s normal to be emotional after this. I’m happy you made it. The results will take a few hours to process, but Schneider sent me to congratulate you. He’s my mentor.” Chu Zihang’s eyes were dark and not the yellow he remembered.

“You wear contacts too.” Tigre realized.

“Yes. Toyama explained?” Chu Zihang raised his umbrella. It was large enough for both of them as they walked. He was calm like a granite stone. Tigre was a raw nerve of emotion.

“Yes. I remembered looking into your eyes and feeling something through them like what I heard today. No wonder I recognized you! You  really are my brother! But for the other students, they were very sad. I don’t... understand why...” He looked back at the Library that was shrouded in the rain.

“You’d have to ask them personally. I can’t speak for them. When my dragonblood awoke, I saw a very disturbing image myself. And then something tragic happened. So that memory is sad for me too.”

“Is that why its raining?” Tigre mumbled.

Zihang tilted his head. “I don’t think emotions can effect the weather. Though many people associate rain with sadness. In truth a tropical wave has been pushed up from the gulf by the jet stream.”

“Oh.” Was all Tigre should say, understanding nothing.

“You’re still shaken up. Let me get you something to eat. You’ll be hungry.” 

"Ah! You’re right! My stomach is growling a lot!” Tigre said in shock.

“You must have resonated very strongly. You were just standing there in the entrance to the library staring into space and now you didn’t realize you were hungry...”

“It was wonderful.” He breathed. “I wish I could listen to it again. I’ll listen to it forever.”

Chu Zihang glanced down at him and didn’t comment.

“Have you been out of the hospital long? Why didn’t you visit me?” Tigre bounced along deliberately splashing in the puddles.

“I was recovering still and then after that, Schneider kept me updated on your progress. I couldn’t visit you because visits were not permitted while you adjusted to life outside of prison.”

“Oh... we’re going to your dorm?” He asked recognizing the residential building. 

“Yes. I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. One of them, Lu Mingfei is also looking forward to seeing you.”

“Oh Okay... neat.”

Chu Zihang opened the door to the dorm and there were many people there! It was like a party! When he saw all these people. He was moved to tears again! He covered his eyes with his arm. “Sorry!”

One of them, a dark haired Chinese boy chuckled. “Don’t worry. Everyone cried at my 3E. You’re fine.”

Chu Zihang introduced him. “This is Lu Mingfei. He’s the president of the Student Union...”

“Kinda sorta... really I just kinda hang out here while other people do things for me.” He said bashfully.

A tall muscular blond grinned. “I’m Finger Von Frings.”

“And I’m Susie. Congratulations. Sounds like you passed.” She was a petite Chinese girl, making her the third Chinese in the group.

“I’m Zero. Pleasure.” Said a soft spoken blond girl with a Russian accent, who looked bored to be there.

“This is for you.” Chu Zihang handed him a small box covered in paper and a ribbon, like one of those Christmas gifts he’d seen in pictures.

“Thank you... can I open it?”

“If you want.” Chu Zihang mumbled.

Tigre pulled the ribbon and then opened the box after carefully shredding the paper. Inside was a brand new tablet computer. “It will be useful for studying.”

“Wow... thank you!” He laughed. Then he paused. “What is it?”

[winterrose527]

but I've never felt this way for no one

for @simple-aphorisms who gave me this delicious prompt. apologies, I went full feral.

I got my driver’s license last week, just like we always talked about…

If he had to guess, he had heard the opening lines to that song roughly 40 bajillion times. Ever since it had come out over the winter, every party he went to devolved into a raucous, off-key chorus no less than three times as everyone stopped what they were doing to sing that song.

He wasn’t going to lie. It was, for lack of a better, less cringey word, a bop. The first weekend it had come out, he’d listened to it a fair bit. The first time he’d ever heard it at a party, was because he had been the one to put it on.

So he got it. Olivia Rodrigo was a talent. Possibly the next Taylor Swift, though that was a debate he never wanted to get into or hear again after the Great War between Sansa and Theon that had lasted for seven days and eight long nights.

That being said, nothing, and he meant nothing – not even the day her full album had come out and he’d come out into the living room to see Jon and Theon crying to Enough for You – had prepared him for this car ride.

He was sitting in the back seat of Myrcella Baratheon’s Range Rover, Grey Wind sprawled out on top of him. His sister Sansa and her best friend Myrcella were in the front seat, where they had been for the last three hours as Myrcella drove them all back to school from Winterfell, where they’d gone for the long weekend.

Of those last three hours… no less than 2 hours and 45 minutes of it had been dedicated to Olivia Rodrigo. The lion’s share of it to this song.

Now he considered himself a patient man. He was possibly alone in this opinion, but nevertheless he did. But on the thousandth rendition of red lights! Stop signs! He’d lost it.

Not his temper, his mind.

Because the thing was. Myrcella Baratheon was singing at the top of her lungs. Putting her little heart into it.

It wasn’t like she had a bad voice or anything. In fact, she had a beautiful voice. The first time he’d ever heard it he’d gotten actual chills.

The trouble was, this was a song about a break up. And he was fairly certain they were still very much together.

He had, after all, woken up in her bed that morning. And what they’d done after that had given him every indication that they were together.

The thing was though, that’s all he had.

An indication. A feeling.

Okay, a lot of feelings. A mess of them.

These were the facts as far as he understood them.

Early on this semester, around the same time this blasted song had come out, he and Myrcella had been at a party. She’d come with some girls from the Art History program, he’d been there with a few guys from his rugby team. Sansa was nowhere to be found, and neither was Jon or Theon.

He’d seen her from across the room, standing with a couple of girls, and crossed over to her.

Myrcella Baratheon was just the sort of girl you had to cross a party for.

“You’re here!” she exclaimed, as though she’d been waiting for him all night.

“Where else would I be?” he asked.

“On the dance floor maybe,” she grinned.

“Doesn’t sound like me,” he grinned back.

And then her hand was in his, pulling it gently, her eyebrow raised, “Not even if I asked reeeeally nicely?”

So they’d danced. Things had gotten pretty messy. There was a sloppy dance floor make out, followed by a rather aggressive one up against the side of whatever house they were at. A cold walk back to his. His bedroom. Clothes removed. And then just her.

And ever since then it had sort of just continued on like that. They were always together, since her friends were his, and there were always more dance floors to make out on.

He and Myrcella had been having sex with regularity for the past two months, and as far as he knew, Myrcella didn’t do casual sex. But she was also the only girl in the known universe who didn’t press the what are we? talk.

Not only did she not press it, she seemed unconcerned with it entirely.

It was unnerving.

And now, here she was, singing her pretty little heart out to one of the best break up songs of all time with conviction.

“Sing it, Robby!” Sansa turned around.

“No,” he grunted.

Myrcella’s eye flicked to his briefly in the rearview as she banged on the steering wheel.

Sansa turned back around and pointed to a sign for a rest stop, “Oh can we go in there? I want a coffee.”

The last bars of the song played as Myrcella pulled in, dropping Sansa off in front of the complex.

“I’m going to fill up with gas,” she told Sansa who promptly ran inside and then glanced at him, “Are you going in?”

“So you can leave me here?” he asked.

She bursted out laughing as she drove to the gas pumps, “Well you have been rather grumpy but not enough to justify abandoning you on the side of the road just yet.”

Myrcella parked and turned off the car and he got out and slammed his door shut, undoing the gas cap.

“What are you doing?” she asked him. Suddenly she was next to him.

“You hate pumping gas,” he reminded her.

She was such a priss about things like that. It was so annoying and hot.

“You have a unique ability to be a complete ass and a total gentleman all at the same time,” Myrcella informed him, “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Not lately,” he growled. Watching the numbers go up. Ignoring her fresh face and her golden curls pooling out of the neck of her cream fleece. “Because I am not dating anyone else. Are you?”

“How would I be dating anyone else?” she asked him, “I mean just logistically in your brain how would that work? Do I have a time machine? Oh because if I did have a time machine I would definitely use it for sex reasons. Because I’m Theon. You incredible asshat.”

“What did you just call me?” he asked, angrily closing the gas cap.

“An asshat,” she repeated, “Meaning your head is so far up your ass you are literally wearing it as a hat!”

“Why are you singing the song like that?!” he growled at her.

She bit her lip, “Well, because it’s an incredible song.”

“Are you singing it about someone?” he asked. “You were near to tears on the last one!”

“Well maybe,” she brushed her fingers up his chest, “I was thinking how I’d feel if you ever decided you didn’t want to be with me. Though that was before this conversation.”

His hands went to her waist, pulling her towards him, slipping underneath her fleece and t shirt to her bare, warm skin.

“You called me an asshat,” he told her.

She grinned, her arms looping around his neck, “Well you’re acting like one.” She laughed, “And I must be one too, because even when you’re a total asshat, I’m pretty sure I love you anyway.”

“Baby,” he lifted her up, nuzzling his nose against hers, “I know I’m not perfect, but I’ve never felt this way for no one.”

She laughed. Cackled. Her head thrown back, exposing her creamy neck that he couldn’t help but kiss even at a gas station.

“You do realize you just quoted Olivia Rodrigo, don’t you?” she asked.

He hadn’t realized that. Apparently after 40 bajillion listens it had somehow just come out.

“Well,” he teased, “She is the next Taylor Swift.”

“Oh no!” she wrestled out of his arms.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked as she came to them holding a tray with three coffees in it.

“We’re leaving Robb here,” Myrcella told her, “Say your goodbyes.”

“Myrcella!” he laughed.

“Why don’t you call Theon for a ride you reductive asshat!” Myrcella argued.

With that she started walking around the car and he chased after her, picking her back up and carrying her to the passenger seat.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m driving,” he told her, “You’re too worked up. You’re being a little crazy.” And then he kissed her cheek, “But uh I love you anyway.”

He felt her grin even though she rolled her eyes as she buckled her seat. Sansa got in the back and he went around to the driver’s seat and got in. It took him a few minutes to adjust the seat because his girlfriend was teeny, and he used the time to plug his phone into the USB.

“Do you know what the best thing about being the driver is?” he asked them.

“What’s that?” Sansa asked from the back.

“You get to control the music,” he informed her.

And as he pulled away from the gas station, and the opening bars of Driver’s License came on through his phone, Myrcella Baratheon leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He’d forgotten how much he truly loved this song.

[alightwhendarknessfell]

Restitch These Wounds Review

Let me start by saying I was absolutely blown away by this album. As someone who loves the original WSTW and has been a fan since the start, I had high expectations for the re-record. After listening to it all the way through I can honestly say not only has this surpassed all of my expectations, but honestly left me speechless. The depth of sound and clarity in it are perfection, while I loved the original WSTW, it did have a kind of muffled sound to it. In the re-record you can clearly hear every element/instrument and the sound is much bigger, more dramatic and powerful. 

Andy’s vocals on this album are hands down, the absolute best I have heard of any album, EP, or single. His voice is smooth and the screams, while not at the forefront of the tracks, sound incredible. There is no strain in his voice, and you can tell he put serious work into bettering his vocals over the past decade. The sound is sweet and it flows very well. 

The overall sound of the album, perfectly encapsulates the theme of the WSTW era which was very dark and eerie. Songs that previously didn’t stand out, are now some of the best on the album (Never Give In, to name one). My 2010 emo teenage heart is soaring. 

Now, for the break down song by song 

The Outcasts (Reborn): Words cannot describe how much I love this intro. It is so creepy and sets the tone for the album so well. I knew this album was going to knock it out of the park just from this thirty second intro. The dramatic instrumental (almost like a siren) build up is a new addition that I think works extremely well.  We Stitch These Wounds: This was my favorite song on the original album, so I was very curious to hear how it would sound on Restitch. I particularly like Andy’s voice on this track, and the screams on it are some of my favorites on the album. Did not disappoint.  Beautiful Remains: Was never really one of my favorites on the original album, but the re-record has given it a powerful upgrade. The screams are creepy and it really fits the song, I mean it’s called ‘beautiful remains’ lol. The guitars in this song are amazing, and it really makes the track pop.   Children Surrender: Another one of my favorites from the original, and hands down one of my favorites on Restitch as well. The vocals and gang vocals on this track are probably the best on the album. One of my favorite parts of this song was always towards the end where the instruments slow down and Andy sings “sink your teeth into forever” before the guitars kick back in. Hearing it on the album gave me goosebumps, so well done.  Perfect Weapon: A banger. This is probably one of the most powerful songs on the album and iconic song for Black Veil. The original version was amazing, but it lacked some of the oomf that the song deserved and had in it’s live renditions. It has found that on the re-record. The guitars are stunning and it packs a heavy punch. The infliction in Andy’s voice on this track really gives it that ‘fuck you’ attitude that the lyrics convey.  Knives and Pens: Re-recording this song had to be nerve wracking given it’s popularity in the fan base. As Black Veil’s best known song from this era, it had to be done right. Holy shit, this is in my opinion, the best version of K&Ps. The guitars, drums, bass, screams and vocals work together perfectly to make this song the strong and powerful anthem that it is.  The Mortician’s Daughter (Overture III): I really liked the thunderstorm intro. This song is very sentimental to me and while I do wish it was recorded with vocals I understand the decision not to. The overture is beautiful, Jinxx did a wonderful job with it. There is a bitter sweet feel to the song. It gives the feeling of looking back on old times and reminiscing, also it made me cry.  All Your Hate: Once again, a powerful track to start with that got a boost from clearer sound and stronger instrumentals. There is a lot more emotion in the vocals which I appreciate.     Heaven’s Calling: The teaser for this song had me shook, so I was excited to hear the full version. The chorus had a major upgrade from the first version vocally. It is much more emotionally charged. Beautifully done.  Never Give In: This is absolutely the most improved song. The vocals are so fucking creepy and I love it. This song was alright on the first album, but this is the stand out track for the re-record. It is probably the most different sounding when compared to WSTW but that is a good thing. There is such an eerie and dangerous feel to this song; a perfect representation of the WSTW era. I think this is my favorite song on the album.  Sweet Blasphemy: A fan favorite, this song has been improved on in quality and sound for Restitch. The singing on this track sounds amazing as are the drums. Such a beautiful track. The break down of it is so powerful.  Carolyn: This was the only song I didn’t care for on the original album, so I didn’t really have great expectations for it on this album. But I was dead wrong, this song is so beautiful and probably has the greatest improvement alongside Never Give In on the entire album. Stunning. 

Top Tracks: Never Give In, Perfect Weapon, Knives and Pens, Children Surrender   Most Improved: The Outcasts (Reborn), Never Give In, Carolyn 

Album rating: 10/10 (and yes, I mean that) 

[96thdayofrage]

Mrs. Douglas was the music teacher. Let me be clear: she was not a music teacher, she taught music at the three predominately Black elementary schools in my hometown. She taught at a different school every day and, if you lived in Hartsville, S.C. any time between 1968 and 2006, she was the music teacher. Mrs. Douglas is the reason everyone from my childhood knows the words to “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” the Black national anthem.

Being home-schooled at a young age, my mother hadn’t shielded me from whiteness so much as she surrounded me with Blackness. But I longed to go to school. I wanted to play on a playground and carry books in a knapsack. Having to raise your hand to speak and eating square pizza seemed like so much fun, which is why I cherished Wednesdays with Mrs. Douglas. On Wednesday afternoons, Mrs. Douglas gave me private piano lessons in her home and I was her prized student. I was a child prodigy and–if I could just remember to lift my wrists and keep my posture straight–I was on the path to becoming the next Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles. I was always eager to play for Mrs. Douglas because she had one thing that inspired students to perform at the highest level:

Mrs. Douglas was beautiful.

Even as a ten-year-old, I could see it. Everyone could. Perhaps the best way to contextualize her beauty is to say she was a combination of Thelma and Willona from Good Times. She had a pre-Beyoncé level of fineness that made little boys swoon and little girls belt their hearts out in perfect tune. And, she began every gathering with the Black National Anthem–“Lift Every Voice and Sing.”

It really is a perfect song. God must have laid that on James Weldon Johnson’s heart because, in 169 words, he somehow captured the entirety of the Black experience. The lyrics are at once painful and triumphant without wallowing in our trauma. And when we hit that “Sing a song...” part, we really spill out all of our Blackness. In the annals of Black music, “sing a song” ranks right up there with Frankie Beverly’s “Before I let you goooooooo....” or Ricky Bell’s confession that “it’s driving me out of my mind.” If there’s anything Black America can do, we can sing a song.

Mrs. Douglas did not teach me the Black National Anthem. I have never been in a setting where people actually learned the words or the melody. Everywhere I went, people just seemed to know it. Looking back, this was probably the work of Mrs. Douglas, but for the first ten years of my life, I assumed everyone was born knowing how to blink their eyes, do the Electric Slide, and sing “Lift Every Voice.”

One Wednesday, at the end of our hourlong lesson, Mrs. Douglas gave me a copy of the Maya Angelou bestseller along with the sheet music to “Lift Every Voice,” as if one were necessary to understand the other. She told me that she would be teaching me how to play the anthem for the next few weeks but we could only begin after I read the pages she had bookmarked. In the chapter, Angelou describes her elementary school class singing the Negro National Anthem. I’m sure my piano teacher was trying to stress the importance of the song to our history and culture but all I could remember is Maya Angelou describing her anger after a local school board official denigrated the entire Black race during her grammar school graduation ceremony:

We were maids and farmers, handymen and washerwomen, and anything higher that we aspired to was farcical and presumptuous.

Then I wished that Gabriel Prosser and Nat Turner had killed all whitefolks in their beds and that Abraham Lincoln had been assassinated before the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation, and that Harriet Tubman had been killed by that blow on her head and Christopher Columbus had drowned in the Santa María. It was awful to be Negro and have no control over my life.

It was brutal to be young and already trained to sit quietly and listen to charges brought against my color with no chance of defense. We should all be dead. I thought I should like to see us all dead, one on top of the other. A pyramid of flesh with the whitefolks on the bottom, as the broad base, then the Indians with their silly tomahawks and teepees and wigwams and treaties, the Negroes with their mops and recipes and cotton sacks and spirituals sticking out of their mouths. The Dutch children should all stumble in their wooden shoes and break their necks. The French should choke to death on the Louisiana Purchase (1803) while silkworms ate all the Chinese with their stupid pigtails. As a species, we were an abomination. All of us.

Jesus. Was I supposed to be reading this? Were white people this bad? Was the song this good? And how would this help me play the piano? It did not help my posture at all. I know this was probably Mrs. Douglas’s attempt to ensure that I would thank her in one of the Grammy speeches that I would surely give later in life but, Ma’am...

I. Was. Ten.

Still, enthralled by her beauty and a little disturbed by her reading assignment, I committed to playing the fuck out of that song. And, by “playing the fuck out of that song,” I basically hit the keys harder and with more emphasis (Did I mention I was ten years old?). It was obvious that Mrs. Douglas was pleased. For the next few years, I played “Lift Every Voice” at all the Black functions around town, including Pastors’ anniversaries, cotillions and every Black History Month program. I didn’t even need the sheet music. I didn’t know any other songs. To this day, my entire piano repertoire consists of “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” It was the only song I could interpolate into other keys.

But my favorite time to play the anthem was when Mrs. Douglas’s Combined Glee Club performed. The Combined Glee Club was basically the best singers from the Black elementary schools combined into one choir. Led by Mrs. Douglas, the CGC was the number-one ranked glee club in all of the greater Hartsville area. Not just anyone could be in the Combined Glee Club; you had to be selected by Mrs. Douglas. It was the official verification that you had musical talent. I’m sure some people put it on their college application.

If there was something Black going on, they were invited and those motherfuckers could sing. All of my neighborhood friends were on the Combined Glee Club and my best friend played the drums for them. (Yes, they had a drummer!) The CGC usually performed the Donny Hathaway version of “I Believe in Music” (which, until a few years ago, I believed was a song Mrs. Douglas had penned herself). But their specialty was opening up with “Lift Every Voice.”

If I am being honest, I have to admit that I am a tiny bit afraid of “Lift Every Voice and Sing” in the way that I am afraid of the Holy Ghost or making potato salad for a family dinner. I know how important it is to us, so I am afraid to mess it up. Even though I hadn’t been around white people, I somehow knew it was our song. I had never seen it on television or on the radio. It was like a secret handshake or a fried chicken recipe–It belonged exclusively to us. Plus, if I messed it up, Mrs. Douglas might not consider the marriage proposal I was planning in a few years. Every time I played “Lift Every Voice,” there was a lot riding on it.

When I finally started attending public schools, my mother enrolled me at a predominately white school where I was assigned to a homeroom where I was the only black kid in the class. I’d like to explain how the white kids made racist jokes at my expense but, if they did, I didn’t even notice it. In fact, spending time around white people for the first time at ten years old, I learned more about Black people than I learned about white people.

I had not assimilated the subconscious deference to whiteness that often accompanies being Black. I became acutely aware that white people are not smarter or even more educated than any of the kids in my neighborhood. They were perfectly mediocre. They didn’t know how to double-dutch and they didn’t even have a glee club. In music class, the teacher just passed out instruments and let the kids have jam sessions. How were they supposed to acquire their daily recommended dosage of glee? I was a little ashamed of going to school there, so I led all my friends to believe that I was still being homeschooled until they discovered the truth at the annual Holiday Music Showcase.

Every year, all of the schools would get together for a Christmas program to show off their best musicians and singers. The white schools would have violinists, saxophone players and ensembles playing classical music with terrible basslines. As for my predominately glee-less institution, we learned a special super-Caucasian rendition of “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.” I was just thankful that we didn’t have to follow the Negro Mass Choir. They were last on the program.

My white classmates were unmoved as each individual school performed and, with each successive song, I slunk lower in my seat. During Washington Street Elementary’s performance, as they lifted up His name with a perfect a cappella version of “Children Go Where I Send Thee,” a kid sitting behind me whispered:

“Look at all those lips!”

Everyone giggled. I did not.

Our performance was predictably lackluster (probably because I refused to sing). It sounded like an episode of Little House on the Prairie. It sounded like long division. Rudolph’s nose had never been so unremarkable. Had he heard those flat notes wafting through the Center Theater, I’m sure he would have been as ashamed as I was. We trudged back to our seats as the Baddest Glee Club in the Land took the stage for the last performance. Of course, they sang “I Believe in Music.” Accompanied by Mrs. Douglas on piano and my homeboy James on drums, they blew the doors off the place. Even my classmates were impressed because, when they hit one particular a cappella refrain that every Black choir does, my classmates were clapping along. They were off-beat, but they still clapped.

After a rousing round of applause, Mrs. Douglas announced the next song from her piano: “Lift Every Voice.” Of course, all of the Black people in the audience—even the children—stood up. None of the white kids even moved. I was the only person in my entire class who stood.

Mrs. Douglas didn’t play that shit.

She stood up from the piano and glared at the audience as if to say: “You motherfuckers better stand up and show some respect.” I had never seen Mrs. Douglas express anger. And she waited. And the choir waited. She looked. And the choir looked. As she scowled at the audience, Mrs. Douglas saw me standing and smiled. She waved me to the front of the auditorium and whispered in my ear: “You wanna play?”

By the time I sat at the piano and she ascended to the stage to direct the Combined Glee Club, everyone was standing. She looked at me with her usual glance and in one microsecond, my back straightened. My wrists were raised to the perfect 45 degree angle.

And just like that, I was Black.

For the first time since I had read Maya Angelou’s angry words, I was no longer afraid of the song. I don’t know if it was the repetition of playing so many times, or the hand of some unseen thing, but I was suddenly able to play and sing the song simultaneously. And goddamn, did that Combined Glee Club lift their voices. They sang that song.

Our song.

I called Mrs. Douglas today.

I had so many questions. I wanted to ask her why she dragged me around town when I don’t have a sliver of musical talent. I really wanted to know why she made me read that book. I figured she’d tell me something about building my character, giving me a reason to socialize with people my age or how music helps the brain mature. Or maybe she’d make some perfect metaphor about birds in cages.

She did not answer.

I still have a song, though.

We are the song.

[bitters-enthusiast]

Boozin’

A fic for @timmys-and-scribbles , I love u boo 

The bar was more than likely annoyed with the ginger at this point.

Julian had spent more than a few hours at the Rowdy Raven, his second home, and was drunk off his ass -- even that may have been an understatement. It’d started with a few drinks, just him trying to kill time while Julianne was working at the shop, keeping himself busy and away. Then it turned into him getting sad, a little down, because he didn’t have enough work to keep him steady and busy during a time like this. Wasn’t a doctor rather crucial to a city? Shouldn’t his knowledge and efforts be more needed?

If Julianne were there, she’d be telling him to just be thankful that he had the day off, and that he’d have patients tomorrow eager to hear his advice. 

But Julianne wasn’t there, she was busy. And so, having let the silly, intrusive thoughts take hold of him, he slammed back some more drinks.

More drinks turned into stories, stories turned into singing, and singing turned into slight arguments with other patrons who were getting quite annoyed with the man. Perhaps he’d better find another hobby that isn’t getting drunk and flirting with death.

A couple of hours in at that point, Julian had heard talk of a local musician holding an event in the marketplace in the afternoon in order to make pay for his home. His ears had perked up, and he grinned, even as he took another shot of liquor. Music? A lively night? That sounded exactly his style to the tee, and he’d started to get excited for when Julianne would finally be done with her work for the day. Oh, how he wished to spin her into the night with an exciting tango, or a cozy waltz. If she were there. Waiting for her would be the most excruciating part of his day. But how hopefully rewarding that waiting would be!

A few more hours passed, and at that point, the sun was starting to go down over Vesuvia. Not that Julian could really count the hours --- he was inside, and only whined aloud about missing his wife every other moment or two. 

At the current moment, though, he’d started rambling off a story to his most familiar bartender and friend (at least, Julian would consider him a friend), Reiner. Words slurred and wistful about the time that he’d gone to a city with the Nazali Satrinava -- no, really, it was them, on my life -- to practice his medical studies. While there, they’d caught wind of a puppeteer who used magic to make it seem as if their puppets could move and talk on their own. It was really quite scary, and just added onto the fact that he didn’t like magic at the time. 

“No, really, Reiner,” the doctor laughed, a little too loudly for others’ liking, and he clutched the glass beside him with a firm hand. “One of ‘em, I think it’s name was.. was.. Perhaps Tootie, or something of the sort, and it.. it just moved!”

“It moved, Ilya? Like a puppet is supposed to do?”

“Well, right, duh, but! It moved like a human. And that’s my point. It was absolutely horrible!”

“Right.” the man behind the counter laughed, cleaning out a glass with a soft rag. 

“I’m serious, you can’t take that stuff too lightly, Reiner. It can be rather powerful at times, you know.”

“You were dealing with a puppeteer, Julian.”

“What if she was using real people that she, I don’t know, shrunk! How disastrous would that be? No one would know! She was under the guise of children entertainment!!”

Reiner once again laughed, and set the now-cleaned cup upon his counter to use for someone else who walked in. “You’re quite the theorist.”

“Well, you can never be too careful. Magicians--”

Just then, the door opened quietly, and for the millionth time that night, as soon as Julian heard it, he turned quickly to see if it was Julianne coming to look for him. And this time, he was lucky enough to have his wish come true. 

The woman patted down her blouse, having looked like she just walked a mile to get there. She may as well have -- Julian would’ve waited either way. With a smile, though, she glanced across the room at the semi-familiar faces, before her eyes landed upon her desperate doctor. Placing a hand upon her hip, she smiled, and looked at him knowingly. “Did someone say ‘magician’?”

Julian practically lept from his seat, leaving Reiner behind to continue his work. How absolutely wonderful it was to finally be able to see Julianne’s beautiful face after waiting all day. He stumbled on his way over, and he attempted to laugh it off, hurrying forward to grab Juli in a bear hug. “Oh, Juli, love, I’ve been waiting for you all day. I thought you were never going to put up shop. I’ve been longing for you arms for hours, I--”

As he was speaking, Julianne gently wrapped her arms around him in turn, but shot a glance to the side at the man behind the counter. With a grin, Reiner could already tell what she was thinking. 

“Hey, Annie. Just the usual. He couldn’t be patient long enough to go home himself.”

“Ah,” Julianne nodded, smiling in return. By this point, she knew the staff of the tavern quite well, and had even befriended some of them. It was hard not to -- her doctor was here almost every other day. Her and Reiner were the best of friends out of them all, though, and she trusted him to keep Julian safe and in place when he got hammered -- such as tonight. Pulling away from the hug, Julianne looked up at Julian, and tsked quietly. “Too impatient indeed. Have you been wailing their ears off this time? I’m sure this bar has heard one too many of your renditions of Hound Cries at Midnight.”

When Julianne had pulled away from the hug, Julian had to force himself not to pout. He had craved her affection all day, and just when he’d gotten it...

“No, not today. Though, I do think I should modify that middle section to sound a little more operatic, don’t you think? I--” As he spoke, his eyes continued to search over Julianne’s face, and he began to melt from the inside out. He brought his hands upward, cupping either side of her face, and he crooned, his face adorned with a flirtatious smile. “Ohhh, Julianne, you’re so beautiful. Even after such a long day at work, you’re here, making sure I’m okay and giving me hugs and-- I just don’t deserve such a precious woman.” The redhead pressed a sloppy kiss to her forehead, before pulling her into another hug. 

Julianne was quite used to his drunken behavior at this point, but nonetheless, she still found it hilarious and sometimes flattering. Again, she hugged him back, a light blush on her face from embarrassment. Julian definitely never had volume control when he was drunk. “You’re such a ham, Julian. Don’t you know you’re in a bar?”

Chuckling, Julian pulled away. “What better place to announce your undying love to a beautiful maiden? At least then everyone will know she’s spoken for!” With dramatic flair, the man turned on his heel to face the bar, is arm landing snugly along Juli’s shoulders. With his voice slightly louder than before, he addressed the establishment. “Fellow ... er, uh... hearty drinkers! As some, but not all of you may know, this is my gorgeous, smart, funny, talented, practically perfect wife, Julianne! Julianne, this is Heinrich, Nattak, Erin, and ... was it Izaak? It was Izaak, right, friend? Oh, you absolutely killed  me with your strange noises and your story about the parrot inside the--”

“Julian,” his wife began to speak under her breath. She was flattered by his pride, sure, but this was just more than a little embarrassing. Her cheeks dusted with bright pink, she reached to touch a hand to his chest to try and get his attention as he rambled. 

“Oh! Right, right. Anyways, fellows, this is Julianne! A powerful magician who has stolen my heart--”

“Didn’t you just make a scene earlier about how much you dislike magic?” Some random, gruff man made a comment.

“Yes, well, she’s quite different than any other magician I’ve ever met before. She brings a sort of... fire out within me. Oh, especially when we kiss.” He sighs with an affectionate undertone, and you can practically see stars in his eyes. “Anyway! She’s stolen my heart so graciously, and also given me the best life I could have asked for. She’s really quite great, she treats me ever so well, and makes me--”

Julianne cleared her throat loudly this time, and shook her head in amusement. “Julian, how many times are you going to make this same speech? I’m sure poor Reiner has heard you say these same things three times already this month.”

Turning a little red, Julian chuckled, and faced his wife. He shrugged, as if he were a child getting caught and was trying to justify it. “What can I say? I suppose I just have, ack-!” As he was turning to face Juli, he tripped on a wooden floor board just barely raised above the rest, and he did his best not to stumble to the floor. Laughing it off, as he does, he glanced around the room and gestured to Julianne once more. “I guess I’m just head over heels in love, eh?”

“Sounds like she’s actually a little annoyed wit’ya, bud,” the same gruff man from the corner spoke. It was obvious he’d become a little annoyed with Julian’s drunken antics spoiling his quiet night at the bar. “I’d shut up if ya actually wanted to keep ‘er around. Maybe do less at the bar and more in the bedroom.”

Julian gasped, clutching at the material over his chest. “How dare you, Mr. Corner-Beard! I think I do quite well in that area, thank you! Why, you son’t even have to just take my word! Julianne, would you--?”

Reiner looked between the three of them -- the drunk doctor, his poor wife, and Mr. Corner-Beard -- and paused in his work to be sure that, for the millionth time, Julian didn’t start another bar fight that he couldn’t finish. And as if she read his mind, Julianne, grabbed Julian by his arm, and pulled him toward the exit. 

“That’s quite enough, Dr. Devorak. I think your friends heard enough of your home life today. How about we go home?”

Julian paused, right before the reached the door. He looked at the burly corner man right in the eyes, before he turned to take Julianne into his arms, press a long, dramatic kiss to her lips, and pulled away once more. He looked at the stranger one last time before pulling the door open, and exiting with his... certain dramatic flair.

Julianne stood there in shock for a moment, her face having now turned a bright red. She felt every eye in the place on her, and she could only find solace in one pair -- Reiner’s. The bartender forced himself to hold back his laughter, placing his hand over his mouth. All the woman could do was blink at him, and at this point, Julian was either storming his way home or was wandering around in circles waiting for her to leave alongside him. Reiner finally dropped his hand, only to say a few words before the magician left. 

“Don’t kill him. He has a dance he wants to take you to tonight. Wanted to dip you in the moonlight, or something along those lines.”

Julianne shook her head, turning to walk out the door, and muttered, “Don’t worry, I won’t kill him. I’ll just dip his head into the fountain to sober him up a bit.”

[blushnote]

at the altar | m.

⟡ word count: 7,000. ⟡ genre: smut. ⟡ contains: lots of religious lexicon, masurbation, pornography, degradation, fucking in the church, a breeding kink, spitting, choking, a slight fantasy theme.

summary: a dystopian future in which obligation to the church is indispensable in preserving society. joshua knows there is danger in straying from the enforced orthodoxy of the clergy, but cannot help in wondering how different his life would be if for once in indulged in sin rather than purity.

a/n: um. yeah. so this happened. a surge of spontaneity hit me and i was able to write this idea. i’m still wondering why i put myself through this.

it feels far too early and joshua is much too tired as he rises from his pew, honouring the arrival of his church’s reverend as he takes the slowest possible steps down the alley. the reverend is old. it shows in the lump bulging from his back and his wrinkled skin that appears to have the texture of sundried fruits. a few select spindles of thinned, wispy white hair cling to his head, and joshua wonders if the two clergy members walking cautiously behind the reverend are actually there to catch him if his hip gives out.

joshua suppresses a gigantic yawn, his eyes brimming with water while he clasps his hands together respectfully. there is a choir aligned in neat rows at the very front of the church, dressed in white gowns that float just above the ankle with thick, gold sashes drooping from every shoulder.

he has his own gown hanging up in his closet. it is obligatory after all. 

in an angelic, almost disquieting tone that echoes up into the high ceilings, it’s some rendition of ‘peace is flowing like a river’, to which joshua has heard so many times he could sing it all in his sleep. he feels like he knows more songs of worship than he does numbers or letters, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing. the reverend begins shuffling past joshua’s pew. when he looks at the old, shrunken man, joshua is reminded of how tired he is. an abstract thought suddenly flies into his mind.

how close is this guy to death?

joshua knows it’s a fairly morbid question to ponder in the middle of morning service, but he can’t help it, and he’s intrigued to know if anyone else among the masses shares his introspection. he’s not disturbed at the idea of death, and he assumes it’s due to his faith, that there just might be a place for him somewhere when his physical body is no longer an appropriate shell. the thing is, he’s not having much fun. his faith is strict and if joshua wants to have a certified place at heaven’s gate, then he has to live accordingly.

no sex until marriage, no drugs, no alcoholic consumption apart from the blood of the saviour, all these intense restrictions just to sit pretty in the afterlife. some regulations don’t really bother him – the drugs for example – joshua doesn’t suspect he’ll be imploring anyone for a shot of heroin or a little ziplock baggie filled with cocaine  in the near future. still, he does muse over some regulations because they seem too instinctual, too absurd to deny, like saying a baby is not permitted to drinks its mother’s milk.

joshua recalls a certain incident from when he was a teenager. he was staying the night at his friend’s house, and the whole day his friend had been irritably insisting that he had something to show joshua, except he couldn’t even give him the slightest hint of what it was until everyone in the house had surely gone to sleep. joshua sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his friend’s laptop while he chuckled, pulling up a raunchy looking website that had probably just embedded a hundred viruses into his computer.

‘watch this,’ his friend said smugly before tapping on a clip. joshua remembered it was a girl sitting on the floor, her cheeks faintly smeared with rouge makeup, loose curls of hair tumbling before her eyes as a hand moved beneath her shorts, her wrist sharply twisting. her moans leaked through the quiet volume alongside incoherent breaths about how good she felt. suddenly, she reached for her blouse that was tight around the chest, taking the buttons between her fingers and popping each one open.

the pornography had no effect on joshua, though his friend was evidently obsessed.

funny thing was, only a week later joshua witnessed him get shipped away to the rehabilitation board, his parents notoriously repeating the same damn story when weekly service came around, how ‘he just has some bad habits, nothing that cannot be cured through the guidance of our reverends at the oligarchy.’ initially, joshua was proud of himself, he believed the fortitude of his virtues had allowed him to not succumb to pornography and its unholy temptation, despite the carnal urge being completely natural.

but that was the thing, it’s natural.

the first time joshua ever had a wet dream, it was about that girl from the porn site. he slammed awake, drenched in a cold sweat, his chest heaving as though he’d just ran the five kilometer. the room was pitch black apart from blue moonlight percolating slightly through the sheer curtains, and even though he knew he was alone, he squinted into the darkness disconcertedly, petrified that someone had seen him  awaken from such an obscure dream and was writing up his slip for the rehabilitation board.

no, joshua didn’t spend his time fumbling over the inevitability of death.

instead, he contemplated this unyielding piousness he had for the church, how he had probably wasted the most adventurous years of his life learning hymns and prayers. as the reverend finally got to his place behind the altar, his dry, chalky voice barely whispering to the farthest pew, overwhelming concoctions of ancient perfumes started tickling joshua’s nose, the slight claustrophobia of being packed into these ridiculously uncomfortable pews making him nauseous.

joshua then realized this wasn’t how he wanted to live.

yet he wasn’t strong enough to stray from this path he had known his whole life. he required some form of corruption, though joshua had no idea what this corruption would be.

the first time joshua sees you, his heart starts to race, and he contracts this feeling unlike any other.

you arrive at the empty spot belonging to the pew in front of him as the attendants slowly begin to trickle in. he can hardly believe his eyes. you’re a new body to the church, vivacious and sophisticated, youth agleam in the whorls of your slightly rugged skin. he’s not accustomed to seeing women in a place of worship looking so bare. joshua doesn’t believe there is a spot of concealer on your face. he can see the shallow rings beneath your eyes and the plump, morning swollenness wearing upon your cheeks. a gentle pink lipstick is translucent through a sparkling gloss on your lips, and you smell somewhat like rain.

long, lace sleeves cover your arms, even your neck is shielded by an uncomfortable looking collar, though joshua notes that unlike the popular dresses he sees gathering  in clumps of white around the church, yours is cut short – literally, it’s been cut all the way up to just above the mid-thigh when it should be floating at your knees. joshua was raised not to stare, so he doesn’t, rather he takes fleeting glimpses of how the white lace hugs your torso before flaring at the hips. the way the skirt bounces at your legs, just shy of riding a little too far up, has his heart booming in his chest.

but then something happens.

you’re holding a pamphlet imprinted with guidelines concerning the morning mass, cues and prayers and paroles occupying the pages, often picked up by newcomers at the entryway. however, the pamphlet suddenly slips from your hands and hits the floor. almost immediately you bend over to retrieve it, and joshua can’t look away fast enough. he sees it, a flash of your tiny, black thong. he starts panicking as this ravenous flame engulfs his face. in a nervous tick, joshua swallows thickly and stands from his seat, but then he realizes he has nowhere to go and sits back down, raking a hand through his hair.

“excuse me,” a pleasant voice coos to him, to which joshua realizes you have turned around in your pew to stare directly at him. licking your lips, you ask, “how early do people usually arrive here?”

joshua coolly pretends as though he didn’t just see beneath your dress and pits an inference, “the most devoted don’t show up until 9:30-ish.”

“really?” you sound surprised, your eyebrows jumping. “so there’s lots of time then.”

he’s unsure if you’re still talking to him as you stare into space. quite frankly he’s confused at what you mean. time for what? he has no idea.

“you are allowed to come in even when service has already started. some people just observe respectfully at the back if there are no seats.” he adds anyways.

your eyes flicker back to him, and your pink-tinted lips curl in a soft smile. “well, they have no choice. is service not obligatory?” you turn to momentarily gaze at the choir organizing themselves at the front of the church, continuing with, “everyone has one of those gowns, don’t they? with the perfect little sashes that make them feel so virtuous and whole and part of something they believe is a choice.”

joshua blinks. for a moment, time is frozen. he knows you’re right, it’s just so inexplicably bizarre to hear his clandestine thoughts echoed through the lips of a stranger. he clears his throat.

“yeah, everything about the church is obligatory, and you get sent to the rehabilitation board if you have anything to say about it…” he looks at you transiently, “or if you’re a real big sinner.”

flipping through the pamphlet without even gleaning anything from the pages, you snort in laughter before smacking it down beside you on the pew. then, you glance at him again, and joshua reads a naughty shimmer in your eyes. he knows you don’t give a lick about what he just said.

“you wanna know something?” you lean a little closer over the back of the pew, your voice lowering.

joshua swallows again, his hands crushing bits of lint in his pant pockets. he nods, his pulse thrumming violently, even at the vein in his neck.

“do you see that girl in the choir? at the far right side of the front row?”

he followed her subtle pointing finger.

“are you talking about august?” joshua questions, to which you agree.

joshua had known august since first grade.

her reputation was ‘purer than snow and sweeter than candy’ as described by the reverend himself. she had a beautiful voice, one that sets you in a trance, like being in the depths of underwater and watching sunlight cut through the stillness. the same friend that showed joshua the pornography had a massive crush on her in his high school years, but he let his emotions wither away hopelessly, claiming she would never be game for anything his obscenely filthy mind could contrive.

“i used to be her best friend,” you whispered, “she was a real riot. she’d steal bottles of wine from her parents liquor cabinet and we’d go into the woods to get drunk. they never suspected a thing ‘cause they only drink on holidays. i swear too, she’s blowed at least four guys on the huskey basketball team.”

oh, joshua thought. maybe his friend would have actually had a chance.

“that’s different than i remember.” nonetheless, he defended august poorly.

“you don’t have to believe me,” you responded, “just that some people aren’t who you think they are.”

joshua pricked his bottom lip with his teeth.

“what about you then?”

shifting slightly in your seat, you feigned obliviousness with a harmless grin, “what about me?”

“i mean, what should i assume about you?”

the distant reverberation of the organ suddenly flooded the room, signaling that service would be starting shortly, leaving in its deep but harmonious wake an irreplaceable feeling of sacredness. just before you turned around completely in your seat to gauge the altar, or the glowing, enormous stained glass portrait at the front of the church, you smirked at joshua.

“well, i already know what you’ve assumed about me,” you stated matter-of-factly, “that i’m a whore.”

joshua felt an intense heat prickle across the arches of his cheeks. your blatancy threw him off his axis. he hadn’t thought that exact word, but he could not deny he suspected you to live promiscuously.

“honestly,” you shrugged, “you’re not wrong.”

it’s late, around eleven thirty, and the air in joshua’s bedroom is hot and almost palpably sticky. he lies on his stomach in bed, his arms shoved beneath a cool pillow while he blinks into the thick darkness. his eyelids feel heavy but they refuse to close. it’s simply a restless night, and joshua comes to reluctantly accept this as he sits up with the blankets pooling around his hips. he takes the bottom hem of his shirt and peels it above his head, throwing it impetuously into some corner he can’t even see.

joshua muses over a distant lesson taught by the reverend when he was a little boy, attending the sunday mass alongside his faith-mottled parents who had raised joshua with scrupulous religiousness. he stands at the very front pew, watching with rounded, glistering eyes as the reverend provides a cautionary tale from behind his marbled altar. he speaks of temptation, its numerous, intently deceitful forms that skulk near the edges of one’s vulnerability, waiting to attach itself like a leech.

‘temptation is a mere embodiment of sin, and sin is a creation that has risen from the underworld. our desires cannot be silenced, but they can be overcome, as proven beneath the guidance of a patient hand.’

he’s too young to grasp the reverend’s teachings. what joshua retains is that sin is bad, sin is the devil, and to be protected from his manipulation, you must build an unshakeable devotion. the reverend continued in his monotone tales and the adults ate up his every word. what joshua found interesting from that particular mass was the reverend’s warning of fallen angels.

‘they walk among us. each of you has one. maybe they are not visible to you, but they linger, they mercilessly tempt, they plant inside of you desires that you may struggle to diminish. and if one day, you feel that you have witnessed your fallen angel face to face, then know that you have been confronted with the greatest possible test of your commitment to the church. do not lose sight of your devotion. hold swift to the healing you have received from your reverends. the life they tease you with is erroneous.’

the air is persistently warm against the slope of his back as he returns to laying on his stomach, but it’s not as compressing, and his honeyed skin seems to be able to breathe a little easier. while his mind is spinning in a whirlwind of miscellaneous thought, joshua notes that you make a bold presence among the chaos, and suddenly he’s imagining your scent, mild like spring rainwater and rose petals. then he pictures the sheen of your smooth, soft mouth, how your eyes glinted when you spoke.

joshua presses his cheek deeper into the pillow. a dangerous type of sensation is melting in his lower abdomen and prickling like a sunburn up his shoulders, yet he has no idea how to soothe it. he thinks of the wet dream he had all those years ago. if anyone even had the slightest clue he watched pornography and had been tainted by the poison of its repercussions, then he’d be sent off to the rehabilitation board just like his old friend. and if joshua knew anything about the board, it was that he never wanted to go.

despite the looming terror of such a dreadful place, it was not puissant enough to deter his racing mind, and joshua felt his heart pump sporadically against the mattress as he thought of that salacious clip in which the girl had been touching herself. but he doesn’t see her face or her clothes, he doesn’t hear her breathless voice or her whispered curses. instead, joshua envisions you in her position, your hand sliding slowly down your stomach until it slips beneath that pretty, black thong and you’re fingering yourself.

he grits his teeth. joshua knows in each of his cells what he is visualizing is wrong, it’s demonstration of sin and submission to lust. he knows through his commitment to the church that he is betraying his reverence and severing inch by inch the purity he was taught to preserve. but the ache that rushes to his stomach is a feeling far too sweet. he can’t stop thinking about you. further poisoning himself, joshua shuts his eyes and listens intently for your moans, the sound of your slick as you sink in your digits.

now, it’s a hopeless situation.

joshua grabs his pillow and stuffs it below him. his tongue pokes slightly from his cotton pink mouth as he then rustles his shorts down, just until there’s enough room for him to free his length. the second he takes himself into his hand, feels how heavy and hard he’s become in such a short time, joshua just shakes his head. the mantra is stuck in his head, he knows what he’s doing is wrong, but at this point he’s willing to sacrifice a piece of his faith just to indulge in his lust. his body lowers back to the bed, and a soft gasp trembles at his lips once his sensitive, throbbing cock rubs against the plump pillow.

painfully, slowly, joshua begins to construct a rhythm. his elbows dig into the mattress while he makes gentle ruts into the fabric, the head of his member flushed a dark, amethyst purple, beading with come. his bangs stick to his eyes, his black hair a shaggy, unkempt mess, though joshua is too concentrated on the pleasure that aches at his core to even ponder brushing the strands away. he feels so vulnerable, so filthy and stained by sin as he spreads his legs wider to accommodate more of the pillow.

a burn resides in his biceps from holding himself up, but joshua manages to ignore it, clamping down harshly on the malleable inside of his cheek. he thrusts his hips at a much deeper interval, taking his time as his cock presses into the soft material and his jaw unhinges to release a shameful, stuttered moan. it feels so stupidly good that he can’t restrict himself – joshua moves his hips faster, humping the pillow eagerly while his skin begins to glisten in the sweltering heat of the bedroom.

“f-ffuck, oh fuck, f-feels so g-ggood,—,” he whimpers with blooming desire, allowing his chest to collapse flush against the mattress, instead shoving his hands beneath the blanket to hold the pillow steady.

his teeth sink into a full bottom lip, pricking down with enough force to potentially summon tiny bulbs of blood. joshua’s hair is matted and slightly curled  before his eyes while his cheek rubs against a thin linen sheet. though it’s impossible to see in the swathing darkness, his face is a beautiful, glowing shade of fuchsia and suddenly he can’t seem to keep his pretty mouth shut as he ruts desperately into the pillow. the worst part is that he’s overcome with the urge to moan your name, but he doesn’t even know it.

joshua practically cries hot, thick tears as the euphoria of his orgasm surges through his veins. his knuckles are paler than snowflakes, his fists grasping with an ironclad strength at the pillow while his cock jerks and spasms under the intensity of the pleasure. he’s incredibly sensitive, his skin is feeling enflamed, his heart pumps uncontrollably, and yet joshua won’t stop fucking against the pillow in an attempt to milk as much of his come as possible. everything is sticky and messy and the heat is tangible.

shakily, joshua pulls an arm free from the blankets and leans on his elbow, his other hand gingerly wrapping just below the head of his cock to squeeze out the last pearls of his come.

“s-shit,” he rasps and winces in sensitivity, especially as he draws a careful thumb over his swollen tip and pushes downward. somehow, the pain feels good. it thrums throughout his flesh and gifts him this electric sensation. joshua bites his lip as his warm seed spurts onto his thumb. he’s not short of utterly immoral thought, and imagines smearing your pink-stained lips with his come, your eyes fluttering up at him before your tongue licks it up gratefully and you beg him to fill your throat next time.

joshua knows he should put forth an effort to clean himself, but for the time being, he just can’t.

and in the afterglow of his orgasm, he goes back to bed.

joshua sighs as he comes to a halt in the middle of the aisle, staring up at the stained glass portrait that is brought to life through the warmth of morning sunlight. different shades gleam at him, from the scarlet reds to the cream, waxen whites and sapphires. he doesn’t feel at ease like he usually does upon observing the glass portrait. joshua chalks it up to his betrayal of purity. however, as filthy as the transgression was, as much as should yearn to seek atonement and visit his reverend, he feels indifferent.

it’s going to bother him in the future – knows it will, that the weight of his capitulation to a venereal pleasure has the ability to swallow him whole. he betrayed his promises to the church, and if he does not dampen this ember of immorality, then surely joshua will be sent to the rehabilitation board. suddenly, he hears a dainty voice behind him, and is overwhelmed with a lilac, summer scent. upon turning around, joshua finds himself staring at august, wrapped in her snow white gown and glimmering gold sash.

“sorry,” he mumbles, “i’ll move.”

“thank you, joshua,” she nods politely, “enjoy the service.”

“you too.”

august begins to slip past him. she smells overwhelmingly of lilac. he can only think that a person would lather themselves so generously in such a scent if they were attempting to fool people. august can smell as pure as a field of flowers, but that does her no good if joshua already knows what she’s hiding. anyways, it’s not his business. he has no room to be scornful or even the slightest bit judgemental when he had sinned himself. maybe she repents on her own time.

“y’know,” august pauses and smiles back at joshua, “we miss your guitar playing for choir. it was so lovely and showed magnificent spirit. have you ever considered picking it back up?”

joshua scratches his neck, “not really,” he admits, “i’ve already committed my mandatory service hours, so i guess i feel like i don’t need to play much anymore.”

“oh, how unfortunate…,” she frowns, “but, just because you’ve completed your hours, that doesn’t mean you should retire that part of your faith. a dutiful connection is a strong connection, and the church is a place to practice it. don’t let chances to embrace your spirituality slip away from you.”

“uhm,” joshua feels like he’s gaping at her as he uncomfortably replies, “okay, thanks.”

“no problem.” she lilts before continuing her way toward the front of the room.

for some reason, anger is beginning to froth beneath his skin. who was august to tell joshua that he should practice a strong connection to the church? that he should maintain his dutifulness? his spirituality? how can she stand before him and preach such advice when the entirety of her faith is based on dishonesty and extracting hedonism through sin? joshua knows he isn’t a perfect little replica of church ethics, and he certainly doesn’t go around advising people how to maintain their devotion.

the longer he stands in the church, the more joshua wants to leave.

but he can’t. service is obligatory.

as joshua chews his tongue and tries to relax, he glances for a place to sit, though in lieu of finding an empty spot on a pew, he sees your short, lace dress. you’re across the church, standing at the luminary table that is flickering with rows of candles dripping in shiny red wax. joshua nearly trips over himself shuffling into a pew, muttering insignificant apologies to all the legs he bumps in his haste. finally, he gets to approaching you, the mildness of your rainy scent soothing his earlier anger.

“hey.” joshua huffs, coming to stand beside you.

the flames reflect in your eyes like tiny orange stars. he watches your glossy mouth flutter into a smile, and his chest feels swollen with an intense appreciation for how beautiful you are.

“are you following me?” you giggle.

“definitely,” joshua follows along, “it’s not like we’re forced to be here or anything.”

your expression seems smug. “so you’re accepting it now, huh?”

he furrows his brow. “what?”

“the absurdity of it all,” you gesture from the candles to the church pews that are stuffed with perfumed, elegant bodies and solemn, expressionless faces, “that we have to be here. i’m assuming beforehand you used to embrace service as an enhancement to your life, something that you felt you needed. but now, you see it’s true colours.”

“oh,” joshua says in a bit of a haze, “i mean, there’re some good parts to it.”

“like what?” you challenge. “you think it’s good that there are people like august judging the strength of everyone’s devotion when she can’t keep a cock out of her mouth?”

joshua almost chokes. he has no idea how you even heard that conversation from across the room.

“n-no,” he fumbles for the right words, “not that. but—take the luminaries for example. they give people hope, closure, that there really is something bigger than them that’s gonna protect them.”

you give the candles a cold glance and shrug. “yeah, they give people a sense of something, but what good does it do for you?”

and at that moment, joshua had to admit you cornered him. he nestles his hands in his pockets, watching as you stretch out your index finger to a clump of wet wax running down the edge of a red candle. the hot liquid welts onto the softness of your skin. joshua tenses his jaw, suspecting you to pull away in rash discomfort. however, you allow the wax to build on the edge of your finger, almost until you get bored of the heat and there’s hardening red patches stinging numbly at your skin. joshua scrunches his nose.

“doesn’t that hurt?”

you end up sliding the wax off your finger after it’s been reasonably cooled by the chilled, church air. the pews are now bulging with families and couples, adolescents and the elderly. joshua assumes he’s going to have to stand for this service. before you slip away to bury yourself quietly in the density of the crowd, your body suddenly presses against joshua’s, chest flush with chest, so tight he can feel how your heart beats and the firmness of your breasts. his pulse stops. he can hardly breathe as your lips touch his ear.

“i like it when it hurts.”

and then you’re stepping away from him, a faint smirk curving wickedly up your mouth as joshua is left to subdue this concupiscent sensation pooling into his abdomen.

“wait—,” joshua yelps and quickly pivots.

you look over your shoulder.

“how come i’ve never seen you before?”

“i’m sure you have,” you purr, “you just never realized it.”

joshua doesn’t care about the church anymore.

it’s recently dawned on him that there are so many wonderful possibilities to life in the absence of a dictatorial clergy scheming to control the population. their equivocal methods of preaching have now fallen deaf to his ears. joshua feels he has broken free from the spell of fear he used to live by, that any smidgen of sin or unethical behaviour would conjure disappointment from the church, and he’d be sent off to the rehabilitation board or subjected to weekly, brainwashed counselling from his reverend.

he understands why august lives the way she does. she’s free as long as the clergy doesn’t catch her, as long as she appears to fit the angelic portrait painted of her by the church when she participates in service. august is never a suspect, and she knows exactly what she’s doing as she peers directly into joshua’s eyes and tells him to embrace his spirituality. she’s almost mocking him, provoking him to question if he really, truly believes that a strong connection with the church is the only connection he can ever maintain.

almost in spite of the doctrine that’s been chiselled into him for years, joshua finally decides to have fun.

with none other than you of course.

it’s early. a fiery light shines dimly through the stained glass and spills across the floor. joshua sits at the very front pew, his adam’s apple prodding sharply at the column of his throat as you take his cock as far down as your gag reflex will allow. his hand is threaded in tight, fistfuls of your hair, not forcing you to stay in position, but reminding you that he was close. joshua learned alarmingly quickly that your mouth was a lush sensation he valued more than any teaching his reverend had hacked in his dry, crumbly voice.

it was silk, warm and wet, and when you slowly pull your spit-slick lips up his shaft with a trail of saliva attached from your tongue to his head, joshua only falls in love with you that much harder. your nails curve into his thighs, imprinting flustered, red crescent moons. then, he hears you inhale a deep breath before fitting his cock back into your throat again. a shudder races down joshua’s spine. the flat of your tongue drags upward and suddenly you’re lapping up the thick come beading at his tip.

you gaze at him through your eyelashes while your tongue circles his sensitive slit. momentarily, you break contact and murmur to him breathily, “is your whore making you feel good?”

joshua cards his black fringe from his eyes. he holds it away from the perspiration on his forehead as you cushion your wet lips around his head and suckle softly. his hips cant upward, and a litany of curses threatens to pour from his mouth. joshua releases his burning grip on your scalp. with a gentle passing thumb, he strokes your warm cheek, his tone deep and slightly husky, but still true to its sweetness.

“so good,” he chuckles, “pretty whore likes to suck cock? likes it when i paint her throat with my come?”

“mmhm,” you hum while tracing a thrumming vein up his shaft, “love it so much.”

in addition to no longer caring about the church, joshua also doesn’t care that you’re a fallen angel. he knows the reverend would have clubbed him upside the head with the heaviest scripture in his library if he caught wind of joshua’s complete and utter betrayal. but joshua no longer sees the point in pretending as though the natural demands of his body are related to sin. he wants to feel good, and he wants to know the sensations that the church has restricted for solely those who are married.

the thing is, he trusts you more than he has ever trusted his reverend, even if you are a malevolent being.

joshua exhales shakily as you kiss up and down his hard length, your pink lip tint smeared away to reveal the natural pigment of your mouth. you’re adorned in the usual attire, that lace church dress you cut to make notably shorter. except, the dress has experienced some wear and tear. the chest no longer buttons up as tightly as it used to. the buttons always fly open whenever joshua handles you roughly. while you swirl your tongue around his engorged, purple head, joshua can see the soft swell of your breasts.

he knows you have all the time in the world before people begin filtering in for service, but joshua is overwhelmed with the desire to fuck you now.

“hey,” he grunts, and you lift your face from his stomach, “how about we fuck up there?” joshua nods his chin toward the altar.

you smile at him your agreement, though return to taking his cock in your mouth. joshua suddenly grasps onto your hair and pulls you up. your brows furrow.

“now?”

“yeah.” he insists.

your smooth palm is still stroking his shaft, spreading his arousal as a lubricant. frowning, you mewl in half-hearted protest, “but i want to taste you.”

truthfully, you are beyond endearing, and usually joshua would be fucking your face at this point until his seed coated your throat, tears flooding your eyes as you swallowed every drop. but he’s leaning toward something different tonight, something that will truly separate him from the orthodoxy of the church.

“i know,” joshua coos, “it’s just that tonight, i want to be inside you so fucking badly, sweetheart. i want to feel you. i promise i’ll do you right, i’ll come inside, okay?”

instantly you perk up, like a kitten that sees its owner approaching with a bowl of cream. “really?” you exclaim and lick your lips.

joshua nods, “mmhm. does that sound good, baby? you want me to fill you up and really make you my whore? will that make you happy?”

you’re scrambling to your feet. joshua knows that any opportunity to cram more rebellion against the church is like nectar to a fallen angel. your footsteps reverberate to the very back of the room as you hastily shuffle to the altar. its surface is cold, blonde marble that reflects the morning light. you hardly flinch as your bare thighs touch the stone. in a single tug, you rip open the remainder of your dress. it splits down your chest and joshua watches you lustfully as you toss your bra aside.

the process begins of shedding all clothing. in the end, you’re sitting atop the marble, joshua standing between your legs with his cock weighing heavy in his palm. your whole body jerks in impatience and sensitivity when he rubs his flushed, throbbing head to your slit, allowing your arousal to spill onto his length. joshua smirks as he pumps his shaft, purposefully pushing out creamy pearls of his come. he then guides his flushed tip to settle against your clit, circling the wet, sticky region until you buckle.

“p-pplease joshua,” your voice warbles, “it h-hurts, need you to just f-fill me up and fuck me, please.”

satisfaction simmers in his gaze. leaning over you, joshua parts your lips with his tongue and wraps your legs around his waist. when your heels click at his back, he starts pushing inside you, the sensation akin to smooth, slippery velvet squeezing all around him. already you begin to clench down and joshua chuckles into the kiss. he pulls his tongue from your honeyed mouth, looking deep into your eyes to see how glazed they are with pleasure. smirking, he bites down gently on your bottom lip.

“relax, baby,” he groans, “i’m almost there.”

you take a moment to breath before joshua can feel your walls easing around his cock. there remains an enveloping tightness, but it’s deliciously wet and warm, and as his hips succeed in thrusting as far into you as he can, your fingers scratch burning, scarlet rivulets down his biceps. joshua loves it. he loves that he gets to fuck you like this, the sound of your skin roughly colliding echoing throughout the church. the stained glass portrait stares down at you, and it only spurs joshua’s desire to indulge his pleasures further.

“o-oh f-fuck! ri-right there, right t-there! h-harder, please, pl-please, fuck me h-harder—,”

what joshua adores is that you’re unafraid to scream for him, to ruin your own vocal chords in these filthy, desperate cries. it’s difficult to fathom that in merely an hour, this same church will be filled to the brim with townspeople, all powdered up and dressed in the most honorary of clothing, singing timeless hymns and lowering to their knees to utter private thoughts and prayers into their rosaries. joshua glides his tongue up your neck, circling the wet muscle at your thundering pulse.

then, his hand is wrapping firmly around your throat, his fingers pressing against your windpipe and altering the tone of your reckless mewling. in a beautiful curve, your spine arches into him, a hand even flying from his bicep to grip the edge of the altar above your head. consequently you bump over a golden chalice and a candle stick. they clatter to the carpet with a thud, completely disregarded as joshua thrusts his hips against you fiercely, watching your fingers splay against the wrist that holds your throat.

“r-right there, yeah?” joshua mocks you with a smirk flitting up his lips. “you gonna come then? is my little whore gonna come from being f-fucked right on the altar?”

though joshua has you tightly pinned against the stone, you still manage to squirm under him, the once cold marble turning to fire that scorches your skin. your fingernails sink into his wrist. the air is light and flickering in colours as it twirls above your head, but it amplifies the ecstasy until you can only think in fleeting morsels. sin has never felt so fulfilling. joshua knows his orgasm is teetering on the edge of a collapse. he’s inconceivably eager to breed you, to create a new connection beyond the clergy’s control.

how obscene, he casually thinks, to knock up your own fucking fallen angel.

 “bet it feels nice, doesn’t it? knowing m’gonna pump all my come into you.” joshua grins as the head of his cock consistently thrusts into that one spongey spot. it makes your body yearn to convulse and violently twist. evidently, you’re nearing an earthshattering orgasm.

“you’re gonna look so pretty,” joshua rests his forehead against your own and gently squeezes your throat, his voice tinged with an unprecedented tenderness as he can’t evade from his rambling, “so, so pretty carrying my baby. you’ll be glowing, s-so precious and beautiful. t-they just can’t find out, c-can’t ever let them know i got you like this, yeah? g-gotta keep it a s-se-secret—,”

joshua is interrupted by the strength of his own orgasm. it bursts in his abdomen, his hand slipping from your throat and latching onto the altar’s edge. you’re quick to mimic his release, the contractions forcing the silk of your walls to tighten around his cock as his warm come spills inside of you. your heels dig into the base of his spine unforgivingly, keeping joshua pressed fully against you while you fumble and squirm out the blissful waves that have shaken even the marrow in your bones.

in the time it takes your bodies to regain a notable strength, heavy breaths wander to every crevice of the church,  morning sunlight rippling across joshua’s back in the rubescent shades of the stained glass. he slowly peels himself from your searing skin. when he glances down at your panting chest and the cloudiness of your eyes, the light bathing across your supple flesh, joshua knows in the pit of his core that if he is going to turn away from the church, you are the person he must be with.

his own fallen angel.

he didn’t realize how much he’d emptied into you until he spots the slight bulge in your stomach. you wince as he attempts to draw his cock from your opening. joshua pauses quickly to check your state. rather than a breathless warning for him to be gentle, you start smiling, and in slow, attentive movements you begin to sit up. joshua grasps your hips while you hold onto his broad, amber shoulders. something molten expands in his stomach when you peck him softly before murmuring against his mouth,

“spit on me.”

in the moment, it was the last, fleeting act of complete immorality that would transpire at the altar.

joshua then obeys, and he spits onto where his cock is still buried in your heat. fastening your teeth into your bottom lip, you thrust your hips faintly, the added stimulation coursing akin to an electric shock through both of your bodies. joshua’s spit mixes with his come and your arousal. you squeak sharply when he rubs it further into your clit with his thumb, though joshua silences you with a warm, deep kiss in which he can taste the remaining strawberry tint pink on your lips.

he feels that corruption suits him, especially as he sees the sacred items you earlier knocked down in the pinnacle of pleasure.

“joshua,” you hum while he picks up his clothes and slips them piece by piece back over his body.

turning around, joshua sees you still sitting on the altar, gripping between your legs, desperate to not let his come further spill in sticky trails down your thighs.

“what should i do?” you question.

his laughter echoes into the high ceilings.

“i never thought this far.” he admits, ruffling a hand through his black tresses, “do you have any fallen angel powers that like… stop it from coming out?”

you fold your arms over your chest and pout. “it doesn’t work like that.”

“well,” he comments, picking up your tattered dress on his way toward the altar, “whenever you want to tell me how it does work, i’m right here.”

joshua plants a kiss on the tip of your nose.

besides, it’s not like he can’t just fuck you full again. joshua is sure there’s enough time to escape home for another round before he has to trudge back to another mandatory service. however, he’ll definitely resonate with a different feeling in comparison to all his past sunday’s stuffed within the church. because instead of worrying over how faithful he’s been, or how much he should concentrate on strengthening his devotion, he’ll be reminiscing on your sexual endeavours that transpired right at the altar.

yeah, joshua convicts in his head, being corrupt doesn’t seem so bad after all.

[blaineandersonsub]

Your Song | Seblaine

Who: Sebastian Smythe & Blaine Anderson @switchseb

When: Saturday, 2/13/21

Where: Music Practice Room

What: First kiss, then pain.

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine took a deep breath as he watched his fingers gracefully move across the keys of the piano he was sat at, to the tune of Teenage Dream, that was in a practice room he'd managed to grab for the afternoon. Singing and playing music in any capacity helped him relax in more ways than he could describe, and it was when he was at his most comfortable, so it just made sense to be doing so while mentally preparing for Sebastian to arrive. Because of course he had to go develop a crush on a straight guy, something he'd promised himself he'd never do again when it happened the first time. He was about mid-song when he heard the door open behind him, and he jumped and quickly turned on the stool, running a hand over his gelled hair to reassure himself that he looked okay. "Hey, Sir. I was... just warming up. It's nice to see you, you look... great. As usual," He said, offering the taller man a small smile as he played with his fingers in his lap.

Sebastian Smythe

Sebastian knew it was dangerous to spend more time with Blaine so soon after their scene on Thursday, but he couldn't deny himself the joy he felt when he was around him. But Sebastian convinced himself that if he was able to maintain self control then, he would be able to do so now. Even if he didn't know which room he was meeting Blaine, he would have followed the sound of the music coming from a well tuned piano. He could carry a tune on it, but nothing like what Blaine was doing. Sebastian didn't knock, he just peered through the glass window in the middle of the door and let himself in. "It's nice to see you too. But you don't have to stop on my account," he assured him, taking a seat against the wall. It gave him the perfect view of Blaine on the piano. Sebastian crossed his legs and offered a small smile. "Please, continue."

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine let out a nervous, soft laugh as he glanced back at the piano over his shoulder, biting the inside of his lower lip. "I... right. Sure," He said, turning on the stool once more before taking a deep breath. Of course he had to choose this song to warm up with, when the one person that came to mind while singing the majority of it was less than ten feet away. He started the song over, but kept his eyes glued to the piano this time as he both sang and played. He didn't trust himself to look over there, not when he knew just how expressive his eyes could be. A few moments later, he played the final note and sang the last word, then pressed a combination of keys to indicate that he was finished. "So, uh... was it okay?" He asked, analyzing each and every action, each and every word he sang in the process. He could hear a few parts where he could have controlled his breathing a little better, but not even he could fault himself for that in this particular situation.

Sebastian Smythe

This was an easy exchange for Sebastian. All he really needed to do was show up and listen. So it was unclear to him why he was so tense. He didn’t recognize the song when he first stepped in, but when Blaine restarted it did and he listened to every word, his mind wandering. While he played, Sebastian didn’t take his eyes off of him. There was so much passion in his voice and he wished he could see his face. But it was probably better this way. This way Sebastian could keep his gaze on the other man without feeling like he had to pull away. This way Sebastian could memorize Blaine’s profile and the curve of his back and legs. Sebastian have a soft clap at the conclusion of the song and placed the smile back on his face when Blaine turned to face him. “It was more than okay,” he confirmed truthfully. “Is that a go to song for you? I can tell that it’s well practiced, it was flawless even.”

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine blushed and looked down at his lap when Sebastian started clapping, laughing softly and nodding once. "I... yeah, it is. I've been playing and singing that song for years now. Katy Perry is a personal favorite, but also Pink and other top 40s artists. Not totally about the musicals. I also have a few Freddie Mercury's under my belt. I can also play guitar and violin. All self taught," He explained, a proud glint in his eye as he moved his gaze back up to meet Sebastian's. He had quite the repertoire of music styles he could both sing and play, and he was incredibly proud of it. "Do you play at all? Piano, I mean," He asked, offering the other man a small smile.

Sebastian Smythe

There it was again, the passion that was sparked when Blaine was confronted with something he loved. Except this time Sebastian got to see it in person. His lips quirked up into a subtle smile as he listened to Blaine go on and on about his repertoire. "Self taught, huh? Impressive." When the conversation was brought back to him, he simply nodded and moved from where he was sitting to sit next to Blaine on the piano bench. "I'm not as skilled as you but I can play enough to stay in tune when I'm singing." Sebastian played a C scale, then a D♭ scale and finally a D scale before pulling his fingers back from the piano and placing his clasped hands in his lap. "Now enough about me, I'm sure I was promised a particular song," Sebastian reminded, moving his gaze from the piano to the man right next to him.

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine watched the other's hands closely, with both surprise and intrigue, as Sebastian began to play the three scales. He knew he shouldn't be this stunned, because he wasn't the only piano player in the world, but this was just another thing he and the Switch had in common. Something they could share and talk about, maybe even do together. God, why do you have to be hetero? He smiled, his gaze moving up to meet the taller man's, who he was now realizing was much closer than he thought. He didn't mind it though, he got a better view of each and every one of those beautiful features the other possessed. When Sebastian looked over at him, he quickly looked around the room in an attempt to play it off, chewing on his lip for a moment before nodding. "That's true. We should also practice that duet, I believe. I promised you Your Eyes, right?" He tried, turning his attention back to the piano and playing a few scales of his own just because he could.

Sebastian Smythe

Sebastian also underestimated how close they were until Blaine turned to look at him. So close he could feel the other man's breath on his face. He tried not to let it show how it affected him, keeping a stead breath and his hands put. If he just leaned a little closer... Sebastian stood up, keeping his composure as he smoothed down the front of his clothes. "I wouldn't be opposed to a little practice as well. But yes, first you did promise me a rendition of Your Eyes." Sebastian moved to the spot he previously held, sitting with his legs crossed. "Don't want to crowd you." He explained. "Plus this is the best seat in the house. It allows me to see everything."

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine let out a soft breath when Sebastian got up to move, he just wasn't sure if it was in protest or relief. Having Sebastian close felt good, but on the flip side, it was dangerous. He was already having feelings he shouldn't have for a guy he literally couldn't have, he didn't need to make that any more obvious than it was. His gaze followed Sebastian as he sat, and he simply nodded and offered him a small smile before turning and starting to play the song. He didn't feel he could trust himself to speak. It was easy enough to get through though, and well within his vocal range, so getting the song out was no problem. The problem he was having was avoiding looking over there, but eventually he just gave in and smiled over at Sebastian as he sang and played in tandem. It would be rude not to when playing a song the other man had specifically requested anyway, he felt. After he played the last note, he rubbed his hands together in his lap. "And how did the guy in the best seat in the house like that little number?" He grinned.

Sebastian Smythe

From the first note to the last, Sebastian was enthralled. Blaine's voice hit him in the chest like a ton of bricks cracking his heart and causing it to spread out into his limbs. He couldn't remember the last time he was moved by a song like this. But Sebastian maintained control, even when he looked over and made eye contact. He was in awe, watching as the song was delivered in such a flawless manner, it was absolutely impossible to keep his eyes off of Blaine. When it ended, Sebastian wanted nothing more than to ask Blaine to keep singing. He clapped once more and returned the submissive's grin. "It was remarkable." As someone who didn't do big displays of emotion, that was plenty for him. Sebastian stood once more, this time because there was too much space between them and he took a seat next to Blaine once more. "Teach me."

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine blushed and laughed softly, looking back down at the keys to try and conceal just how red his cheeks were getting when Sebastian complimented him. "Yeah? Remarkable?" He asked, glancing up when he heard the sound of footsteps. It took him back to their first meeting, when he'd been standing next to the piano in the choir room and he could hear footsteps approaching from behind. The thought made him smile even more as his gaze followed the other man, who moved to sit next to him. "Yeah, okay," He said in a softer tone, hesitating before carefully taking Sebastian's wrist on his left hand. He carefully placed the Switch's finger on middle C and smiled up at him. "This is like... your home key. It's middle C, aka a quaint little town between treble clef land and bass clef land. Now," He paused, starting to rearrange Sebastian's fingers on both hands, carefully placing them on the keys he'd need for the opening notes to the song. "Play each key from left to right, starting with your left pinky."

Sebastian Smythe

Sebastian was more than ready to take Blaine's lead and didn't protest when Blaine took his hand. He just hoped Blaine didn't feel the way his pulse quickened when he did so or the way he held his breath until his wrist was released. It wasn't the direction he was expecting them to go in but he didn't stop them until he realized exactly what was happening. There was a soft chuckle and a gentle touch to Blaine's back to get his attention. He was amused, but there was nothing but affection in his eyes as he looked down at Blaine. "No, sweetheart. I know how to play the piano. I meant teach me how to play that song in particular." It was easy to see how his request was misconstrued. He wasn't very clear with what he asked. "Or just a part of it. Let's start with the chorus."

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine blinked and his face pretty much turned bright red, a nervous laugh erupting from his mouth. "Oh God," He huffed out, then hid his face in both hands as he shook his head. "Right, okay. I... should have guessed that, because hello... you knew those three scales. I just... oops," He murmured, peeking out from his hands after a moment before looking back down at the keys, wrinkling his nose up for a moment. "Yeah, okay," He said, then moved to start playing the first part of the chorus slowly, making sure to tell Sebastian each note as he played it. After the first , he then pulled his hands back, glancing up at the other man. "Your turn."

Sebastian Smythe

Sebastian's immediate reaction was to sooth the submissive. He continued to rub Blaine's back and shush him as he had his moment. "No," he chuckled. "It's okay. I wasn't very clear with what I meant." It was hard not to focus on how adorable he looked in his current state and if it wasn't the result of Blaine being embarrassed he would want to see it more often. Sebastian was so focused on the notes Blaine was playing and following suit that he kept his hand on the other man's back. Not only that, but it just felt the most comfortable on the small piano bench. Gracefully, he placed his fingers on the keys and tried to use what he knew about the different scales and his memory to play the melody. The rhythm was a little off but the notes were all right. "That was easy enough. I'm going to be a regular ol' Elton John by the time you're done with me," he joked with a bright smile.

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine should have been watching Sebastian's hands as he played, but he was more focused on his features. The way his eyes bounced around the piano as he focused on the keys, that stunning smile that had formed while he was playing, the way his hair stayed perfectly styled, even while looking down, the light freckles that littered the other man's cheeks. He was certain he hadn't run into someone this pretty in far too long, and even still, he could feel Sebastian's comforting touch against his back, and the fingers in his hair just a few days prior, and even the hand against his cheek as he fell asleep. When the song started coming to a close he was forced to push those thoughts aside, instead taking a breath and dropping his eyes down to watch Sebastian play the last few notes. He couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows a little at the Elton John reference, biting his lip hard as he glanced up at the other man. "Elton John, huh?" He asked, playfully elbowing the other man. You might want to rethink getting married then. But he wouldn't ever say that out loud.

Sebastian Smythe

When Sebastian would look back at this moment, he would curse himself for making an Elton John reference. There was just something about Blaine that was so comforting, so much so that Sebastian felt as though he could really be himself around him. It was something he hadn't felt in a very long time. "He's the piano man right?" Sebastian tried to play it off. "Oh no, that's Billy Joel. You'll make me a regular ol' Billy Joel." Sebastian laughed as he scratched the back of his head, but he couldn't take his eyes off Blaine. He was so close again, even closer than he was before and this time Sebastian didn't want to pull away or move. It was like an outside force took over his body forcing him to do what he's wanted to do since the first time he met Blaine after Glee practice that day. He leaned forward, the hand on Blaine's back moving up to cup his cheek while the other followed suit on the other side. "You have hazel specs in your eyes, did you know that?" Sebastian whispered before closing the space between them and capturing Blaine's lips with his own.

Blaine D. Anderson

Blaine's didn't quite know what to do with himself when he felt Sebastian's hand moving up his back, then his neck before both of the Switch's hands were resting on his cheeks. He stayed as still as he could, a brief look of pure affection just radiating off of him as he took in how close they were, how beautiful Sebastian was, how stunning his eyes were and how soft his hands are. The comment about his eyes had a soft smile forming on his lips, but before he could even say anything in response, Sebastian's lips were on his and his entire body tensed. A million questions raced around his head. Do I kiss back? I thought he was straight? What about Miss Frannie? Is this even right? Where do I put my hands? Should I pull back? God, this feels good. Give into urges. He found himself revisiting Max's advice several times a day now, and this situation was no different. He could deal with any consequences later. Pressing himself closer, he finally closed his eyes and moved one of his own hands up to rest at the back of Sebastian's neck, the other on his cheek as he tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss further.

Sebastian Smythe

If Sebastian was thinking straight, he would have reminded himself that this was a bad idea. Fucking around with other men was one thing, but when feelings were involved, that's when things started getting tricky. It's why he had been so wary of spending time with Blaine, why he kept him at a distance, told him he was straight and that they would only be friends. But Sebastian let himself get carried away and before he knew it, he was invested and he lost control. His head was screaming at him to stop, but he didn't listen. All he knew was that this felt right and in this moment, nothing else mattered. When Blaine returned the kiss, it was as if Sebastian couldn't get close enough. One hand dropped to his back and he tugged him impossibly close, nearly pulling the smaller man into his lap. At the turn of Blaine's head, Sebastian pressed his tongue forward so he could taste he inside of Blaine's mouth. Sebastian moaned as their tongues swirled and teeth clanked and for a fraction of a second he felt complete. He moved his hand to grip at Blaine's thigh and when he did his elbow hit the piano, resulting in a painful crash of notes that snapped Sebastian out of it and finally forced him to pull away. His heart was racing and while he wanted nothing more than to pick back up where they left off, his brain wouldn't let him. There was an internal struggle. A fight that his fear won. His situation meant he could fuck any guy he wanted, but developing real feelings for one? He couldn't do that. So Sebastian decided that this needed to stop. Right now. He stood up and without so much as a word or an explanation, walked out of the practice room. Sebastian needed to reevaluate what his purpose was and what he was doing here. He couldn't let anything interrupt that, even if there was nothing he wanted more.

Blaine D. Anderson

The kiss was absolutely intoxicating, and all Blaine could keep thinking was 'more, more, more,' his entire body seeming to go into autopilot in an effort to chase what felt right. As he was pulled closer, practically on Sebastian's lap, he moved both hands up to thread his fingers into the back of the other man's hair, offering light tugs and gentle nails on his scalp as their tongues moved and teeth clanked. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would break right through his ribcage, and he could feel Sebastian's doing the same. The intensity and the passion behind what was occurring had him physically responding more than he could recall ever doing in any other situation. His arms were covered in goosebumps, the hair at the base of his neck was on edge, it felt like every inch of skin had been ignited. And just as he was about to take it just that much further, there was a loud crash of the piano keys that had Sebastian pulling away, Blaine left with flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and wide eyes as he tried to comprehend what had just occurred, and why. There was an awkward silence between them, and he darted his tongue out to run it over his lower lip as he withdrew and glanced down toward the piano. Shit. After a moment, he finally said, "Hey, Sebastian, we-" But he was cut off by the other man abruptly standing and turning to leave without so much as another glance or sound. "Sebastian, wait, I-" He tried to get out, but then the door to the practice room closed, and he was left with nothing but an extreme amount of regret, confusion, and maybe even a little hurt.