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[devilmademewriteit]

Pretty When You Cry

part 2 of Dark But Just A Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: after getting a taste of dad’s associate, Joel Miller, facedown on a desk, you can’t seem to stay away. despite his best efforts, he can’t seem to, either.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mentions of reader having long-ish hair; alcohol consumption; pet names (sweetheart, angel, baby); dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance); age gap; dbf!Joel.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka bestie4lifie

word count: 4.7k

no use of y/n in this fic

Click to read part 1: Dark But Just a Game

Click to read part 3: Let Me Love You Like a Woman

ok y’all here she is!! thank you thank you for the reblogs on part 1! this piece and the last were slightly inspired by the dbf!joel miller drabbles by @anchoeritic, which you can read here. once again, love hearing your feedback, negative and positive, & my requests are always open<3

-em<333

—

It had been months since you’d last seen him.

Joel and Tess had a tendency of disappearing for weeks on end, taking the riskier smuggling jobs that nobody else dared to. How they managed to fly under FEDRA’s radar time and time again remained a mystery to all. The pair had to be extremely well connected on both ends of the spectrum.

It was easy to pretend that nothing had changed. He’d left without a word the morning after the party, taking Tess and a great deal of your father’s ammo along with him. It’s not like you’d expected a warning, much less a goodbye, but his departure still felt so sudden, so pointed. The next day, all he’d left you with was a constellation of light bruises between your thighs and a small, white pill in a dime bag tucked under your bedroom door.

So you went on with your life, only allowing your thoughts to wander in his direction when you’d had too much to drink or whenever you heard the word ‘sweetheart.’

Then, this morning—rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’d stumbled down to the main floor in a scant excuse for pajamas, failing to register the multitude of voices at the base of the stairs in your half-awake state.

And there he was, his spread legs taking up half of the shabby couch, one arm draped casually over the back, his other relaxed at his side. A deer in headlights, you screeched to a stop as soon as you were conscious enough to recognize him, frozen in his gaze as he briefly took you in—one hand shifting subtly to pull at the fabric of his jeans. Then, he looked away, his features hardening into a mask of nonchalance and indifference.

No acknowledgment, no greeting, no nothing.

Great. Things were back to how they’d been before he’d fucked you dumb on a wooden desk.

Scampering back up the stairs, you sealed yourself back into your bedroom, doing your very best to ignore the heat building between your legs.

A heat that only Joel-Fucking-Miller could entice from you.

Leaning your forehead against the door, you kicked yourself mentally for running away from the (non)interaction like a scared little kid. Where had that bygone, unchecked confidence gone? Where was that fearless playfulness you’d so often used against him?

Fine. If Joel wanted to pretend that nothing had happened between you two, he was leaving you with two options.

The first was to ignore him back.

No, you decided. That would be exactly what he’d want of you—what he’d expect of you.

To make things easy for him.

Conveniently, your second option was to make things really, really hard for him. To make it impossible for him to ignore you.

Good thing you were exceptionally well versed in what made Joel Miller incapable of disregarding you. Getting him to snap was practically your specialty, your carefully crafted home-made method.

After all, your incessant teasing had gotten you facedown on a table before, maybe it could get you on your back this time.

Smiling mischievously, you felt your old confidence soar back to its former standing.

—

“What could possibly be more fun than watching a building explode?”

Emma punctuates her tone with incredulity like a needle passing through silk—she was always doing a poor job of managing her attitude when it came to peer-pressuring you.

“C’mon, you know I can’t leave the boss here with all these people,” you lie effortlessly. Of course, you could leave. Hell, your dad probably would’ve preferred it that way. There weren’t many parents who enjoyed or encouraged the presence of their child while they were—oh, just committing criminal offenses—and your father was no exception.

Under normal circumstances, gallivanting around the moonlit city with Emma would’ve been your bread and butter, especially when she had intel on a firefly operation that would be (she hoped) culminating in a few explosions and a ton of rounds fired. But it wasn’t every night that your old man hosted a soirée for the best bandits in the city to congregate, getting them to drink shit liquor and make shit deals.

And Joel Miller was in your home, drinking the strong stuff and actively avoiding you.

So, these were not normal circumstances.

“That’s so lame,” she whines, brow furrowing in anguish as she mourns her mission.

Guilty eyes to the floor, you toss her a placating smile, thankful for her poor observation skills. Despite being raised in a family of highly successful criminals, Emma seriously lacked in the whole ‘perception’ department.

As it happened, you were just about ready to give up on your own mission. Despite going bra-less in the tightest top you owned and wearing the most ass-hugging jeans you could find, Joel hadn’t spared a mere glance in your direction all night.

In fact, you hadn’t even seen the guy. He’d been M.I.A. all night.

Frustrated, you decide to play your final card. Joel Millers aside, it was a fun card to play, even if you ended up losing the game.

Someone was going to have their hands on you tonight.

Scanning the bustling room of criminals, worn-in faces and worn-out hands gliding across your field of vision, your gaze lands on an unfamiliar young man. Tall, blonde-ish, lanky—looks like a toy still in its box, begging to be taken out and played with.

Perfect.

“Give me an hour,” you murmur urgently, catching Emma’s wayward attention, “no questions asked, and I’ll watch the damn shoot out with you, sparky.”

She looks at you, a bewildered smile creeping onto her expression. “But I thought—you just said—”

“Without asking any questions, Em.”

She puts her hands up in mock surrender and backs away, subsequently tapping her wrist and mouthing ‘one hour.’

Straightening yourself out, you ease your way toward your target, landing in the unoccupied space between the young man and the out-of-commission fireplace. He eyes you up before quickly looking away.

Nervous. Good.

“He waters down the drinks, y’know.”

Looking up at him through your eyelashes, the stranger returns your attempt at conversation with a puzzled glance. Jerking your chin, you gesture to his cup, full of a light-brown liquid that was once a spiced rum or a bourbon, now a glass of water barely seasoned with dark liquor.

“Saves the good stuff to repackage and resell to soldiers. His crime co-conspirators get stuck with the weak shit.”

You keep your tone casual, half focussed on the art of flirtation, half eyeing the room for a pair of angry, dark eyes. The boy sizes you up, nodding with sudden respect and understanding.

“You’re the boss’s daughter.”

You smile half-heartedly, a twisted part of you enjoying the look of amazement on his face. “Guilty,” you respond, shrugging sheepishly. Angling your body towards him, you flash him your most exquisite expression of interest.

“Meet him, yet?” You ask, curious to hear his thoughts. After all, your old man never failed to make an impression—nine times out of ten, it was an extremely negative one.

He shakes his head, explaining, “I only know about him ‘cause I’m here running my first job for him.”

“Interesting. And you are…?”

He stares down into his cup.

“Just passing through,” he answers quietly.

“Just-Passing-Through—what an interesting name!” You tease, hand landing gently on his bicep. “Is it foreign?”

The stranger snorts. Eyes darting across the space, you scan the room again for Joel, giggling artificially with the stranger.

“So,” He gestures awkwardly to the dusty, yellowing, crowded room. “You live here?”

You nod, gazing intently into his hazel eyes. The boy’s cute, there’s no denying it, and a tiny voice in your head tells you to forget about Miller, to actually try with this guy and experience something normal, something simple for a change.

But it is a tiny voice, and quickly, another louder, deeper and richer one reemerges to dominate over the softer echoes in your head. “I like needy” “you think of me when you’re touchin’ this pretty pussy?” “Takin’ it so good, pretty girl—”

The pair of bandits in front of you inadvertently shuffle a few feet to the left, clearing a direct path, right down the center of the room. You’re graced with an illuminating glimpse through the disorderly crowd.

He’s leaning against the old gas stove, burly arms crossed over his chest, apparently deep in conversation with your father. Shit. He looks so fucking fine in that dark t-shirt; your breath catches slightly as you trail your gaze up to his face, remembering the way his soft stubble felt against your neck, the way those hands felt on your tits, your ass, your waist, buried inside you…

Cool it, you scold yourself. We’ve still got work to do.

“You like music?” You ask abruptly, returning your attention to the lanky boy at your side.

Taken aback, he rubs the back of his neck, replying, “Uhh, I guess?”

“Great.” Plucking his cup from his grasp and placing it above the fireplace, you hold out your hands to him. He smiles a soft, sweet, shy smile—excitement burgeoning in his timid eyes—and links his fingers with yours.

Pulling the stranger across the room, you briefly lock eyes with Emma, whose mouth gapes open as she relays her classic what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you-and-also-you’re-my-hero expression, which you return with your own specialty, an I-don’t-know-how-we-got-here-but-here-we-are shrug. You make a point not to look in Joel’s direction, giggling affectionately as you climb the stairs with your gaze fixed on the boy’s. It was better if he thought you were doing this because you wanted to and not just to make him jealous.

So what if it was a petty game to play? Games had won you Joel the first time. They could sure as hell win you him again.

Your door creaks on its hinges as you press your free hand to it, the occupied one still interlaced between gentle, long fingers. Guiding the boy into the room, you make a conscious choice to leave the door ajar. Sure, it felt riskier (and that alone was enough to entice you), but it also seemed more natural—something a stupid, horny youngster would do.

The stranger stands self-consciously in the middle of your room, taking in the unmade bed, the faded, distressed curtains, and the old cassette player on your dresser. Shuffling over, you hit play, and Jimi Hendrix’s skilled fingers work their magic over the ancient speakers.

Spinning around to face him, you lean back casually against the hard, wooden edge of the dresser.

“You know it?” You ask, voice infused with seduction, intrigue, and mystery—all those things that men seemed to enjoy.

He frowns in concentration. “Heard it, probably couldn’t name it.”

“Can’t name Hendrix?” You gasp, feigning offense with a hand over your heart. He shrugs shyly, smiling down at his feet.

He really was sweet. Something extremely gentle dominated his disposition, something that pulled you in and asked you not to leave. He’d watch meteor showers with you and lend you his jacket if you shivered within a 10-mile radius of him. He’d ask, “is this okay?” before laying you down and making sweet love to you—missionary, of course, so he could look into your eyes and steal soft moans from your mouth with passionate kisses. Hell, he’d probably get straight for you, ditch the fast life, build a nursery and raise babies with you.

You fling out your hand, daring him to take it. Hesitantly, he moves to grasp your fingers in his, looking down to search your softened stare.

“You’re pretty fearless, huh?” He strokes your index affectionately with his thumb.

Chuckling under your breath, you lift a curious hand to trace his cheekbone. “I know what I want,” you reply in a partly seductive, partly earnest whisper. He ducks his head, and you rise onto your tippy toes to press your lips to his, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“M’I interrupting somethin’?” A deep voice booms from the doorway.

The stranger swings around, revealing one half-annoyed, half-amused Joel Miller, arms crossed, leaning informally against the frame. Your heart lurches in your chest, drumming hard and fast. Stifling the reaction, you fix your eyes unabashedly onto his, recognizing the unchecked danger roaming his gaze.

Oh, fuck.

“Joel.” You acknowledge him coolly. “Nice to have you back.”

He ignores your reproachful taunt and the pointed tone you deliver it in, breaking away from your glare. The tense, tall form next to you shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

Joel draws an understated smirk, drinking in the effect of his presence. “You’re needed downstairs.”

You raise an interrogative eyebrow at him. “For what?”

“Not you, sweetheart,” Joel condescends. “Him.”

You gape at him, gaze darting between the two men, not comprehending a damn thing.

“Oh!” The boy lunges forward, extending a gangly hand toward Joel. “You must be the boss, then, yeah?” He gestures back to you. “Told her earlier I was startin’ out with you tonight. Thanks a lot for the opportunity, man, really—” he rambles.

Joel shows no signs of acknowledgment aside from an inconspicuous twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you snort involuntarily—defensively—as over-correction corrupts your tone, gushing, “Joel is not my dad.”

Subtle amusement flashes across Miller’s expression.

“Oh,” the boy responds, hands dropping to his sides in embarrassment.

Joel clears his throat, interrupting the brief interlude of painfully awkward muteness. You think a silent thank you to Jimi Hendrix’s guitar for making the moment a tad less excruciating. “Down the stairs and to the left,” Miller instructs. “They’re waitin’ on you.”

The stranger nods. Shuffling towards the door, he spins on his heels, relaying to you a sheepish wave, mumbling out a hopeful “see you around.”

He leaves. The din from the main floor and the music from the speakers punctuates your tense stand-off with Joel Miller as genuine annoyance clouds your thoughts.

You simmer speechlessly.

“Good song,” he mentions off-hand. Stifling a scoff at the nonchalance, the cockyness, and the sheer casualness of his demeanour, your annoyance swells.

“You’re needed downstairs.” You mock his deep voice, throwing up air quotes to drive the derision home. “Really, Miller? That’s the best you could come up with?”

A shrug.

“S’true, sweetheart. Go n’ see for yourself if you want.”

“Bullshit.”

Again, he shrugs, eyeing you up hungrily, visibly entertained by your flustered state.

“Y’know, Joel, I actually liked this one,” you mutter coolly, realizing the genuine truth of the sentiment as the words roll off your tongue.

“You could do better.”

Huffing a quick breath, you cross your arms and roll your eyes dramatically.

Joel bathes in your ire for only a moment before pushing off the frame and shutting the cracked, dilapidated door behind his back. A familiar tingling spreads through your core, mounting to a buzz as he closes the distance between you. He weaves a hand behind your back—there’s a click, and then the music’s stopped.

“So, that’s it?“ You challenge, Joel’s proximity doing a number on your nervous system. “Just gonna keep ignoring me til’ I’ve got my eyes on someone else?”

Tone both sincere and playful, he rumbles, “jus’ cause I can’t have you, angel, doesn’ mean some other jerk-off gets to.”

Damn it. Damn it right to hell.

Joel’s downright possessiveness makes you weak in the knees, ringing in your ears like a bible hymn. The ridges and valleys of words spell out come home; you think a silent prayer to God, begging him for the strength to resist them. But Joel’s magnetism beckons you towards sin, and no God stands a chance against the unholy look in those darkening eyes.

It serves no use, fighting against it. You craved Joel like a smoker craves nicotine—and you’d risk it all for one more fix.

You needed the man to cave.

“You can have me, Joel.”

A dangerous smile teases his lips. Then, he ducks his head, slowly shaking it side to side.

“Trust me, angel—you don’t want that.”

A huff. “Yes, I do,” you insist.

“You want me to fuck you, that’s it,” voice deepening a near-octave, he straightens to tower over you. “‘Cause if I actually had you…?” He whistles under his breath as the sentence trails off.

A hand cups your face, one wanton finger absentmindedly tracing your cheekbone.

“I’m not a good man, sweetheart.”

Determination courses through your blood as his warning sets your nerves alight. You grasp his thick wrist, turning to place a soft kiss on the skin of his palm. His shadowed eyes lock onto yours, drinking in the sight of your lips dragging across his hand.

“Well,” you purr, seizing what you recognize as the perfect opportunity, “I’m not a ‘good girl,’ either.”

“And I never asked for good, Miller.”

A moment passes—only Joel’s breath, your heartbeat, and the echoes of your invitation disrupt the heavy silence.

And temptation wins him over, once again.

A powerful arm snakes around your back, spinning you around easily. The backs of your knees hit the edge of your mattress, and before you know it, Joel’s pushing your waist down roughly, settling himself between your legs as he looms over your body.

“Y’know,” he muses darkly, eyes wild with lust. “You got some serious fuckin’ daddy issues.”

He undoes the button of your jeans, grabbing the denim at the waist and yanking it unceremoniously over your hips, your ass, and halfway down your thighs. Without wasting a second, he pushes your dampened panties to the side, easing a thick finger between your dripping folds.

“Remind me to thank your old man for that.”

He groans with approval at your wetness, your readiness for him. Crying out “Joel!” in surprise and pleasure, you dig your fingernails into his forearm.

“Fuck, angel,” he breathes softly, watching his digit pumping in and out of you, “Jus’ can’t bring myself to let anyone else touch you like this.” He palms himself through his jeans to relieve some of the building arousal.

“Wanna be the only man this needy lil’ pussy comes for.”

It’s not enough. Tears leak from your eyes and your knuckles go white as you squirm on the unmade sheets—Joel’s touch fills you with ecstasy, but it’s still not enough.

“Joel—” you whine, fighting to prop yourself up on your elbows, forcing yourself to meet his lust-filled gaze before wandering first to the sight of his fingers fucking you, then to the bulge in his pants.

You need more of him.

“I know, sweetheart,” he coos, following your line of vision. ”But I’ll split you right open f’I don’t warm you up first.”

When he slips another finger between your walls, your back collapses against the mattress. Mewls and whimpers tumble from your lips—male satisfaction darkens Joel’s complexion with every moan you give him.

“Know what I thought about, away on the job?” His fingers alternate between curling roughly inside your cunt and rubbing your own slick against your swollen bud. “Thought aaalll about this pretty fuckin’ pussy, takin’ my cock from behind.”

“Pictured it when I used my hand.”

Mouth frozen in a silent “ah,” you look into his hungry, heavy eyes and the grey-speckled hair falling into them.

“Yeah?” You manage, voice involuntarily sliding up an octave.

He cups your cheek and nods.

Your eyebrows knit together in euphoria as his talk and his tantalizing fingers bring you right up to the edge of your climax.

And then Joel’s abruptly pulling his fingers out, leaving you gasping for air on the damn brink of bliss. He drags your jeans and underwear towards your ankles, tearing them from your body and tossing them carelessly onto the bed.

“You take that pill I left you?”

You nod enthusiastically, watching intently as Joel’s wet, wide fingers work impatiently at his buckle. “S’good, baby.” He pulls his own denim over his hips, smirking arrogantly as amazement crosses your expression. You’d forgotten how big he was. “‘Cause I’m gonna need you to take it again.”

It feels like the first time all over again, watching his heavy length bob up and down in front of you. You wonder what he tastes like.

Before you can find out, he’s yanked your legs over his hips, leaning forward to guide the tip of his manhood between your aching folds and teasing you with the dark head of his cock.

You’re moaning a soft “feels s’good, Joel” when he pushes himself entirely inside you, eliciting a sharp squeal from your lips as the curve of his cock grazes that spot inside you—as he bottoms out completely. He releases a low groan; it sounds like angels sighing.

Needing to see more of you, he bunches your shirt above your breasts. “Look at you, baby,” He palms one roughly, teasing and pinching the nipple as his thighs snap against your ass, the torturous combination bringing you closer and closer to oblivion.

“S’fuckin’ pretty with your tits bouncin’ for me.”

Lost in his eyes, expression frozen in ecstasy, you anchor your nails into his forearms, responding to his thrusts by grinding your hips against his.

“Fuckin hell, sweetheart.”

Joel’s eyebrows knit together as he gives you every inch of himself without holding back; your body responds to him—muscles quiver uncontrollably, cunt squeezes devotedly around his cock. The only word you seem to remember is ‘Joel.’

“Squirmin’ like crazy, baby,” he mumbles. “Been waitin’ for me?” His harsh, rhythmic strokes fuck you mute—but that was never an excuse with Joel. A calloused hand circles your gasping throat, pressing softly against your windpipe in an unmistakeable command.

“Words, angel.” Possessiveness underpins his husky demand. “Anyone else fuck you while I was gone?”

You meet his shadowed eyes, gaze hazy with pleasure. “N-no, Joel.”

He groans with approval.

“Fuckin’ right. That’s my girl.”

Your breath quickens as your clit begins to twitch, release simmering between your hips. “Oh god, Joel, I-I can’t—”

When he ducks his head into your neck, the scent of sandalwood soap mingling with his sweat overwhelms you with need; Joel’s teeth nip at your skin affectionately, beard brushing your collarbone as his thumb finds its way to your throbbing bud.

“Ohmygod—Joel, Joel, Joel—” uttering his name in worship, you reach your climax the second his finger presses into your clit—toes curling inside your socks, fingernails digging into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, growing harder and harder as his name tumbles from your lips, punctuating the rhythmic sound of his broad thighs slapping against your skin. “Jus like your lil’ pussy.” His hands move to your waist, squeezing your hips between his calloused hands as he bounces you up and down his pulsing cock.

“Fuckin’ young n’ needy.”

As he fucks you through your orgasm, you feel Joel working another one out of you. Wanton whines and moans escape your throat. Catching glimpses of his broad, towering form over you only makes the fluttering more intense—meeting his wild eyes only brings the simmering heat inside you to a downright boil.

“Please—come inside me—want it so bad—Joel—”

“Keep fuckin’ quiet,” He growls. “Tryna make your poor fuckin’ dad hear you beggin’ for my cum?”

Joel loved fucking you like this.

He loved fucking you with only a shitty, thin door separating your naked, eager body from all the blissfully ignorant assholes he worked with. He loved watching you writhe pathetically under his weight, cunt wrapped around him so desperately.

Made him feel like a man.

“Gonna give me another one?” He goads, voice straining slightly as his own release builds fast between his thighs. “C’mon, baby, wanna feel this pussy comin’ on my cock—js’one more, sweetheart, that’s right—”

His breathing turns shallow as his words tumble out; your eyes roll to the skies as he takes you there again, your near-sobs of “thank you thank you thank you” stifled just in time by the rush of his hand to your lips. Cradling your head, he pulls you into his shoulder and buries himself impossibly deep inside your cunt. You distantly register his muffled “shit—s’fucking good, baby” as his seed soaks your walls. Joel pushes his cum right into your guts with a couple of final, decelerating strokes.

Head still cradled in his neck, stars dance before your eyes. Joel’s chest heaves with every breath he takes, and his exhalations tickle the top vertebrae of your spine. You let your heartbeats settle together, frozen in place as he slowly softens inside you.

Finally, he pulls out with a gentle groan.

“Gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

You slump onto the mattress, a cocktail of his cum and your slick leaking out of your pussy, still unable to string along a cohesive sentence.

Softly smiling, he adds under his breath, “Be at the wrong end of every conman and criminal’s rifle f’anyone ever found out about this.”

You prop yourself up on trembling elbows, watching Joel pull his jeans back up over his hips.

“I guess we’ll just have to run away together,” you hum, half-joking, half-serious. “You can teach me how to be a big-bad-smuggler.”

He chuckles, the rumble in his chest blanketing your still-pulsing body with an unfamiliar warmth.

“Yeah, you’d sure like that, huh?” His eyes dance with playfulness, a rare vision of Joel Miller. It suits him. “Wouldn’t last a damn day with you teasin’ me on the job.” He kneels down, finding your underwear and slipping it onto your ankles, wriggling it up your calves—a practiced movement, like something he’d done a million times before. “M’not sure you’d be too crazy about the clickers—though sick n’ decaying does seem to be your type.”

You giggle, lightly slapping his firm shoulder as he bends over you, pulling your damp panties up. His fingers smooth the distressed fabric delicately, lingering on the skin of your hip for a brief, cherishing touch. Silence settles between you as Joel’s thumb strokes your hip absentmindedly. Glasses clink and laughter erupts downstairs.

Brusquely, he clears his throat and straightens up, a hard mask of apathy descending on his features once again.

“Clean yourself up, alright?” He smooths his hair back, heading for the door.

“Joel.”

He knows the meaning behind your tone before you do.

It’s not that there’s anything, in particular, you need him to hear—you just don’t want him to leave.

Not yet. Not now.

Hand on the doorknob, his looming form stills.

“You should…” he begins, eyes glued to the door, throat constricting around his words. “You should go out with that guy. From earlier. Be good for you to see someone your age, y’know.”

“Well, I don’t want that guy,” you respond, sitting up on the mattress, fixing your stare on his back. “Do you really need me to say it, Miller? I don’t care how old you are, or that you’re friends with my dad, or how many people you’ve wasted,” you ramble, the taste of exasperation and agitation building on your tongue. “Hell, I wouldn’t even care if you were fuckin’ infected. I like you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyebrows furrowing together in frustration.

“Well, don’t.”

He exhales, shaking his head with frustration.

“Shouldn’t’ve let this happen again. Made a damn mess of things by fuckin’ you.”

For some extremely unwelcome reason, his words bite like hell. You’d borne your soul to him, been vulnerable with him, had him inside you twice now, and all he viewed you as was a regret. Crestfallen, tears stinging your eyes, you roll onto your side, facing away from him, still half-dressed. You don’t have the capacity to care about how pitiful a sight it is, only wanting the man to leave you to tend to your wounds in peace.

But, of course, he doesn’t.

He won’t.

That hand just can’t seem to twist that fuckin’ knob. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters. “Okay.”

Something like hope begins to bloom in your chest as you hear the concession leaking from his words. You try to beat it down, focussed on the cracks and divots in the wall facing your tear-lined eyes.

“Tess is gone for the week—job outside the Zone.” Despite the tortured strain in his voice, it tastes of desire. “Place’ll be empty. Jus’ don’t let anyone see you.”

With that, he wrenches the door open; a brief swell of noise floods the room before he seals you back in. Still curled up into yourself, the beginnings of a smile etch their way onto your lips. You turn into your pillow, grinning into the linen, unable to contain it.

Victory.

Joel Miller was a hard man. Of that, you were certain. absolutely certain.

But you were also certain that he was soft on you.

And that felt like winning.

—

Read part 1: Dark but Just a Game

Read part 3: Let Me Love You Like a Woman (Let Me Hold You Like a Baby)

—

TAGLIST: @witchy-jadda @bookofbee @ninebluehearts @jbcalway @jasminedragoon @mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo12346 @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @stardust-chords-enthusiast @fruitcupsworld @sallymilkweed

—

TAGLIST: @witchy-jadda @ninebluehearts@jbcalway @jasminedragoon@mads-grace4 @anyas-stuff @liviloo94 @ninebluehearts

[gor3-hound]

daddy's home

ft. fushiguro toji x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dark content, dad/daughter incest, oral(f!recieving), degradation, dacryphilia, praise, daddy kink, p in v, he's got a fat cock idk, creampie, overstimulation, pussy spanking, he's kind of an asshole

a/n: hiii! not a resident evil fic omg who am i? so down bad for toji it's not even funny... this got out of hand so quickly it was meant to be half this size... oops? jjk works now being uploaded to @puppykento

word count: 2.3k words

You never saw your dad much growing up. To call him a deadbeat would be an understatement. He was the type of guy to pawn off the presents that ‘Santa’ got you a week or two after Christmas to get some extra cash.

He was rarely ever home, and when he was, he'd bum whatever he could off of you and Megumi. Although Megumi had gone off to that school now, which was great, really. You were happy for him. He comes to visit whenever he can, and he's always bringing you things to help out.

Really, you should be looking after him. He was your younger brother, after all. But he also knew that your dad tended to bother you more than him, so he's always been a little protective of you. He sends you a text everyday to check in on you, asking if you'd seen Toji.

Toji. Not dad. You're not sure when Megumi got into that habit, but you can't bring yourself to do the same. He's still your dad, even if he's a bit of an asshole. He cares about you deep down, you know he does. He might not show it, but you like to believe he thinks about you when he's gone.

Safe to say, you're surprised when he shows up at the door on your twenty-first birthday with a cake tucked securely under his arm. He flashes you a grin, pushing past you and into the apartment without so much as a ‘hello’.

He sets the cake down on the table before flopping down on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table like he owns the place. Which, okay, technically he does. His name is on the tenancy agreement, but he's not the one paying the rent.

“Didn't expect to see you here today.” You say after a moment, standing awkwardly off to the side. You never knew what to do with your dad. You didn't know him, really. Talking to him was always hard for you.

Your gaze falls to the cake after he doesn't respond. It's some cheap, pre-made grocery store cake. You can't imagine he spent much on it at all, but the gesture was nice. He hadn't gotten you anything for your birthday since you were twelve and he got you that shitty plastic bracelet that broke after a day.

“You didn't need to get me anything.”

“Mm. But you're my kid. It's a big birthday.” He says simply, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV, using the cable that you pay for. Typical.

You're surprised he even remembers your age, but you'd take it. Guess your suspicions were confirmed. He cares about you, at least a little.

“Where's the brat?” He asks after a moment, as if he registered Megumi hadn't shown his face. His eyes flick across the room before settling on you.

“He couldn't make it today. He's coming on the weekend.” He just shrugs when you tell him that, spreading his legs a little to get comfortable.

“Ah. You're my favourite, anyway.” He tells you, and you smile. You know you're only his favourite because you put up with his shit, but it still makes you happy to hear him say that. You can see the way his lips curl into a smirk at that, and he slowly drags his gaze along your body.

You're not sure you appreciate the way he's looking at you, though. Like, it's great to get some attention from your dad for once, but that doesn't exactly mean you want him looking at you like you're a piece of meat.

“What're you doin’ now, anyway? You dropped out, no?” Yeah. You had to. Someone had to pay the bills. “So, what… you working as a stripper or something? Got the body for it. Bet you'd make a killing.”

Your face wrinkles up in disgust immediately at that. You cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to cover yourself a little more, your brows furrowing as you look at him.

“Jesus, dad. That's nasty. Why are you even looking at me like that?” You ask with a frown, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Alright!” He raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, brows raising slightly. He lets his hands drop onto his thighs and shrugs again. “Just a joke. Tough crowd, huh?”

You roll your eyes and huff, crossing your arms over your chest. That seems to draw Toji's attention, his gaze lingering on your tits for a moment before he's looking up at you with that stupid fucking grin again.

“What? I'm proud of my work, ‘n you're just another one of my many successes.” He has an air of cockiness around him as he says that, and it just weirds you out even more. What a creep.

“Anyway, I been thinkin’...” He begins, his eyes trailing your body again. You shift uncomfortably yet again, staring him down. “Your daddy is a little strapped for cash at the moment… but I gotta give my special girl a gift for her birthday, don't I?”

“Real interesting, ‘cause you haven't bothered before.”

He starts scowling at that, his lip curling. “I'm tryna be nice. Don't need to be a bitch about it. I'm a busy man.” He pauses, giving you a once over. “Always so fuckin’ bratty. Bet a good dick'd fix that shitty attitude.”

“The hell is wrong with you today?” You snap, trying to ignore the way your dad was very obviously checking you out. It makes you uneasy, in more ways than one. Most notably is the way it's weirdly hot, and that thought alone makes you feel queasy.

“Just c'mere, will ya? No need to be pissy on your birthday. I'm tryna be nice.” He huffs, patting the spot next to him. You walk over to him, but before you can sit, he's tugging you into his lap and holding you down against his hardening cock.

“Dad, wha-”

“Now here's what's gonna happen.” He grunts, nosing at your neck before he's attaching his lips to your skin, his grip on your hips tightening. “I'm gonna make you cum on my tongue, ‘cause it's your birthday, and I'm so sweet. Then you're gonna sit on my cock. Understand?”

You open your mouth to speak, but Toji is quick to cut you off, biting down on the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “If the words that're about to leave your mouth are anything but ‘yes, daddy’, then I don't wanna hear it.”

Your mouth snaps shut, opens again, and you're repeating the words back to him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

That's how you end up lying on your back in your bed, the sheets crumpled beneath you with your dad's face buried in your cunt. He's got one hand pressed firmly on your stomach to stop you from moving too much, his other hand keeping a strong grip on your thigh to keep your legs spread.

He eats pussy sloppy. The only time he pulls away is to spit on you before he dives right back in, tongue thrusting in and out of your drippy hole. He's already made you cum twice, a puddle forming on the sheets under your ass from how wet you are.

“Ah… dad, I can't. S'too much.” You tell him, trying to squirm away from his mouth. He glares up at you from between your legs, and then he pulls away. You sigh in relief, but then he's spreading your folds with one hand and bringing the other down harshly against your clit.

You yelp, kicking your feet out. He does it again. And again. “You'll take what you're given.” He growls with another harsh slap, then he's lowering his head again to suck greedily at your swollen clit as he slips two fingers into your pussy without resistance.

His spits dribbling down to your hole as he makes the dirtiest sounds you've ever heard. You didn't know it was possible to be this greedy when it came to eating pussy. Doesn't even feel like it's for you, at this point. He's just eating away to his heart's content.

“You're such a messy girl, baby. Gettin’ my wrists all wet. Didn't know pussies could leak this much.” He mumbles into your cunt, flicking his tongue and curling his fingers. “Must really love your daddy, huh?”

You clench around him, cumming for the third time with a whimper and the bastard finally lifts his face away from you. Gives you that stupid smirk again, darting his tongue out to lick as much of your juices from his face as he can manage, then he uses his free hand to wipe the rest off on the back of his hand. Slob.

“Having a good birthday?” He asks with a shit-eating grin, scissoring his fingers open inside of you, ignoring the way you whine and try to pull away again. All you can do is nod, already so dumb from the pleasure he's giving you that you can barely respond.

“That's my girl.” He coos, patting your face a few times before he's pulling his hand away, leaving you mourning the loss. Can't let any of your cum go to waste, so he pops them in his mouth and sucks them clean.

Doesn't take him long to pull his cock out. It's fat and heavy, hanging low even though it's hard. Your breath hitches as you see it, and you start to push away from him.

“Dad, what the fuck?” That's a boost to his ego. “That's not… there's no way that's gonna fit.”

“I'll make it work. Been between your legs long enough.” He mumbles, grabbing you by your hips and tugging you towards him on the bed. He pushes the tip in, and he can't bite back the smile that forms at the noise you make.

He pushes in so slowly that he's barely even moving. The stretch still hurts, tears forming in your eyes. When he finally bottoms out with a groan, you're so full that you can barely breathe. You swear you can feel that shit in your lungs. Your poor mother.

“Fuck… you're so fucking tight. Shoulda done this years ago…” He breathes out, bangs hanging in front of his eyes as he lets his head hang low. He's nice enough to stay put for a moment, his cock throbbing against your cervix - which is definitely going to be bruised after this. You don't think you're gonna be able to walk for a week.

He pulls out slowly until just the tip left inside, his length glistening from your slick pussy. He stares down appreciatively at the sight before thrusting back in. He builds a rhythm, rocking his hips against yours.

The sound of your moans fill the room, but he's more of a grunter. His grip on your hip is bruising, and it starts to hurt a little. He's using his hold on you so that he can manhandle you into his thrusts, making sure he's filling up every inch of you.

“Such a good fucking slut.” He pants, rocking into you even harder, a crease forming between his brow. “Gonna mould this pretty pussy to the shape of my dick. No other guy's gonna be able to fuck you, baby. Just daddy.”

You nod at his words, too fucked out to even register what he's saying. You'd agree to anything he said as long as he kept up with what he was doing.

“She's sucking me in, princess. Never had anyone take me so well before. My dick's splittin’ you open, and you're just. Fucking. Taking it.” He punctuates his words with deep, slow thrusts that have you pulsing around his cock.

“Made just for me, huh? My own daughter bein’ the one who's got the perfect pussy for my cock.” He growls, shifting slightly so his hands are gripping your thighs. He presses them against your chest, leaning over you as he starts fucking you again.

He's so much deeper like this, punching the air out of your lungs every time his hips slap against your ass. Tears start streaming down your face, your walls tightening around him.

“Shit… you tryna push me out?” He asks, his voice sounding a little strained. “God… she's fuckin’ milking me. She's cryin’ for me even more than you are.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, his thrusts growing sloppier. “Gonna fill you up, but you gotta cum for me first. You gonna do that for me?”

You nod weakly, gripping his shoulders as he pounds you into the mattress. Your nails claw at his skin, and you feel the wetness of his own blood beneath your fingers, but he doesn't even flinch. He seems to like it, letting out a low moan as your nails dig into him.

Your eyes roll back as you cum, your lips parting as you cry out ‘daddy’. You gush around his cock, leaking all over your own thighs until it's dripping down his balls.

“Such a dirty girl.” He grunts, his movements becoming erratic as his balls tighten. “Shit, baby. Gonna cum, and you're gonna fucking take it.”

He pushes in one last time, burying himself to the hilt and holding himself there. He grinds against you weakly as his cock kicks, shooting ropes of cum deep into you.

“Gooood… that's my good fucking girl.” Toji collapses on the bed, his dick slipping out as he lays back on your bed. “Happy birthday, baby.”

There's that smile again. Arrogant prick.

He stays put for a while, leaning back against your pillows with his legs spread and his arms behind his head, taking up a good 80% of your bed and leaving you to lay on the edge.

“I need a beer…” He grumbles, running a hand over his face before he tilts his head to look at you. “You got any cash?”

[amywritesthings]

SEEING YOU, SEEING ME (5/7)

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: After handling a life-or-death favor for Tess, you’re in deep shit. Until she can make things right, she suggests you lay low at her place for the week. The issue? It’s also Joel Miller’s place, and you’re pretty sure he hates you.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+! No Minors! Pre-TLOU, One Bed Trope, Masturbation, Guided Masturbation, Orgasms (2), Sexual Tension, Dirty talk, Pet names, Touch Starved!Joel, Age gap/difference, Slow burn, Semi-Enemies to Fuckers

( Read on AO3 )

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CHAPTER 5: IN THE AIR TONIGHT

.

Hours later, you’re still awake.

By the sound of dying Fedra truck tires in the distance, the quarantine zone is not. It's quiet in the whistle of the wind. Dead to the world. Peaceful.

However, your mind won't allow you a modicum of the same. Not as you sit against the wall, legs outstretched with crossed ankles on the mattress. Your arms wrap around your torso, fists tightening every several minutes just to bring you back from the broken record images playing in your mind.

What once was a single now becomes a record of snapshots: Joel leaning with his forearm against the archway. Joel sitting with legs spread at his dining table.

Joel standing, staring, with such a dark intensity that it's now properly burned to the back of your skull.

Your hands clench again, remembering how he did the same when you said it’d been a long time since you had anyone.

He was so close. You could practically feel the tickle of his mustache on your lips.

He took the first touch. He made the first step.

Now he was further than ever.

Why did it matter? This entire operation — this life-saving favor — was supposed to be a few days of laying low while Tess handled the logistics of what it would take for Boston QZ to be a civil circle of neutrality once again among thieves. It just so happened that Tess lived with Joel Miller, and Joel Miller was going to be another body in a long line of survivors trying to get by.

Joel was never going to see you like you saw him.

He was merely a man who worked the same lousy, high-paying jobs as you. Lines were blurred, but that only made the future worse.

You said it wasn’t in the cards to date or find a comfortable life here or be anything beyond a feeling.

You didn’t realize wanting to hurt spoke to Joel because he was dying to hurt, too.

A noise floats through the apartment.

You pause in your thoughts, sitting up straighter with your shoulders squaring in mild alarm.

A beat passes.

The world around you is silent.

Then you hear the same quiet, strangled sound coming from the other room once more.

Without leaving the bed, you listen to hone in on its location: there. Towards the living room wall where the couch lay. Your gaze drops to the bottom right corner of the wall, waiting to register what it might be.

The strangled sound returns, except this time it sounds suppressed. Lodged in a throat.

It's accompanied by something rhythmic.

Something wet.

A bone-chilling cold passes through your body in one-fell swoop when you realize:

It’s Joel.

It’s Joel and he’s jerking off on the couch.

Every muscle in your body freezes, afraid that the older man could catch on that you've heard. If you move, then you may not be able to take the point of no return back. If you speak, then he may never look at you again.

Joel Miller, in your life and gone just as fast.

So you do something else in the night, in the quiet.

Slowly your hand glides along the sheet and smooths along your hip, to the button of your jeans. Your thumb pops it open, exposing the waistband of your dark underwear beneath.

(If you want to regret something, then it won’t be this.)

There is another low sound from the other room — a shudder of a breath, which only sets your blood aflame — that confirms what you’re hearing.

Without another thought, your hand slips under the fabric to find you’re already wet. Soundlessly you whimper, jaw shaking as you set in a slowed circle to test the waters. Your ears are trained on the sound in the other room, overly aroused by your own imagination:

Joel lying back on the couch with his arm thrown over his eyes. A fist clenched tight to keep some semblance of control. His hand wrapped around his cock, pumping with urgency to get this done and over with before you wake up.

You can just imagine his denim shirt raised up and over his belly just in case he comes too fast.

Your hand moves faster.

It’s taking everything in you to be quiet.

The happy trail drawing from his belly button to his cock. The scars you could memorize with your lips. His hand in your hair to keep you trapped there on your knees.

And you don’t mean to.

You don’t mean to moan, but it slips faster than you can hold it in.

Instantly the noises stop from the other room.

Besides the rustling of your hand in your pants, the apartment is silent.

Shit.

You stop despite the cresting orgasm, jaw set tight.

Then a voice speaks from the other room, husky and out of breath:

“Go slower.”

You don’t breathe.

Can’t, not when you’re grappling with the fact that yes, that’s Joel Miller talking in the dark and yes, he’s very aware of what you’re doing in his home, in his bed, and his first thought isn’t to chastise you for depravity.

Maybe he’s talking to himself.

Maybe he’s doing this in his sleep and you’re just privy to hearing about it by mistake.

Then he speaks again, and you could cum on the spot.

“Did I say you could stop?”

Lips parted and dry, you stare wide-eyed at the ceiling.

Against your better judgment you respond, quiet and meek.

“No.”

“Then what’re you doing?”

Swallowing thickly, you edge your fingers back under the waistband of your underwear.

“Going slow,” you shakily answer the disembodied demands of Joel Miller, eager to please despite the agony that comes with resuming lazy circles around your clit.

You need relief.

(You need to understand what the fuck is happening right now.)

“Good," he responds, words drunken with a southern drawl. "And you keep going slow no matter how bad you wanna speed up, is that understood?”

You don't know how to respond. Between the whiplash of what he left you with and where you're at now, you feel like you're going out of your mind.

"You gonna listen?" he repeats when you don't immediately answer his request.

No, his demand.

(Holy shit.)

“I told you that I — listened earlier,” you say in a hiccup of a gasp when that electric spark returns, "didn’t I? Of course I'll be good for you.”

Joel returns the sentiment with an appreciative groan, and your head lulls towards the wall as if you’ll be able to see straight through it.

(You want to see him so badly.)

Speaking up, talking back, takes a leap of courage, but you run the mile anyway. “...are you going slow, too?”

Because you know.

Joel must know that you know. That you've heard him pleasuring himself despite being only a mere few feet from you.

(That you’re only doing this because you heard him first.)

“Real slow,” he answers with a vulnerable honesty that surprises you, under his breath and softer than expected.

It takes everything within you not to speed up; not without his command. “Is this — Is this payback for the drinking game?”

The idea makes him chuckle on the other side of the wall, but it sharpens in a shaken gasp of his own.

“Not payback, darlin’.”

The rogue use of a pet name almost — almost — makes you beg, but you lick the seam of your lips and find your center to reply.

“It sure feels like it.”

The audacity is that your annoyed reply makes him hum in amusement. Then he speaks again, and all bets are off.

“What if I let you go faster? Would that make you feel better?”

“Jesus Christ, Miller.”

What changed between his cold rejection a mere few hours ago and now? Why was he so willing to bend the rules, change the game, without so much as looking at you?

Then you realize:

It’s easier not to see.

Two people in the same home in two separate rooms is much less intimate than the real deal. Earlier wasn’t an outright rejection, but a test of faith.

Nothing about this will be soft, or kind.

(Or real.)

“It would,” you answer after thickly swallowing, the ache between your legs becoming too much.

“Good,” Joel replies from the couch. “You only get what I’m willing to give, and m’feeling generous.” 

You exhale heavily in relief as your fingers quicken their pace on your clit, satisfied to finally feel the familiar waves in your lower belly. Joel must have sped up on his own accord as well, because you hear his breathy grunts labor with an urgency parallel to your own.

This is really happening.

You feel delirious yet blissful all the same.

There is so much you want to say. So much to ask. So much you want to hear, see, taste.  

(Alive; this is what it must mean to feel alive.)

“Miller—”

“Joel.”

The interruption of your whimper causes you to turn your gaze once more to the wall as if he'll be standing there. He isn't.

“What?”

“Joel,” he demands from the couch, interrupting what little control you had in this situation. “You say my name when you cum, y’hear?”

“Fuck—”

“Are you close?”

“Yes.”

“Then say it.”

“Joel,” you moan on command without hesitation, louder than intended. “Jesus, fuck, Joel, I’m so fucking cl—”

You tense at an explosion of an orgasm. Stars blind your eyes as you squeeze them shut and ride out the tumultuous waves, bucking into your hand. Every sensation is intense — the fact that Joel can hear every little whine of his name on your tongue is too much — but it’s too late to go back.

Especially when he follows you over the edge.

Joel Miller sounds positively sinful when he comes. Abandoned yet full of control, his labored breathing halts in a groan, but not without a bitten attempt at your name.

The sounds simmer, dying off to a sigh of relief — then nothing.

Silence.

Once more dissolving to only just the wind in the air tonight.

You remain in his bed, breathing heavily up at the ceiling with your hand still in your underwear. What feels like hours pass where you wait for him to walk around the wall, to leave all caution to the wind, but he doesn’t.

In the afterglow, he says nothing.

He never leaves the couch, so you never leave his bed.

He asked, so you listen.

You listen and never leave his bed and eventually drift to a peaceful sleep. 

Author's Note: Maybe I was too on-the-nose with the song choice this chapter, lol.

Feeling refreshed and excited after my mini-hiatus! I truly appreciate all of the support on this fic. Just… wow. I am such a lucky author, I really am. Thanks again for reading.

[hudwon19]

Been working on a Spidersona, no name as of yet but I have his world and background sorted out to an extent.

(Note: above pic not mine)

He lives in a world similar to our own, but a few years ahead 2030-ish to be precise, and in 2015 the united nations put forward a bill pertaining and advocating the use of government funded national and state superhero’s. (Though all too often the governments used them as a tool for conformity than law enforcement)

The government has the sanctioned ability to distribute tech and other mutagenic based powers to consenting adult people who enlist in “hero” programs or contract pre-existing powered people.

People under the age of 18 who already have great skills or powers can enlist in “side-kick” initiatives where-in they train or take temporary apprenticeships under existing hero’s.

Un-contracted “hero’s” or super-powered people who do not approach the government for positions are not allowed to commit vigilante justice and are expected to register themselves and live as a normal person would (although the government often has people monitoring them to ensure the non-hero’s stay complacent) non-hero super-powered people who breach protocol or refuse to sign are labeled by the government as villains, or other criminal categories (i.e. outlaws, and ‘anti-hero’s’) these villains are often hunted by hero’s and put into max security prisons for infringements or forced to register based on factors such as: powers, age, other third-party contracts, and level of retaliation against the government.

In this universe the Avengers exist as a group of government funded “hero’s” who primarily defend cities from ‘villains’ or other threats, as damage control super-people do exist theis world, the Avengers are primarily for combat and counter-villain strikes.

Our Spider-Man is in this universe, is a villain meaning he is an unlicensed super-powered individual. Who refuses to sign up for government recognition.

Spider-Man in this universe started out as a ‘Hero-Critical’ journalist who ended up sneaking into a government lab during an avengers battle with a group of villains, discovering that the government is doing inhumane animal and human testing to develop stronger mutation based powers.

After taking some pictures one of the villains is hurled through the facility by this universes Hulk equivalent who smashes into the facility to pursue. Our Spider-Man hides from him by running into a test cell filled with genetically altered mutated spiders. The cell recognising a foreign entity initiates a termination sequence irritating the spiders and emoting a poison gas into the chamber, the agitated spiders bite him as he yells for help in the sealed cell and the hulk releases him, tearing off the door and allowing him to leave after breaking his camera saying something like “You don’t want this, believe me.”

And so Spider-Man escapes the facility with his DNA rapidly changing due to the mutated spiders venom.

And that’s all I have so far :)

Thanks for reading!!

[zenith56]

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[powermanagement]

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Age: Both parties must be at least 18 years old to get married in the UAE. If either party is under 18, special permission must be obtained from a judge. It is also important to note that the legal age for marriage in the UAE is the same for both males and females.

Residency: At least one of the parties must be a UAE resident. If neither party is a resident, a special permit must be obtained from the Dubai Courts. This means that one of the parties must have a valid UAE residence visa or permit at the time of the marriage registration.

Religion: The UAE recognizes marriages between Muslims and non-Muslims, but there are different procedures depending on the religion of the parties. If both parties are Muslims, the marriage can be registered through an Islamic Sharia court. If one or both parties are non-Muslim, the marriage can be registered through a civil court.

Documents: Both parties will need to provide certain documents to register their marriage in the UAE. These include:

Passports (and residency permits, if applicable): The passports of both parties must be valid and have at least six months' validity remaining at the time of the marriage registration.

Birth certificates: The relevant authorities in each party's home country must translate and certify their birth certificates into Arabic.

Proof of marital status: If either party has been previously married, they must provide a divorce decree or death certificate of their former spouse.

Two witnesses: Two witnesses who are not related to either party must be present at the time of the marriage registration.

Pre-marital screening: Both parties must undergo a medical screening to ensure that they are not carrying any infectious diseases. This is a requirement in the UAE to protect public health.

Marriage contract: Both parties and their witnesses must sign a marriage contract. This contract outlines the rights and responsibilities of both parties and is an important legal document.

Fees: There may be fees associated with registering your Marriage certificate attestation. These can vary depending on the emirate and the type of marriage.

It is important to note that the UAE recognizes marriages performed in other countries as long as they meet the legal requirements of those countries. However, it is recommended that you register your marriage in the UAE to ensure that it is recognized by local authorities.

Finally, it is always advisable to consult with a lawyer or a marriage registration specialist to ensure that you have all the necessary documents and information to register your marriage in the UAE.

Registering a marriage in the UAE requires adherence to certain legal requirements and guidelines. These include age, residency, religion, documentation, pre-marital screening, marriage contract, and fees. The UAE recognizes marriages performed in other countries, but it is recommended to register the marriage in the UAE to ensure legal recognition by local authorities. It is important to consult with the appropriate authorities or a legal expert to ensure that all necessary procedures are followed to register a marriage successfully. By following these guidelines and the help of attestation services, couples can embark on their new chapter in life with the peace of mind that their marriage is legally recognized in the UAE.

[certificateattestation]

Rules for non-Muslims getting married in the United Arab Emirates

The UAE allows marriages to take place within its borders even if the parties involved are not UAE citizens. However, the rules and laws differ depending on the country's many nationalities and religions. A couple who wishes to marry in Dubai should ensure that they follow all UAE law to stay within the country's rules and regulations. Depending on the circumstances, a non-Muslim should meet the following criteria.

·        To marry, you must be of legal marriageable age.

·        Have the mental capacity to comprehend marriage

·        Accept the marriage freely. Free consent may be lacking if the person is suffering from any of the following conditions at the time of marriage:

·        Intoxication

·        Mental illness or inability to comprehend legal implications

·        Agree to marry due to threats or intimidation

·        Marriage formalities must be followed.

·        Marriage legislation in general

·        A man and a woman who are not married cannot live together

Sharia law governs the UAE, which adheres to a moral and ethical code. Living together is illegal and thus cannot be practiced based on nationality. In other words, living together with a partner without marriage is illegal and punishable by law. Living together as a couple is only permitted after the marriage has been performed. There have been some cases of unmarried couples living together in Dubai, i.e., it is possible but not permitted. Dubai is a country that operates and practices Sharia Law, and it is thus applied to all ex-pats residing in the UAE.

Legal standing:

Marriage is a legal contract between a man and a woman that protects the couple's and their children's rights. The marriage contract must be registered with the relevant UAE authority to ensure that the marriage complies with legal requirements. A marriage must be authorized by relevant authorities to be valid in the UAE. Only a competent court can grant matrimonial status.

Same-gender marriage is prohibited:

In the UAE, same-gender marriage is not permitted. Any person who initiates a marriage between people of the same gender is breaking the law and may face consequences under UAE law.

Conditions for non-Muslim marriages in Dubai

Non-Muslims can marry according to their laws and rules; the following are a few legal requirements:

Residential status: Both parties to the marriage must have valid permission to stay in the country for the duration of the marriage.

Pre-marital conditions: Pre-marital conditions necessitate the bride's approval for marriage. Providing a medical certificate from any publicly funded healthcare facility

Maturity: The age of the parties is important in UAE law when it comes to initiating marriage. According to UAE law, both parties must be at least 18 years old. To understand the legal implications of marriage, the parties must be mentally mature.

Legal representative: The bride's father and two witnesses are required to represent the bride. If the bride's father is deceased, the death certificate should be presented to ensure the father's death and the presence of another legal representative. If the bride's father is not deceased but is unable to attend the wedding in person, a proxy guardian can be named as a delegate.

Non-Muslim marriages in the UAE are subject to special provisions.

A non-Muslim marries an emir

If a non-Muslim marries an Emirati, the rules and procedures vary depending on nationality and/or religion. Marriage is not difficult if both parties are of the same religion; however, if non-muslim wishes to marry a Muslim woman, he must convert to Islam. Website: Marriage certificate attestation

A non-Muslim marries a Muslim ex-pat

Expat Muslims of any nationality are permitted to marry in UAE courts. To marry in a sharia court, the man must be a Muslim, while the woman can be of any religion. For non-Muslims, every law that applies in your home country will also apply here.

Marriage between Muslims and non-Muslims of the same religion

Marriages between people of the same religion can be performed by understanding the rules and regulations of Dubai's marriage laws. Both parties can use their home country's laws to initiate marriage. Contacting a family lawyer who specializes in family law can help you understand the procedures.

Marriage without religious beliefs

 Expats in the UAE who do not adhere to any religious beliefs must comply with marriage laws. If neither party is religious, a Dubai blessing ceremony can be performed by contacting the appropriate officials.

Non-Muslim ex-pats in the UAE can receive marriage counseling from attestation service agencies.

[learningpiner]

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[babyjakes]

forever and a day | 2. the good guys.

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). mature themes related to child abuse/neglect, ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). somewhat evil!Tony Stark.

[Steve]

The walk out of the ominous secret laboratory and into the open air feels like it takes an eternity to make. After only halfway or so, the crashing of the others fighting off the few remaining Hydra members becomes a little bit too loud and close for my comfort. Each scream, bang, or other loud noise causes Girl to jump in my arms. I bring up my shield beside her, hoping to offer her some sense of protection; though still shaking, she relaxes ever so slightly in my hold, offering me the opportunity to stroke her hair with my free hand in a soothing manner. She winces at first, but doesn’t seem to show any more discomfort or resistance beyond that small reflex. I don’t know quite what’s compelling me to be so gentle towards this young girl; I’m usually fairly stoic and keep a straight face during missions. But something about her just tugs at my heart; I can’t really explain it. I’ve not had much experience at all with children, and I’ve never felt this way before. It’s just a weird instinct I suddenly have to protect her.

After what seems like forever we finally reach the exit, and with Girl in my arms, I walk out into the light of day. I look down to see her squinting, immediately realizing that she probably hasn’t been out in the sunlight for a long, long time. Tony is waiting by the ship; surprisingly, he’s listened to my request, carrying a thick white blanket with blue stripes. Bruce stands beside him, fully clothed in his human form. I’m thrown off a bit at first to see him this way, but quickly figure that there’s little to no threat left now that we’ve done most of the intervention.

“Jesus,” Tony breathes as he takes in the sight before him. “That’s one of Hydra’s most prized possessions? She can’t be older than six! And it looks like she’s lived through a famine, for god’s sake!”

Girl shifts at the sound of the new voice, eventually spotting the two men standing just a short distance away from us. As she shrinks up in my arms, I can feel her beginning to shake again. My hand, which had paused for a few moments on top of her head, resumes smoothing over her hair as I speak gently to the frightened girl, “Shh, it’s alright,” I murmur softly, “these are my friends.”

A look of incredible sadness washes over both Tony and Bruce’s faces as they watch the poor creature tremble in my arms. Tony takes a few steps forward and offers the blanket for Girl to take, but she cowers back, her bony arms rising to shield her face. Tony’s eyebrows raise in guilt and softness as he pulls the object back, clearly not wanting to scare her any further. “Hey, kid. It’s okay; I won’t hurt you,” he says in a quiet voice I don’t think I’ve heard him use before.

Lowering my shield to the ground, I take the blanket from Tony, wrapping it around Girl as gently as I can. She thrashes around a bit, as if it doesn’t quite register what I’m doing, or that I’m trying to help her feel safer. “You’re alright; it’s just to keep you warm,” I explain. At this, she settles down slightly, but still looks around with wide eyes, as if she’s waiting for the danger to finally present itself.

Bruce clears his throat from behind Tony and takes a step forward. “She looks… sick,” he says, almost seeming to be at a loss for words. “We- we can assess her more on the ship. Get her some fluids and make sure there isn’t anything too serious,” he adds. I nod, picking up my shield again and looking back at the entrance.

Tony buzzes in over the earpiece, asking the others inside, “Are you guys almost done? Cap’s got the kid; we’re ready to go.”

After a few seconds, fuzzy static can be heard and Nat replies, “Just about finished in here. Get on the ship and we’ll be out as soon as we can.”

I nod to Bruce and Tony and we all begin walking towards the carrier, Girl still in my arms. She looks up at the large carrier with wide eyes, tears beginning to roll down her rosy cheeks once again. “Where are w-we going? Don’t hurt Girl,” she hiccups.

“We’re gonna help you, sweetheart,” I reassure her, the term of endearment slipping off my tongue out of nowhere; unfortunately, it seems to do little to ease her fears.

Once we’ve all boarded the ship, Bruce leads me to one of the upper compartments reserved as a sort of infirmary. As soon as Girl sees the hospital bed with its metal railings surrounded by all of Bruce’s medical equipment, she instantly begins lashing about again, clearly terrified of anything that could resemble what she was subjected to in Hydra’s laboratories. “Girl, hey- it’s okay. You’re okay,” I try desperately to soothe her, but she continues to struggle despite my attempts to comfort her, too weak to free herself from my hold but still putting up a fairly decent fight, given the condition she’s in.

“You said no lab, you promised, please, please!” she begs, her voice growing louder and more distressed by the moment.

“Hey, easy kid,” Tony says from beside me as Bruce begins to fumble through the cabinets for what he’ll need to assist. “We won’t do anything to harm you, alright? We’re the good guys. We wanna help you,” he tries to reason. But I know the fear that’s rooted deep within her; I know she can’t trust a word we say. I know she sees the metal bed and the machines and the instruments and believes without a doubt that we’re no different than Hydra.

Walking over beside the bed, I gently set Girl down onto the mattress. As soon as my arms are no longer around her, she curls up tightly in a ball, her entire body collapsing and caving in on itself as she tucks her head away, peeking out at me just barely through her arms. I send her a warm and comforting smile, but I know it does little to help. Stepping back and setting down my shield, I remove my mask and place it on the ground as well. I turn around and begin shifting things on my suit, stripping down so I’m left in just the plain black pants and white tee shirt I’ve been wearing underneath the armor. Feeling normal and a little more human again, I turn back to Girl, who hasn’t moved an inch from her defensive position. Tony looks at me sadly, asking me with his eyes what we should do.

There’s noise from outside the room, and Clint’s voice is soon humming in my ear. “Where are you guys?”

“We’re in medical,” Bruce taps in and replies. Soon, footsteps can be heard approaching the doorway and Nat, Thor, and Clint enter in, all looking slightly confused.

“We…” Natasha begins, pausing when she sees Girl curled up on the bed. “… Hydra agents are in the lower cabin. They’re safe and secure,” she tells us. “The other pri- I mean… the others we rescued are in the holding cells- r-rooms,” she adds. Tony and I nod in unison. It’s clear that all three of them are taken aback by the sight of the child on the bed.

Thor takes a step towards Girl and she ducks, a sad whimper escaping her lips. “Look, it is a human child,” he comments casually, clearly still not quite understanding the severity of the situation.

He takes another step towards her and reaches out to poke at her, but at his incoming hand, her body lurches away and she lets out a cry, begging, “Don’t hurt Girl, please!” Soon, heartbreak can be seen across everyone’s face in the room but Girl’s. Thor steps back, surprisingly saying nothing more.

For several moments, the room is silent. I can tell we all want to do something; we all want to help, but we’re scared to try in fear of frightening the poor thing even more. After a little while longer, Tony steps up and approaches the bed. Girl quivers, but he doesn’t stop or retreat. Standing beside he the bed, he places a hand on her shoulder, and she recoils fearfully. Looking closely, I can see that tears have formed in Tony’s eyes. “It’s alright, kid,” he whispers softly, tucking a strand of stray hair behind Girl’s ear, “we’re the good guys, remember? You’re not in danger anymore. There’s no need to fear.”

“Maybe we should clear out of here a bit,” Clint says quietly from behind Nat. “She might feel overwhelmed with everyone in here.” I nod in agreement, and silently he, Nat, and Thor disappear back out into the rest of the ship. Tony’s gaze meets mine, and he steps away from the bed, his hand pulling back from Girl’s shoulder.

“I think I’ll join them,” he says, and leaves without another word. From what I can tell, being around Girl is proving to be just too hard for him right now. Seeing her in this state is just too painful. Though he may act all cool and tough, I know he’s really a softie deep down inside. And I almost feel like maybe I can’t handle this, too. But I know that I need to stay here. It would be too traumatic for her to be left alone with Bruce. Besides, I’m the one who saved her. I want to show her that I really am a good guy.

I approach the bed once again, hoping that without my suit I’m at least a little bit less intimidating. Now having gathered some equipment onto a tray, Bruce turns back around to the bed to face the child as well. “I think we should get her started on an IV, and I want to start checking her vitals, too,” he says. I nod, knowing this won’t be easy.

“Okay, Girl. I’m just going to lay you down, alright?” I tell her quietly, reaching out and stroking her hair as softly as I can. She continues to shake and doesn’t respond, but her wide eyes beg me to leave her alone. I offer her another sad smile, telling her, “You’re in pretty bad shape, kiddo. We need to get some fluids in you so that you can get stronger. We aren’t gonna hurt you.” As gently as I can, I begin to pull at her legs so that she’s no longer curled up. She flinches, but doesn’t do too much beyond that to resist my assistance. I place a hand on her shoulder and gently push her back down against the bed, and soon, tears are flowing out of her eyes again, causing my heart to sting.

“Please- wait, please,” she whimpers weakly, growing even more restless when she sees Bruce preparing a fluid bag on a stand and attaching a needle to the tubing. “No, n-no more, no more,” she grows more adamant, struggling against me as I hold her by both shoulders now, unsure of how to help or calm her.

“Do you think we’ll need restraints?” Bruce asks softly. As soon as she hears his words, Girl falls apart, beginning to sob and flail against my grip.

“God, did you have to say that out loud?” I mumble, pinning the writhing body down to the bed forcefully, but at the same time making sure that my movements are gentle enough not to hurt her. She isn’t hard to hold down, but I hate doing it, knowing that it only causes her anxiety to spike even higher. “Girl, hey. Listen to me, okay? I know, I know this is scary for you and you think we’re gonna hurt you like everybody else. But I promise you, I promise no one will hurt you here. We just wanna help you, sweetheart. Your body is breaking down because of what the bad guys did to you. You need help; we can help you. Please, please,” I try to reason with her, but she just continues to bawl and struggle against my hands, beyond the point of listening.

Turning to Bruce, I sigh. “I don’t think you’ll be able to get it in without restraints, but please, make sure they doesn’t hurt her,” I request sadly. The last thing I want to do is make her feel more scared or trapped, but at this point I don’t see what other choice we have.

Bruce nods and opens a drawer under the bed, pulling out cloth straps that I recognize to be medical-grade restraints. With a solemn look, he secures them to the frame of the bed and begins to tie Girl down. First her arms, then a strap over her waist, and finally her legs. All the while, she screams and sobs, and I do my best to comfort her, stroking her hair and shushing her soothingly, but nothing sates her.

“Just gonna feel a little pinch, okay?” Bruce says calmly to the small girl as he wipes her inner elbow with an alcohol pad.

“Please don’t, please-… s-said you wouldn’t, please don’t shift Girl, please,” she begs through her sobs.

“Shift?” I wonder aloud.

“Maybe she means something they did to her in the lab. It’s okay, Girl; we won’t do that to you. These are just some fluids that will help you feel better and stronger. It’s just like giving you water to drink. Nothing scary,” Bruce assures her.

He uncaps the needle and I lean down slightly beside Girl to stroke her cheek, earning a frightened flinch as the child shuts her eyes. Her next plea breaks my heart. “Don’t hit Girl.”

Pulling back slightly, I return to stroking her hair instead. “Oh doll, never,” I say, heartbroken by the abuse she’s clearly been put through. “Remember? I promised you. No one will hurt you anymore.”

“Three… two… one… poke,” Bruce says softly before slipping the needle through her skin. She winces, her eyes opening wide, wild with fear. I can tell she can feel the liquid beginning to run through her veins, her breaths become uneven as she begins to panic.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, just like water, remember? It’s not gonna hurt you. Try to take some deep breaths. There’s no need to worry.” But I can tell that her breathing is out of her control at this point, and she looks at me, a cry for help evident in her gaze. Continuing to smooth down her hair, I don’t break eye contact with her. “Deep breaths,” I say again. “In, and out. In, and out. There you go; that’s it. You’re doing just fine, Girl,” I coo gently at her.

Bruce slips on a stethoscope and places the metal disk over the thin gown covering the little girl. She flinches, growing slightly upset again, but I’m quick to assure her, “It’s okay, he’s just checking to make sure your heart is beating as it should. Just focus on me; everything’s alright.”

“Her heart’s beating pretty damn fast, but there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it,” Bruce says after listening for several seconds. Next, he pulls out a blood pressure cuff and slips it around the arm without the IV, beginning to inflate it with the pump. Girl whimpers at the tightening sensation.

“You’re okay, he’s just checking your blood pressure, too. Just making sure everything’s okay and that your body is working the way it should,” I hum reassuringly. She looks at me with wide eyes, still questioning me silently.

“BP’s fine, too,” Bruce comments. “Seems like she’s just severely malnourished. We’ll have to make sure she starts some sort of refeeding process.” I nod, not exactly knowing what a ‘refeeding’ process would entail, but not wanting to ask in front of the child at the moment.

Leaning back against the counter, Bruce looks at Girl. “Can you tell us what Hydra did to you?” he asks her. She says nothing, her gaze holding an abundance of uncertainty. “We know you have exceptional healing capabilities; can you explain it to us?” Again, she doesn’t answer, and I don’t blame her.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” I tell her softly. My hand continues to run through her tangled hair, and at this point it feels almost as if she’s leaning slightly into my touch. Her eyes have grown slightly droopy, and I can tell she’s exhausted. “Hey doll, how about you close your eyes and go to sleep for a little bit? You must be tired. We can talk more when you wake up,” I suggest.

Bruce takes this as his cue to leave, slipping out through the door silently. Girl doesn’t look away from me, and I can tell she wants to rest, but something’s keeping her from allowing herself to.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. She blinks slowly, her bottom lip trembling.

“You’ll hurt Girl in her sleep?” she asks warily. I shake my head.

“No, I won’t hurt you in your sleep. Won’t hurt you at all. I promise.” I extend my arm to her, my pinky sticking out. At first, she looks at it funny, and I realize that she doesn’t understand. I chuckle slightly, explaining, “It’s a pinky promise. You can wrap your pinky around mine, and then it’ll be a very special promise that won’t ever be broken.” Her eyes widen slightly, and to my surprise, she shakily reaches out her own hand, her tiny pinky wrapping around my own. I smile at her, and for a moment she seems to almost smile back. “I don’t ever break my pinky promises,” I say seriously to her. She nods.

“Will you… still be here when Girl wakes up?” she asks sheepishly. I nod, my heart swelling with pride as she begins to show progress in becoming less fearful of me.

“Of course. I won’t leave this room,” I give her my word.

She nods again, finally allowing her eyes to close. Stroking her hair a few more times, I wait until her breaths become even to finally pull away.

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[wandsandwheezes]

NASCAR III | G.W

WARNINGS // 6.9k // SMUT 18+, George x Reader // Fred x unnamed OC, Angry Fred, Racer!George, light angst, fighting, rough sex, soft sex, breeding kink af, mentions of alcohol, cars, sex, possession, praise kink, a (tiny) amount of degradation, oral, unprotected sex, one ass slap.

A/N // the series that nobody expected to become a series has now officially done just that. @darthwheezely​ and I do be hoes for these racer boys xoxo 🏎🦋 ILYSM PHIA MWAH <333

“Fred, have you seen my jumper?”

“Yeah, it’s on the bed, baby” he called. Fred was not often a meticulous man, but (as Lee said) ‘if the fit called for a bit of work, it was always worth it.’ 

And to Fred, going to a press conference with his exceptionally hot fiancé warranted at least basic perfection, right?

Fred made a low whistle as she came out of the bathroom, a towel around her. “Well, aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes.” She came to stand in front of him, pressing one, two, three kisses to his mouth, the flavour of fresh toothpaste still on her mouth. He hummed in contentment and wrapped his hands around her waist.

“Love, it’ll be fine, this will be my tenth, glorious win-“

“-and you almost got in a crash last time because you were being a tosser, remember?”

“Mmmm, that’s in the details,” he said softly. He searched her eyes and sighed, pulling her flush  into his body.

“I promise I’ll be okay this time, you know I’m a great driver and that this isn’t anything different...I still intend on marrying you in one piece, you know.” She chuckled at that and he tilted her chin up, pressing a kiss to her forehead and murmuring:

“I love you, you know that?”

“And I love you, Freddie...even though you are a tosser.” 

He slung her over his shoulder, rolling his eyes dramatically, and threw her on the bed, her giggling at the action.

“There’s my saucy little minx, now how about a pre-press test drive, yeah?...”

—

“I can’t just not go, babe.” George sighed, pushing the hair from his face, a sudden clammy feeling of his clothes against his skin indicating just how nervous he was for the up and coming press conference. 

“You’re running a fever, George, I’ll call Lee and tell him that you need the rest and that–” You rambled, pressing the cool back of your hand against his forehead, then neck and chest, feeling that thin veil of sweat forming against his hot skin.

“Don’t.” He mumbled all too abruptly, cutting your flow of words short. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at him before shaking your head. He recognised the tone at which he had spat his word, immediately pulling your hand into his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I’m sorry I snapped, I know you’re only looking out for me.”

“It’s okay, Georgie, I still think you should stay here with me.” You sighed, climbing over his legs to be sat in his lap as you breathed out softly, watching as his eyes softened only for his eyebrow to raise, a smirk soon finding his lips while his hands rested on your waist.

“Any old excuse to keep me at the hotel then, eh?” George licked his lips, pulling you closer into his chest as he eyed your expression, the giggle that fell from his lips like pure music to his ears.

“I just want you better for the race, idiot.” You rolled your eyes, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, his lips finding your cheeks to pepper kisses there with a smug grin on his face.

“I think I could win this one you know, regardless of me being sick or not, I have a good feeling about it.” He hummed, forehead pressed against yours lovingly.

“What makes you say that?” You prodded, running your hands through the hair at the back of his head.

“I have one thing nobody else has; you.” He praised, only for you to bury your face in the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath as his hands ran up your back. “I love you so much, angel.”

“I love you too, George, more than you’ll ever know.”

—

The conference room was packed - that’s an understatement, really. Every journalist alive came to talk to the new dominators of modern NASCAR racing, George and Fred Weasley. Although, as George spitefully knew:

He was somewhere because of Fred. Again.

That familiar feeling of resentment threatened to bubble in the younger twin’s throat, and he immediately began to push it down. The fights, the mutual disgust and disdain - that was done now. Ten wins for Fred should mean legitimately less than nothing but excitement for his older brother. 

So why was that feeling still there? 

“Hello, everyone, I’m sorry I’m late!” Fred entered from the back of the stage, nothing but glimmer (and gloat) in the elder twin’s face. Good mood Fred could always either be an impending disaster, or one of the best things the world has ever seen.

Of course he’s late, he’s always late, George thought, before guilt immediately settled in. 

Fred took a bottle of water, winking playfully at the young lady who got him one, before settling in his seat next to George. 

“Right then, questions?” Fred boomed, that familiar sunshine of a smile very evident on his face. The man behind them, George’s manager was directing questions, and George swallowed at what questions would appear. 

“This is for Fred, do you predict another victory in this race?” The journalist asked.

Fred leaned a bit forward in his seat and dipped his mouth into the microphone:

“Does the pope wear a big hat, love?”

George however sniggered to himself at the question, holding back a laugh at Fred’s answer. Of course he would answer in the cockiest way known to man, only lighting a fire under the younger twin’s arse to kick into gear and take the baby driver down a few pegs. 

“Something funny, Georgie?” Fred turned his head slightly to the side, the smile still there, but dark eyes venturing into icier territory.

“Nothing, Brother, just think you should remember there is always tough competition, no matter how cocksure you are.” George murmured loud enough into the microphone for his words to reverberate around the room, some reporters eyeing each other before vigorously taking notes. 

Fred had been taking a sip of his water and nearly choked, eliciting a “sorry everyone!” into the microphone. He gave George a brief side eye, but no - he wasn’t going to let him ruin his moment again. They’ve moved past this, George can have his own fun, why couldn’t he be a little confident for a change?

“Hi, this question is for George,” Fred only heard that much before a brief but very definite prickle of resentment tingled at his skin. He started to feel a bit warm but was determined to brush it off, turning towards George a bit.

“You’ve had a fantastic season these past couple years, and although you’ve lost the past ten races, you still stick to the top five - will we get our own Crimson Wonder back, or is that Fred’s title now?” 

George held back on his instinct to bite at his brother’s ego, instead taking a sip of water to collect his thoughts before speaking, his mind trailing back to the words he had said this morning; ‘I have a good feeling about this one’.

“Fred and I both train hard, as does every other racer out on that track,” George swallowed thickly before continuing his sentence, “But I think my own winning streak is far from over, who knows, as you say, you may get your Crimson Wonder back yet.” 

Fred attempted to register and probably stop the inherently blank expression on his face, but honestly? It was too much. Yes, George was great, and yes, he was proud of him but.

Why was there a deeply unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach? Twintuition as they called it was something not out of the ordinary at all - but why was it that somewhere in the back of his mind he just felt this...this negative foresight.

There was one thing Fred didn’t like more than avocados (Fred hated avocados) and that was losing.

“My baby brother, so inspirational isn’t he? Gets it from my mum, absolutely.” Fred curled his lips into his mouth, gnawing on his bottom lip, in complete understanding of what he just said. The reporters didn’t have to know that any time he brought up their age or said my mum instead of our mum, it kind of lit a match in George. 

In short, Fred knew exactly what he was doing. And George didn’t really like that, but he wasn’t about to stoop to Fred’s level and ruin his public imagery, not with his wife-to-be and his sister-in-law-to-be watching and murmuring to each other with pained faces: they knew the tension was there too, of course they had.

“I think we should leave the rest of the heat for rubber burning on the track.” The moderator cut in, taking final questions from the press aimed at the others on the panel, letting the twins simmer in their own jealousy toward one another as the conference came to a close.

The boys’ demeanours had completely shifted, George staying behind to take pictures and leave autographs for fans, smile on his face and a sense of pride in his chest, while Fred had made a swift exit in just the way he arrived, looking absolutely miserable.

—

“Georgie,” Fred called out from the locker rooms, “just what the fuck was that?” His bare chest red while he angrily scrambled to get his uniform on.

“Please,” George scoffed, zipping his uniform up calmly, before pushing his bag into his locker with ease, “I could ask you the same question.” 

“I was actually trying to give the press what they wanted, a good show, you, on the other hand, just wanted to be a proper arsehole in front of everyone.” He slammed his locker door shut, his knuckles on his hand against it surely white now from childish rage.

George closed his locker with force, not so much anger, running a hand through his hair before picking up his helmet, his tongue truly in his cheek, the angel on his shoulder begging him to stay quiet while the devil paralleled telling him that it was about time he spoke his feelings. “I’m the arsehole? Check your own actions first, mate.” 

He breathed but he wasn’t done, the words flowing like vomit as he finally let go all of the bottled aggression, “You don’t know the first thing about being a racer, how fucking tiring it is and you use it against me like its something I’m not good at and I’m fucking tired of it.” 

George went to continue, but the guilt of spitting every thought in his brain suddenly overcame him, instead he clutched at his helmet a little tighter, taking a deep breath before muttering as he walked away, “Good luck out there, you’ll need it.”

Fred stood there watching him walk away, something a bit more unfair that self-loathing and resentment lingering in his chest. It was dizzying, it was a feeling he altogether hated and actively tried to pretend he didn’t have.

Fred Weasley, in short, was guilty. 

—

The Arizona sun was beating down on the track, everyone watching on with baited breath as each car lined up on the Phoenix Raceway, engines revving in anticipation of the start of the race. Fred was clutching at his steering wheel tightly, blinkered only on one thing; winning this one. George however, knew the racers he was up against; some of the best in the NASCAR cup and even some that had been driving as long as he had been alive, was lucky to find himself there, taking a deep breath. George wasn’t a religious man but in that moment he was praying to whatever god to grant him some good luck. 

The green flag waved, signalling the start of the race, each car zooming by as the engines roared. The race was a tough one and everyone watching on knew that. The first ten or so laps went just as smoothly as planned, a backhaul crash in the 18th lap just missing the twins, but nevertheless cutting the number of racers pretty much immediately in half. 

George grew more confident as he crept up the rankings, sitting comfortably in about 6th place for a grand majority of the race, while Fred trailed much behind him in about 8th place. The tension of the conference had truly stumped the older twin, pushing him to want to be up in the top dogs, but to no avail, every attempt was blocked for him. 

The final three laps, George was in fourth and Fred was nowhere to be seen, well sat in his 11th place, seething at his inevitable loss. The younger twin was content with his placing, watching the third place drop down to 5th pushing him into the top 3. George swore he felt every single beat of his heart as he zoomed past the lap line. Two to go. Third place was enough for George, especially in a race like this. He zoomed past the lap line again. White Flag. Last chance.

In a flash, a car from behind George pushed forward, striking the first place car, sending three cars spiralling off the track leaving behind only dust sparks and fire in their tacks. It didn’t click for George that he had passed the finish line in 1st place until it blared through his headset.

“I fucking did what?” He shouted as he continued speeding around the track, the confirmation of his win ringing through his ears as he let out a loud but satisfied yell, the stress of weeks of losses finally leaving him in an exhale, welcoming the new feeling of pride. 

Fred in the heat of the crash had fallen to 12th place, pushing him to be the last of all the cars on the track past the finish line - a loss he was not ready to accept no matter how much pride beamed from him hearing the news that the winner had been his own twin brother. 

—

“George, how does it feel to have a trophy back?” 

“Honestly, it feels so surreal - I’m so grateful for my team, crew, and absolutely amazing fiancée, Y/N - I love you so much, baby,” he shouted over the noise, cameras completely swamping the victory stage and hallway down to the bar. He had everything he could’ve wanted, you, a real win again, happy sponsors - but there was one thing missing.

Fred. Where was Fred? Did it really matter? He knew he hadn’t placed very far, but surely he wouldn’t be that angry would he? But then - no. No, George won, he deserved to win again after Fred had been hogging all the sunny days and he was still supportive. So where was his twin now? Even after everything.

He stopped you on his arm and said: “actually, there is one more person I really do have to thank.” He faced directly towards the camera, you utterly confused.

“Thank you, Freddie, for being the best supportive big brother a guy could ask for. You’ve always been a winner to me.” And with a shaky swallow, knowing he wasn’t here, knowing he probably could give a shit whether George thanked him or not, he went off with you on his arm to have a drink.

God knows he needed it.

—

The older twin sat in the lockers, his elbows resting on his knees, his bare arms and chest tensing periodically with pure and spiteful rage. What the absolute fuck had he done differently? He had been on his highest alert, his most pristine focus, what went wrong? 

He didn’t crash, he didn’t bitch and moan to his pit crew, he didn’t fly off the handle - yet - so why did he get the curt, “I’m sorry, son, we all lose sometimes,” from Vinnie, his new manager like it was just normal. 

Fred Weasley didn’t lose. Especially not after a ten time winning streak, no, he refused. 

So there he sat, knowing his fiancé was probably making excuse after excuse as to why her husband had fled the cameras and the questions, why he wasn’t congratulating his brother on his fantastic win - but he didn’t have the energy to feel guilt. All he felt was loathing. He barely didn’t register the soft clicking of his soon to be wife’s heels clacking against the tile floor. 

“Fred Weasley, what the fuck are you doing naked in the locker room, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said with great exasperation. She looked stunning, in that pretty little two piece skirt and black crop number, not at all like a woman frantically in search of her formula 1 MIA husband. 

“You look great, sweetheart,” he mumbled, barely looking up at her before getting up and turning to his locker, getting out his change of clothes. She watched his back ripple with tension and at the sight alone felt her thighs break for a second.

“So were you planning on telling me where you were or just sulking in here?” 

“I was taking a shower, actually...I don’t get why you’re so pissed at me.” He snapped, not even bothering to turn around. 

“I’m ‘pissed’ at you because your brother loves you and you’re in here acting like a five year old who got his teddy taken away from him.” She retorted. Fred turned around then, slamming the locker door shut for the second time that day, the sound echoing in the bathroom. 

“I’m sorry, what did you just say to me?” He seemed to punctuate every word in the sentence, but his voice very quiet - too quiet. 

“You’re - just get your clothes on and knock it off, Weasley,” she scoffed, trying to walk off the very minor but very palpable fear she felt, and the evident arousal pooling in her thighs. Fred, unfortunately, knew this, and in Fred fashion, was feeling quite a good many ways about this. 

“Get your ass back here, right now, sweetheart,” he snapped, his volume gaining to a low roar. When she kept on walking to the door, his long legs loped to a brisk walk in front of the doorway, right in front of her. She didn’t realize that she was holding her breath for a second until she exhaled, and his thumb came up to grace her bottom lip.

“Open,” he said quietly, and then she did listen, her lips opening up to his thumb immediately. He always did this mannerism, when he said open he’d open his mouth too, almost showing her how she needed to be before usually saying “theeere, it is” but right now, he was silent, his mouth pressed in a thin line. 

But then she bit. And hard. Pushing him off her and making him gasp, her heels clicked down the tile as fast as she could walk. But Fred wasn’t going to let her get away that easy. In an instant he threw his elongated and toned arm out to grab her waist, pulling her back into the wall, caging her in his hold.

“You’re being an absolute twat, you know that?” She spat. He delicately slapped the side of her face and squeezed her cheeks to form an o.

“And you’re being a prissy little bitch, but I’m still here, aren’t I?” He said harshly, scanning her eyes before yanking her in for a kiss. She immediately released a desperate moan into his mouth and he slid his hand through her hair and all the knots and tangles possible to reach the back of her head. His other hand slid down up her skirt to grope her thigh, hoisting her legs around his waist. 

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad, I swear,” she breathed out, before his lips messily met hers. He always kissed with his jaw, she noticed that, when he’d hit his strong jaw out to move with her and nuzzle her face and then she always moaned like she was doing now.

In an instant he was carrying her back towards the shower, the shuffle of so many movements causing the towel around his waist to fall off.

“You ready to take a winner, baby?” 

— 

After a couple of drinks it was safe to say that you and George had gotten a little closer than you usually would have sober. He wasn’t even tipsy, feeling no more than the pride of his win but even with that he wasn’t going to ignore the fact that his girl was practically purring for him while clinging to his arm. You were so desperate to pull him in for a kiss, hell you probably would have let him have you in the hall out of pure lust for your husband-to-be.

It had been so long since you’d seen him smile the way he was now, pride radiating off his skin alongside the heat of his lingering fever, making you remember that not only had he won the hardest race he’d ever driven, but he’d done so while sick. A smirk spread over your lips as you went to push up on your toes, lips pecking a gentle kiss to his jaw.

“What’s that for, angel?” He smiled down at you, his lips now ducking down to press a loving kiss to your forehead. 

“Just a taste of how I’m gonna congratulate my winner later.” You mumbled playfully as his arm snuck around your waist to pull you in tighter, leaning to whisper in your ear as his lips grazed over your earlobe.

“Guess I should think about getting you to bed then, yeah? That what you want bub?” He pulled away from your ear with a grin stretching from ear to ear.

You nodded bashfully, letting him tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the rosy hue on his cheeks apparent just from being close to you, in this moment. George didn’t care about the press or his manager or really even the win anymore, not when he had you right in front of him, begging him short of being on your knees. 

He made an excuse, whatever it had to be to get you alone, to get away from the champagne, cameras and chatting. His jacket was draped over your shoulders as you found your way out of the celebration lounge, giggling like teenagers as you walked hand in hand to his car, the echoes of laughter humming around the underground car park before he had you trapped between his body and the passenger side door.

“I can’t wait to get you back to our room.” He mumbled, lips just hovering inches away from yours. His hand slipped just under the hem of your top, his hot touch sending sparks flying through you.

“The things I want you to do to me, Weasley.” You breathed out, hand reaching behind his head to pull his lips down to yours, letting him leave no gaps between you, him and his car. 

“Oh yeah?,” he murmured breathlessly, nose knocking against yours, “Like what, princess? Don’t be shy, we have a whole journey for you to run that pretty mouth of yours.”

“You’ll ruin me one day if you keep talking like that, George.” 

“I think I’ll ruin you tonight instead, love.” 

—

“Freddie, please-“

“No, I’m not stopping until you cum on me, princess, I deserve that much,” he snarled, his cock rippling through her over and over. He had intended on fucking all his anger out on her ever since he pushed her into the shower, everything only mouths and melded hands. 

“Feels - feels so good, Freddie” she whined, her legs barely able to sustain being wrapped around him. His hips whipcracked into her at an entirely new angle, prompting her to mewl and claw at his back like a cat. 

“Oh my poor baby, can she not take my cock? Would another racer do a better job at - “ he pushed deeper into that new spot, her mewls and whines turning to wanton cries. “ - stretching you out instead of me?”

“No one can do this, Fred, I promise, love,” she murmured, her eyes rolling vacantly to the back of her head. He sensed her climax was arriving soon, she was like butter under his hot embrace.

“Look at me,” he growled, squeezing her face and tilting it upwards. “I want to see my prize when she makes a mess everywhere, you hear me, princess?” Her widened eyes bore into his deep chocolate ones and when she finished, she truly could not look at anything else except him, it was always him and only him that made her feel like this. 

“Thaaaat’s it, baby, look at you, being such a dirty little girl for me. You like making messes for me, princess?” He cooed, his soft and caring tone a total opposite to the way he pulled out and slammed back in, making her scream and be flush against him. 

“M-mhm,” she murmured, Fred shaking his head as he chuckled, carrying her dripping out of the shower, still inside her. “Do you want me to take you off?” He whispered, the anger still in his throat, but...she would always be more important. Making her feel safe was always important, even in the worst of his rage. Fortunately, she nodded at him and kissed his jaw, a soothing gesture that always meant she loved him, everything was okay, he didn’t hurt her. He smoothed the top of her wet hair down and gave the top of her head a kiss, his ring finger stroking against the centre of her spine.

But then, a certain thought excited him blackly. 

“Baby…who put that ring on you?” He asked pensively. No, he didn’t win that idiotic fucking race, and no, he didn’t beat his brother in this race but - he still won her. He suddenly felt his dick twitch deep inside her and he groaned, clenching his jaw at the sudden awareness of her engagement ring digging into his shoulder. He fully stopped looking at the ground and the towel on the locker hanger, reaching for it and dropping it flat on the ground.

“F-Freddie?” She asked weakly.

“Mhm?”

“What - what are you doing?” She released a high pitch whine at the feeling of Fred twitching again, and at that he flipped her over on the towel, backside up, his cunt and his ass being fully presented to him like that. And then he moaned, his eyes shutting after and his jaw rolling when he saw her buck her ass up to try and meet him wherever he was behind her. 

“God, you are just a good for nothing little Formula 1 whore aren’t you?” He breathed out, his hands sliding to cup her ass and squeezing, relishing in the scarlet rash of skin that came and went with a blink of an eye. 

“You’d like to think so,” she quietly quipped, his hands suddenly freezing on her ass.

“Oh...is that so? Well, then…” and at that he slowly began to squeeze again until she was squirming, then bringing his hand down to the centre of her ass, a loud smack echoing in the room. She cried into the towel and bucked her ass towards him once again. 

“Yes, yes, I’m a Formula 1 whore,” she wept, Fred chuckling and positioning his cock at her entrance, just barely letting his tip brush her cunt.

“What if I just stayed here, hmm? Didn’t even let you have my cock, just gave you a taste of what it would be like to get fucked by me and go use another checkered flag slut instead, that sound good, baby?” He said crisply, trying not to let the tortured feeling of his cock get to him. 

“Fred, I-“ and with a final growl, Fred pushed himself to the brim inside her once more. She cried out his name into the towel, his free hand not bracing himself from behind pushing her head into the towel. He was devouring every noise that came from her mouth, mostly strained cries and pants that registered with every crack of his hips inside her. He felt her near her release again, his as well, his hips losing tempo.

“Gonna marry you and stuff you with aaaall my babies, isn’t that right princess? Gonna make my trophy wife swell up, you won’t be able to even fathom seeing that pretty pussy of yours in the morning” He panted, groaning at the sight of his cock disappearing and reappearing in her - in his - cunt. 

“Please, wanna be so full, of your...of your babies, Fred,” she whimpered, his name falling from her lips like alphabet soup as she, with a final rock of her ass against him, came undone around him. He gripped her hips and with a sharp “I love you, fuck” followed her in the same way, his hips rolling ever so gently back into her to soothe their highs.

After a moment he pulled out of her, dismantling the baby hairs sticking to her forehead out the way, pressing kiss after kiss there. 

“Weasley, you got any car plush toys on you by chance?” She quipped, prompting a grin from Fred and a chaste kiss to her lips and nose.

“No, but the Babies R Us near home might…”

—

The second you were parked up, George had his hand snaked around the back of your neck pulling you in to peck your lips over and over, warm and comforting giggles slipping from your lips between every kiss. The trip up to your room took twice the time it would usually take, stopping frequently to evade the hotel staff, as well as missing your floor entirely in the elevator; too distracted by the taste of his lips and the way his hands gripped desperately at your hips.

Once well inside your hotel room, you found yourself underneath him, hair sprawled out beneath you as he marvelled at your beauty. A toothy grin spread across his lips before his head ducked down to press a kiss just below your ear, sucking a deep purple mark against your warm skin as a giggle erupted through his throat, the vibrations causing you to do the same, hands pressed against his shoulders to push him away. 

“Good lord, woman, I love you.” He breathed out, his lips moving to press a kiss to your forehead. You sighed out a moan as his fingers slipped underneath the hem of your shirt, bunching the fabric up as he pushed it up your torso and over your bra, exposing the plain but gorgeous lace.

His lips soon pressed against your exposed skin, sucking mark after mark down the valley of your breasts, humming in satisfaction at the way you writhed beneath him as your hands wove through his soft, ginger locks, tousling them perfectly as you giggled together.

“You may have won today, Georgie, but I’m winning now.” You whined, keeping him pulled close to you as his free hand snuck just underneath the hem of your skirt, fingers brushing against your sensitive clit as he swallowed each and every moan, taking pleasure in slipping the flimsy lace to the side to sink his fingers into you quickly and with no mercy, letting you chant his name as you begged for more. 

It didn’t take much for him to oblige, hardly pulling away from you to slip his cock free, teasing your entrance for a moment before he was pushing slowly into you, letting you get used to the feeling of the first few inches, only for him to pull back out, chuckling darkly at the way you writhed against the sheets. “Baby please, don’t tease me like that.” 

He pouted mockingly, dipping his head down to press a slow and intimate kiss to your lips, nose nudging against yours before he mumbled into the kiss, letting you lean into it. “As you wish, princess.” 

Almost all at once, you felt him move your hips to the right position, continuing to tease you as he sank slowly into you, not daring to pull away again as he eyed the way your face contorted with pleasure, your hands slipping under the thin t-shirt, he wore, pulling it over his head and tossing it across the room, your nails dragging down the freshly exposed skin, pulling a groan from him.

“I’m gonna fuck you so deep, bub, gonna make you scream and give you a baby.” He groaned, hands pressing your head down to the mattress as he cradled it, hot breath fanning over your face as his slow thrusts pulled moan after moan from you.

His strong arm hooked underneath you, pulling you up and into his chest, as his hips continued in pushing in and out of you at the most antagonising pace. He smirked at the way your head immediately fell to rest on his shoulder, your eyes squeezing shut from the new angle. 

“Bet you’re loving this aren’t you? Not so bold anymore, angel.” His gravelly voice rumbled through your ear, hand gripping that little bit tighter as he felt your small shallow breaths growing deeper at the intensely slow lovemaking you were far from expecting tonight.

“I’m still bold.” You whispered, nudging forward to pull his earlobe between your teeth before peppering sloppy, wet kisses along his neck.

“Funny one, love.” He smirked, beginning to pick the pace up a notch, enough to bring the hanging release down on you, pushing you to be clenching around him as you begged for it. “I knew you’d like that.”

He had a way of completely dumbfounding you, making you lost for words, finding yourself against the sheets fully again, this time he had hooked your legs over his shoulders only to lean down and press his lips to yours, all the time his skilled fingers toyed with your clit. 

You felt as if every sense had been awoken, stimulated by his very touch like a fire had been lit around you, pulling you into the embrace of the flames as you found yourself screaming his name, the inevitable high falling over you.

“That’s it, baby, doing so good for me…” He breathed heavily, his lips pressing to your forehead as he continued to ride out your high, his own release painting your walls as he fucked it into you, pulling true on his promise of filling you up.

You felt so full, his love washing through you from head to toe as he lazily kissed you, slipping your legs off his shoulders to pull you back into his arms, keeping himself bottomed out inside of you. 

“I’m dead serious about giving you a baby, princess.” He chuckled, hand trailing up and down your back as he traced languid shapes into your soft skin.

“Good, I’m dead serious about having your baby.”

—

Fred knocked on the door, his foot tapping on the carpet outside George’s hotel room. He was always a fidgety man, but today would be all too different for the eldest Weasley twin. 

He knocked once more, altogether considering just going home and leaving a lengthy but probably nonsense voicemail, if not entirely fueled by alcohol then by sheer force of nature that was his fiancé alone. 

He had decided on giving up, his legs stretching as he turned around. But then the door opened, the equally messy haired ginger behind it looking so much calmer and more serene than Fred ever could. 

“Heya, Georgie,” Fred breathed out. George would never have said it out loud, but Fred looked like absolute death. He could tell his older brother had gotten little to no sleep, his eyes sunken in. He knew Fred was hurting, and George never was one to rub it in. If anything, George would always be the one who understood him the most, they rarely ever had to apologize to each other for things like this, their souls simply understanding when pain was evident. 

“Morning, Freddie…” George spoke warmly, crossing his arms over his chest for a moment, smiling lazily at his twin as he pondered his next move. “D’you wanna come in?” 

“Yeah...yeah, that’d be nice,” he swallowed, smiling softly at his slightly younger (but in many ways, much older) twin. 

George stepped aside, letting his brother in as he shut the door behind him. He rubbed his hands together, a smile that rounded his cheeks on his face as he sensed the awkwardness in the room. This wasn’t like them at all. “Everyone missed you yesterday, Fred, parties aren’t the same without you.”

“As in, no one drank all the rum and Coke at the party without me is what I’m hearing?” He cracked a small smile, attempting to avoid as much eye contact with Georgie that wasn’t necessary. 

“George, I’m so sorry.” He said softly, his jaw stilling. 

“You don’t have to apologise, Fred.”

“No, but I do. I...I know how special being behind the wheel is to you, and you’re right. I don’t know what it means to win, at least not like you, and...George, you’re my best friend, stupid.” He aggressively wiped under his eyes. “I want to be happy for you and lately I haven’t even been thankful for you and that isn’t fair, mate, I...I love you. So much.”

“I feel like I was losing you there, Freddie, I’ve hardly seen you, we don’t talk unless it’s a press conference and just… Fuck I hate this, I miss being able to call you and talk about all the dumb things we can do together.” George sighed, looking up to the ceiling to stop the tears from falling.

Fred’s, however, were already hitting the ground. “I hate it too, Georgie...I hate it so much. It’s fun, being a racer like you - with you - but I just...I want to fix your tires again, man” he tearfully chuckled, watching George do the same. “I want to say stupid shit like ‘baby brother, your blinker fluid is out’ over the headset and listen to you cuss me out, and I want to be able to know I’m still on your team at the end of the day.” He curled his lip inward. “That’s all I’ve wanted. Is to be on your team.” 

“You have no idea what it’s like to win without you, when you’re out there making sure that everything is okay I just know my big brother is there looking out for me and I miss it, I miss telling everyone that it was you who made it possible, Freddie, you’re my star man.” George smiled, scratching his arm nervously, wanting nothing more than for things to be like old times.

Fred let out a breathy laugh, his eyes still brimming with fresh tears. “I’m the last one to thank, you big wanker, I don’t drive the damn thing constantly, that’s all you and your foolishness.” He swallowed. “I just...if you’ll have me back, I already talked to the Wood Brothers and everything but um...there’s a deal where I would be able to also drive once a month or so, and be your Pit Crew Pit Bull the other races. If that was okay with you - I want to be there with you again.” His knee bounced in the silence, his guilt and fear bouldering in his throat.

“I’d want nothing more than to have you back, I think it’ll be good for you to still stay driving, you have to get that adrenaline fill somewhere… I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of you, proud of what you’ve achieved.” George smiled, the toothy grin brightening up the room as the awkwardness seemed to fade. “Even though you do become a cocky bastard sometimes.” 

Fred scoffed and rolled his eyes. “One does not become a cocky bastard, Georgie-kins, one is a cocky bastard...also, I have to be,” he said getting up and moving to where George was sitting. “if I’m going up against my snot-nosed little brother who’s getting married and is going to expect me to babysit for a thousand hateful children,” he waggled his eyebrows and threw a pillow at him. “But thank you...I mean that. You know you’re easily the best on that track every time. Every time. I’m...I'm proud to be your twin, Georgie.”

“I don’t know how I survived without your brilliant humour gracing us all, Freddie, I truly missed the inspiring wit,” George chuckled, gently nudging his twin with his fist, “After all, you’re not too bad of a brother to have, not everyone can be me but you’re as close as anyone’s gonna get.” He smirked, eyebrow raised as he looked over to his twin.

“I truly am so distraught I did not destroy you in the womb when I had the shot, but here’s to the wish anyway,” full on slamming George in the face with the pillow and howling at the action. “Top that, bitch,” he barked.

“It’s on now.” George laughed, throwing the pillow back at his brother, sending an eruption of laughter echoing around the hotel room, the two boys flinging cushions around like there was no tomorrow.

But the laughter didn’t end, only continuing as loud roars and giggles as time passed. You found yourself swinging your legs out of bed, trudging towards the source of the noise, only to find feathers everywhere and the twins laughing together in a childlike manner. “Could the two of you be any more loud?” 

“Sorry, baby… didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Yeah, sorry, Y/N.” Fred chimed in.

“You’re damn lucky it isn’t early, Weasley.” You sighed, rolling your eyes as you shuffled off towards the warm embrace of the morning shower, thankful to see the twins as they should be, happy and together once again.

A/N //  so phia and i have pretty much decided that we’re gonna keep this going so... part IV coming sooooon ;))))

taglist // @slytherinsunrise @gcdricreads @theweasleysredhair @vogueweasley @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @witch-and-a-half @loony-loopy-lupinn @rip-us @hopemalfoyweasley @whizboingies @pansydaisy @darthwheezely @lumos-barnes @starlightweasley @valwritesx @weelittleweasley​

[yehet-me-up]

Fractions of Tomorrow

Pairing: Zitao/Reader (female)

Word Count: 10,249

Rating/Warnings: PG13

Summary: They always say opposites attract but you and Tao are putting that theory to the test. He works nights at Flanagan’s, you work the crack of dawn shift at Starbucks. He wears leather jackets, sings in a rock band, and drives a motorcycle. You prefer Keds to Chucks, study poetry at UW, and ride a pastel purple bike across town. Luckily, he’s not someone who’s afraid of a challenge.

When Baekhyun dares you and Tao to test the idea that two people can fall in love in one night you don’t expect to care so much, so fast. And when the sun rises all you can hope is that he feels the same.

Part seven of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

February 28, 1997

His head aches, body still reeling from the alcohol he drank far too much of the night before. The line at Starbucks is endlessly long and he groans. If he was responsible he’d go to the grocery across the street and get a decent breakfast. But his brain needs a substitute for the gin he was coerced into last night by his friends and it will only accept caffeine as an offering. 

A saccharine song pours in from the speakers and people around him clear their throats or rustle in their pockets and the sheer noise of the morning grates against him. He’s a creature of the night; he finds other humans far more tolerable without the sun beating down on him. Only desperation pulled him from his hangover to acquire the nectar of the gods. He taps his foot and shrugs his jacket further up his body, hoping the collar will keep the bright light pouring in from the tall windows from reaching him. 

A sweet voice breaks through the din and he turns to watch you, drawn by the warmth of the sound. It’s not his first time here, but it’s his first time paying attention. In the thriving ecosystem of the Exodus Mall everyone’s a friend of a friend of a cousin of someone and he distantly remembers you’re related to one of Baekhyun’s friends. 

Maybe it’s the way early mornings after late nights distort the world, making everything feel hazy like a dream. Maybe it’s the fact that he went home alone last night, yet again. Maybe it’s the bright, energetic shine in your eyes, astounding for the pre-eight-am time. Or maybe it’s the dimple in your cheek when you smile at the customer, writing his name on the cup and passing it to your co-workers. 

When the man moves aside and you turn your focus on Tao, for whatever reason, his intuition tells him to notice. Maybe it’s an illusion, but today feels different. You feel different. 

‘Hi, welcome to Starbucks. What can I get you?’ 

He opens his mouth, unsure what to say. For a long beat he simply observes you. The little hearts drawn around your name on your name tag. He rolls it around in his mind, matching your face with the word, almost saying it aloud. A dangerous proposition. A door he should leave shut. 

Someone coughs behind him and he shakes his head, stepping forward. ‘Just a big Americano please. As big as possible.’ His voice is thick and his throat dry. One day he’ll remember to drink a glass of water before bed after getting drunk.

You nod, reaching to the stack of cups. ‘A grande?’

He swallows to wet his throat. ‘Sure.’ 

‘Name?’ 

With a deep inhale he smells last night’s cologne still clinging to his skin. God he needs to get his shit together, he thinks with a sigh. His general state of dishevelment is even more noticeable next to you. He wonders if you ironed the collar of your shirt to be that precise or if you simply move through the world without acquiring any wrinkles. 

‘Zitao,’ he says finally. 

‘Cute.’ You say it under your breath but he still hears. His eyes go wide, his sluggish mind coming awake. After handing the cup to your co-worker you say the total. ‘That’ll be four oh two please.’

Automatically he reaches into his pocket for his wallet and pulls out the five dollar bill. He knows he’s staring like an idiot but he can’t help it. You hand him his change and on reflex he drops it into the tip jar. Service industry solidarity, he thinks with a half-smile.

The smile on your face blossoms; tentative at first, it grows when his eyes meet yours again. ‘Thank you!’ You pull a small coffee can out from beside the register and hold it out to him. ‘Anyone who tips gets a poem.’ 

He stares at the can and the slips of paper neatly folded within. Amusement fills him and he reaches for one at random, his fingers brushing yours as he pulls back. The sensation makes him want to linger. How long has it been since he touched someone, in the daylight? Since he wanted to hold and be held? Tao tells himself it doesn’t matter. It can’t. He’s got plans to leave Seattle and he doesn’t need anything tethering him here.

Before he embarasses himself he slides the paper into his pocket with a nod and moves on down the line. As he waits for his drink he keeps his focus on you. The efficiency of your motions and the genuine happiness on your face as you take order after order on the busy Friday morning. People come and go around him but he leans against the wall, waiting, thinking. 

Finally his drink is done and the cup spreads heat along his chilled palms. The world is too sharp and demanding and the thought of a day full of errands on too little sleep followed by a full shift at the bar drags at him. But the smell of coffee and your smile and the mystery poem in his pocket are life preservers thrown to him today. He clings to them with both hands to keep himself afloat. 

On his way out he finally reads the poem you’ve gifted to him. The writing is done with small, neat lettering and he knows it’s yours. 

There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.

There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled.

You feel it, don’t you?

- Rumi

With a groan he pushes out the door with his shoulder, blinking on the too-bright sidewalk. It’s too early to feel so raw and exposed, he decides. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday July 18, 1997

You trail into Flanagan’s Pub after Baekhyun and your sister, Hitchcock. It’s not her real name, but she’s had the nickname so long it might as well be. As always, they argue about movies. As always, you’re the third wheel. Not that they’re actually dating. But everyone agrees they should. 

‘Come on, it was brilliant.’ Baekhyun waves his hands dramatically as you wind your way around the crowded bar after them. 

‘I’m not saying it wasn’t,’ she responds. They slide into a booth opposite each other and you follow after your sister. ‘All I’m saying is it’s unrealistic, that’s all.’

Baekhyun scoffs, offended. ‘As if realism was the point here.’ You unfold the drink menu while he carries on, undeterred. ‘I know you’re not a hopeless romantic like myself, but are you honestly telling me that you don’t think it’s possible?’ 

Tonight’s Friday-movie-night tradition was your first viewing of The Fifth Element and Korben and Leeloo’s instant connection has revived their years-long argument about love at first sight. You roll your eyes when your sister shakes her head, leaning forward to tease him. She’s told you about her crush on Baekhyun, her best friend. For someone who’s been in love for as long as you can remember she fights awfully hard against Baekhyun’s romantic nature. Methinks the lady doth protest too much…

‘Look at Before Sunrise,’ Baekhyun says with a click of his tongue. ‘One night and they fell in love.’

She hums and scans the menu. ‘So what? It’s just one night. Show me what happens ten years later. After they see each other with messy morning hair and when he leaves dishes in the sink or, I don’t know, when she bites her nails.’ Baekhyun huffs and she smothers a laugh. ‘Let’s see how that instant love does after it’s put to the test. I’m not saying it isn’t possible, I’m just saying one night doesn’t mean it will stand the test of time, that’s all.’ She folds her menu and rests her elbows on the table, looking incredibly smug. 

Baekhyun opens his mouth to argue but the server arrives and interrupts his tirade. ‘What can I get for you?’ 

The gravelly voice is familiar and your eyes widen in surprise when you see Tao towering over the table. Quickly you look away, back to the dark wood table. 

You’ve noticed him before - at Starbucks, at parties at Baek’s from a distance, at Moe’s ages ago - but tonight he’s so cleaned up you hardly recognize him. Gone are the bags under his eyes and the nervous, jittery, curmudgeon energy that seemed to hang over him like a dark cloud. Tonight his eyes are alert and crinkle at the corner when he smiles broadly and you can’t help but notice. A very bad idea. 

‘Hey man, how’s it going?’ Baekhyun reaches out and does a complex handshake with the man before you. 

‘Oh, you know. Just working at the salt mines,’ Tao says with a laugh. ‘Are you coming to Chan and Soo’s party tomorrow night?’ 

‘You know it. I wouldn’t miss your big send off. My man here is taking off on a national tour on Sunday. Local boy making it big!’ Baekhyun gives Tao a friendly punch on the arm before drumming his fingers on the table and raising a brow. ‘Since you’re here, maybe you can settle an argument for us.’ 

Tao darts a look to you and clears his throat. ‘Sure thing. Lay it on me.’

‘Do you believe you can fall in love with someone in one night?’ Baekhyun waggles his brows at your sister and she groans. ‘Like, soulmates burning-down-the world you’re the person I’ve waited for always Blockbuster kind of love.’ 

He tilts his head to the side, considering. After a moment he shrugs. ‘I’m not sure.’ For a flash Tao’s eyes linger on you once more. ‘I think it would depend on the person.’ And then the bastard goes and winks at you. 

Baekhyun snorts and lounges back in the booth, resting his arm on the back of the seat. 'Good luck, buddy. You'd have better luck charming a brick wall. She only reads about love these days, Double Shot here is a bit gun-shy at putting it into practice again.’

You glare at Baekhyun, body going rigid at being called out. For as long as he's been your sister's best friend he's acted like a surrogate older brother to you. He vacillates between telling you it’s good you’re so focused on your studies and telling you that you're too serious, too focused on school and work. Since you got broken up with Baekhyun seems focused on the latter, always needling you to go out and have fun. But, as they say, once burned twice shy. 

You focus intently on your hands resting on the table and absolutely avoid looking at Tao. From the first time you rang him up at Starbucks you knew his gaze would see more than you'd like. He's the type to see through every bullshit line you give about how you’re fine being alone, fine with how things ended, fine fine fine. 

If life was kind the three of you would order and Tao would leave and that would be the end of it. You could safely stay in your cocoon and hide. But of course, life doesn't play fair. 

Tao sticks the pen behind his ear and folds his arms. ‘Is that a bet?’

Your cheeks warm and your heart races. Finally, you look up to him fully. 'Excuse me?' 

He shrugs and gives you a lopsided smile. 'If you're game, of course. What do you say, shall we put this to the test?' 

'You want to see if we'd fall in love in a night?' You're certain you look like a terrified animal. In a vain attempt to fold yourself back into someone confident you lean against the booth, pressing your feet to the ground and making your spine tall and straight. 'What makes you think you're even my type?'

‘Sweetheart, I’m everyone’s type.’ 

God knows he probably is. Tall, handsome bad boy who sings like an angel, drives a stupidly hot motorcycle, and looks like he knows the fastest way to make you come undone with just a look. But charming is only skin deep and in return you want to see if there’s anything underneath it that would keep your interest. 

‘Fine, then.’ You hold out your hand. ‘I’ll take your bet.’ Stubborn, always so stubborn. Baekhyun giggles and claps excitedly as you grip Tao’s rough, much larger hand.  

Your sister leans across you to stare Tao down. 'Hang on. I'm not about to let her go off with some random dude. How do we know you're trustworthy?' Hitchcock has turned her interrogation mode on. ‘I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know you from Bruce Willis.’

He must have other tables to attend to, other things to do, but he rests his palms on the table and leans down to meet her glare. 'I'm an open book. Ask me anything.' The move brings him inches from you. He smells like whisky, the kind that burns, and you swallow instinctively in response. 

She narrows her eyes and hums. 'How old are you?' 

'Twenty three.' 

'Did you go to school?' 

He chuckles. 'High school. No need for college.'

'Why not?' You speak up, preparing for an argument. He looks like he could actually keep up with you and a spark of excitement grows low in your body.

'Between singing and bartending I make plenty of money.’ He answers you, not your sister. ‘Don't get me wrong, I respect an education. But I get far more inspiration from living life than from just reading about it.' 

You bristle. As a poetry major this feels like a personal attack. ‘Are you telling me you’ve never read anything that made you feel - I don’t know - inspired. Magical. Exposed?' You press your lips together, wishing you could gather the words back. 

Tao looks at you through his lashes, bending close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips when he speaks. ‘Words are just the appetizer, darling. I prefer to have an entire feast.’ 

His dancing eyes dart down to your lips. But then he straightens, pulling the pen out and readying it on the pad. You grip the table to avoid swaying towards him and almost hate him for how much of a magnetic pull he seems to have over you. 'Any other questions or can I grab your orders?'

Baekhyun orders a Smirnoff Ice, delight pouring off him. Your sister narrows her eyes at Tao for a moment. Finally, she relents and orders a sex on the beach. You stare at the red plaid shirt tied around Tao’s hips and order something. An Appletini maybe? Your mind seems to have abandoned you but thankfully Tao nods and winds his way back through the crowd to the bar. In his absence you can breathe fully and look up to see Baekhyun smirking. 

‘What?’ you practically groan at him. 

‘Oh, nothing.’ He looks like the cat that caught the canary. ‘I just love being right.’ 

Hitchcock kicks him under the table and he winces, reaching for his shin. They resume their discussion, transitioning to talking about their opening shifts at the theater tomorrow and how much they can reasonably drink tonight and still be functional in the morning. You drum your nails on the lacquered wood table and wonder if your heart is racing from the heat of the packed bar or from the prospect of Tao holding you to your bargain. 

The man himself comes back with drinks a moment later. When he slides the light green concoction across the table to you he tilts his head in question. ‘So, how about tonight?’ 

You choke on your sip and fight the burn in your throat. ‘Are you serious? So soon?’

He grins. ‘Why, did you want time to get ready? I think if we’re going to put it to the test it would have to be tonight. Also, I leave on Sunday morning, so the clock is ticking so to speak.’ 

‘But I work tomorrow at Starbucks. At the crack of dawn.’ You sputter, waving your hand in front of you. ‘I didn’t think you-’

‘Guess we should get started soon, then.' He winks again and you're tempted to throw your drink at him, just to get the upper hand. ‘I get off at nine.’ Without another word he puts the serving tray under his arm and leaves.

Your sister rolls her eyes. ‘You’re such a bad influence, Baek.’ 

He throws his arms out wide. ‘I can’t help it baby, I’m a lover. What can I say?’ 

She snorts and pats you on the back sympathetically. You down your drink in two swallows and absolutely refuse to look at Tao, Baekhyun, or your sister. Instead you pull some bills from your purse and push your way out of the bar before anyone can suggest anything else insane. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes you several tries to find a presentable outfit. It's been more than six months since that last fateful date and in the time between you’ve built a literal barrier around yourself, bundling up in sweaters and blankets at home, only emerging for work and class and Friday movie nights. 

Baekhyun's words come back to you as you frown and throw yet another outfit on the bed. Are you really a brick wall, impenetrable and cold? You weren't always, surely. Byron's 'and thus, the heart will break, yet brokenly live on' swims in your mind, still fresh from the finals you took just a few weeks ago. 

You don't feel broken, just stuck. Numb. Waiting. You hold a dress up to your body and wonder if your ex feels the same or if he, as the one who did the dumping, moved on instantly, and it's just the broken-up-with half that flails around trying to find new footing.

With an defiant press of your lips you sigh and settle on your favorite black and white checkered dress and white Keds. It’s a declaration of intent in a peter pan collar. Your ex always hated your clothes, what you chose to study, your music; everything about you screamed soft and he tried so hard to bend and form you into someone he wanted. 

But you are as you are - romantic and idealistic and sweet. You roll your eyes. It’s the truth, and you remind yourself that just because you didn’t match him doesn’t mean you have to change just to make someone else happy. The outfit screams innocence it dares Tao to judge you tonight. As if you care what he thinks. Which you definitely do not. 

You barely make it back in time to Flanagan’s. When you rush up Tao is pushing out of the bar onto the street. A thrill runs down your spine at his smile when he sees you. Your ex doesn't control you anymore, you remind yourself. You get to decide when you move on; when you stop mourning something that's dead and over and find something new. Even if it's not with Tao, tonight is an experiment. To see if you can handle a fresh start.

‘Hi,’ you start, breathless from your hurrying. 

'Hi yourself. You still game?' he asks, mischief in his eyes and hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. 'If you want an out I won't hold it against you.' He looks you up and down and smirks, but doesn’t comment on your appearance.

In return you scan him as well. His hair is mussed just-so and his earrings match too well to be an accident. He’s trying too, even if his devil-may-care attitude would make others think he’s not. Everyone has an image they present to the world, tonight you’ll find if there’s substance behind Tao’s.

You press your tongue between your teeth and tilt your head at him. 'I'm ready to be surprised.' 

He barks out a laugh. ‘Fair enough. I’ll see what I can do’ 

Tao starts to move towards you across the sidewalk, but you hold out a hand at the level of his chest, stopping his movement. 'So, love, huh? There's not some girlfriend or boyfriend of yours waiting for you at home?'

‘I belong only to myself. For now, at least.' He smiles and holds his arms out wide. His brows tug together suddenly. For a moment he looks unsure. Vulnerable. But the look is gone so fast you wonder if you imagined it. ‘What about you?’ 

You want to fold in on yourself and turn away, hiding. As if the stain of failure is written across your face. The words that were thrown your way like scarlet letters on your skin for him to see. Prude. Uptight. Tease. Your stomach churns and you’re glad you only had the one drink tonight. 

‘Single.’ You suck in a breath after you get the word out, like it stole all the air from your lungs in speaking it. 

He nods, holding your gaze for a moment. Those eyes of his drink you in and you’re sure he can see it - the hesitation and the fear. But once more he simply stands tall and gives you space to think. ‘Shall we head towards the waterfront?’ 

A public place, lively and full of people on a Friday night. Safe, reassuring. He didn’t suggest a club or somewhere heavy with expectation and you like him better for it. Tao waves an arm out in front of you, inviting you to go first and you start walking, clutching your purse under your arm. 

He falls into step beside you. 'So I guess if we're going big or going home, shall we start with our dating history?'

You should have expected this level of inquisition, especially from someone who is friends with Baekhyun. ‘Jesus, you don’t pull any punches.’ But against your will you let out a laugh. 

There’s something refreshing about someone who seems like, for all his mystery, he doesn’t hold any secrets. Everything out in the cool night air and you wonder if it would be freeing, to let it all go. To not question the words you say. To trust that the person you’re speaking them to will hold them without judgement.

‘Never have, never will,’ he reassures you. The cat-like grin on his lips is teasing. ‘That I can guarantee you. I’m happy to go first, if you’d like?’

You nod, and he sighs, looking through the clouds to the moon that peeks through. The streets are dry for once, a brief respite after the wet Seattle spring. Everyone around you takes in the night with gleeful laughter, on the search for music and connection and entertainment. But even with the full sidewalks around you all you feel compelled to do, inexplicably, is lean in closer to hear Tao. 

A group of women brush by you, giggling, forcing you into Tao to avoid them. On instinct he reaches out an arm to keep you both from being overrun. You turn into him and end up meeting his eyes. In the night they’re so dark they look almost black, with flashes of light from passing cars.

The moment stretches around you and irrationally you want to stop him before he says anything else. No stories of the people he’s been with or kissed or loved or wrote songs about. Maybe that’s the appeal of one night love stories, you think. The beginning of love is always a lightning bolt. If that’s all it ever is you never have to deal with being knocked on your ass by the resulting thunderstorm. 

The women pass and Tao respectfully brings his hand back to his pocket and time carries on. But the look on his face remains as you both start walking towards the Market again. 

‘I should say up front, I uhh - I guess that I’ve never been in a relationship. Actually.’ He runs a hand through his hair and winces like he’s ashamed of it. ‘I came close a few times. But it’s just never worked out.’ 

You open your mouth but aren’t sure what to say. Do you make fun of him for clearly being a playboy, not wanting to be tied down, fitting the stereotype of the rockstar he’s on a path to becoming? Do you play coy, asking him if you might fit the bill? Or do you reassure him? 

The latter feels the most natural. ‘You’re young. It’s the nineties. I don’t think it’s unusual to be playing the field right now.’ You lift a shoulder and shrug, the edge of your black denim jacket slipping down your back a bit with the motion. It exposes the skin of your collarbone above the strap of your dress, where your neck meets your chest. 

Tao licks his lips and drags his eyes away from your shoulder to meet yours with a nod. ‘That’s true. I guess most of my friends are single. Sehun is. Jongin is. Baekhyun is, for sure. Even if he is in love with your sister.’ Your jaw drops and Tao bites his lip. ‘Shit, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t tell her I -’ 

He looks genuinely panicked and you laugh, waving a hand. ‘Trust me, she’s in love with him too. They’re both too stubborn to admit it though. So your secret is safe with me.’ 

Tao sighs, relaxing, and gives you a half smile. ‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ The neon lights from the bars and clubs along Pike street pass over his face, painting him dozens of bright colors. ‘So, that’s my story. Too busy working and writing lyrics and singing to be tied down. What’s yours?’ 

‘That’s hardly a story,’ you challenge, raising a brow. ‘More like the cover of a book.’

‘It’s plenty!’ he laughs. ‘I’ve exposed myself as a perpetually single man. I think that tells you tons about me.’ At your pursed lips he continues. ‘Fine. I’ve been chasing music for so long that I have avoided getting serious with anyone, lest it keep me from my dreams of stardom. I crave that intensity between me and an audience when I sing, but I’m afraid to let myself have something real. Something intimate, that expects more of me past one performance. I’m afraid that off-stage I’m more disappointing than on et cetera et cetera.’ 

He cuts off his rambling monologue, his eyes widening as he stops in his tracks for a moment, like he can’t believe he just said so much. But you stand next to him without judgement. Something about his disarming honesty and expressiveness makes you want to tell him the truth, ugly that it might be. 

While you stand on the corner and wait for the light to change you look at the zipper of his leather jacket to avoid his eyes and spit it out. ‘I got dumped six months ago.’ You lift your hands and drop them uselessly to your side. 

He tilts his head back in appraisal. Blessedly the teasing is gone from his face. He doesn’t offer sympathy, cloying and patronizing words about how you’ll find someone else. He doesn’t flirt with you, even though that seems to be his nature. 

‘I don’t know the circumstances, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but all I can say is - it’s his loss.’ He gives you a slight smile, not moving even when the light changes, and you can’t help but return it. 

It’s strange that it could be so simple. Perhaps if you do carry on something with Tao you’ll tell him more. But for tonight it can be that easy. The pain and doubt and shame can fade into a pinprick of light heading off into the distance and get swallowed up by the night. Like you can just wipe the slate clean and start over. You inhale a deep breath of cool, salty air and look up at Tao, your smile growing, becoming more genuine and whole. 

A lightness fills you and you wind your arm through his, pulling him into the crosswalk just as the last few seconds show on the countdown. He lets you guide him easily and you come to rest on the concrete looking down at the Pike Place Market. The bright neon red sign reflects against the dark night and the inky blue waters of the Bay beyond it. In the twilight ships move back and forth through the port, full of tiny lights of their own. 

He drops his hand a little, running over the clothed skin of your arm until he reaches your palm. The contact of his hand on yours makes you jolt. ‘Is this okay?’

Without thinking you nod, twining your fingers with his, savoring the heat as he presses against you. Your ex hated holding hands in public, hated any kind of PDA, calling it childish. But Tao stands by your side, hand in hand, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

People mill about you, heading to the endless restaurants and food stands that line the Market. In summer it’s in full bloom, crowded every night, and after a long winter and spring holed up in your apartment it’s disorienting to be out in the world again.

You start walking together, without a plan. It’s far more comfortable than you’d expected, the companionable silence with him. Everyone in your life talks a mile a minute - Baekhyun and your sister, your co-workers at the busy coffee shop, your classmates, hungry for discussion - but Tao seems content to just hold your hand and admire the rows of vendors you pass. The lack of pressure from him eases something that had drawn tight and anxious in your chest over the last few months. 

Before you is a maze of stalls. Tables full of tulips in bright yellows and pinks, bouquets wrapped in brown paper, that you stop to smell. Screen printed tee shirts with the Sonics logo or photos of the Space Needle or trendy political puns that Tao points out with a laugh. People sell everything from watercolor paintings to homemade honey to snow globes. As a recent college grad, you’re saving all your money, but everything is still fascinating to look at. 

The two of you settle on a kebab place for dinner after a long debate about the merits of the taco cart and the hole-in-the-wall seafood stop. The steam brings the rich smell of meat and vegetables to you. Against your protests to split the bill, Tao insists on buying dinner. 

‘If this is an official date I have to follow the guidelines,’ he winks. 

You roll your eyes and defiantly go to the next stall to order two Jones sodas from the seller. When you hold them up he laughs and inclines his head. ‘Alright, that’s fair.’ 

When you’re settled on the narrow rock wall beyond the far edge of the market, balancing Jones sodas on the uneven stones with a warm kebab resting on your knees, he carries on. 

'So, poetry. What made you choose that?' He asks around a bite.

After a sip of soda you tilt your head at him. ‘You can't laugh, okay?'

'Why would I laugh?’ His brows furrow like it’s the furthest thing from his mind. ‘I'm a singer, sweetheart. I don't take the arts lightly and anyone who does is an asshole.' He narrows his eyes at you in mock seriousness but the way his mouth fights a smile is endearing.

You snort, liking him yet again without planning on it. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always loved it and sometimes I try to write it. I’ve had some job or another since high school, so I’m confident I can always get a job if I need it but - there’s something so - so delicious about poetry.’ You swallow another drink of your soda and Tao’s eyes flick to the motion of your throat. ‘If I was going to go to college, and our parents kind of insisted on it, I wanted to study something I loved.’

Tao lifts his own soda and clinks it to yours in solidarity. ‘I can respect that. What’s your favorite poem?’

Suddenly shy you turn to set your soda down on the stone beside you, letting your hair fall over your face while you think. It’s not that you don’t know, but that it feels too close, too personal to tell him just yet. ‘That’s very private.’

When you look back to him he holds your gaze for a moment. ‘Hmm. Okay I can respect that. Favorite songs are pretty personal too so I’ll let you hold onto it, for now.’ With a movement as casual as breathing he tucks your hair behind your ear, as though he does it twenty times day, and resumes his eating. 

Poems run through your head as you chew, heart racing. You’d thought this was an experiment that would quickly go south. A quick walk to prove that you’re not compatible. A smug ‘I told you so’ to Baekhyun. And then a return to the comfort of your bed to read for the night. You didn’t expect to want him. Words, endless remembered words filter across your consciousness, ones of love and lust and death and the exhilaration of life. 

Normally your own creative voice is quiet, too afraid to give permanence to the ideas, the words, that live inside you. But as you watch the gentle night breeze ruffle his dark hair you think you could write some tonight, if you had pen and paper. Instead you shove an enormous bite in your mouth and chew, afraid of the attraction you have to him. 

When you’re both done eating he holds his hand out for your trash and you wad up the wrapper and hand it to him along with the empty bottle. He walks over to the trash and dutifully puts the bottles in the recycle, like any good Seattle boy. Dusting off his hands he turns back towards you, approaching slowly and holding out his hands. 

After a moment’s hesitation you reach for him, allowing him to help you stand. Continuing the night’s adventure. When you’re on your feet he releases one of your hands, keeping the other one tucked in his as the two of you wind your way back through the crowds. Both of you stop to pat the bronze pig at the crux of the Market for good luck.

He leads the way down the narrow stairs to Post Alley and the line outside the comedy club at its base winds around in a long chain. It’s funny, normally you’d want to know The Plan. Baekhyun calls you anal retentive, but you just consider yourself organized. You like knowing what’s coming. But tonight you consent to following him without knowing the destination. You bite back a smile - it’s exciting and terrifying all at once.

A group of people tries to come up the stairs as you’re going down and you are pressed against the rail, trying not to slip. It definitely isn’t meant to be wide enough for both directions of people at the same time. As if sensing your predicament Tao presses his broad back into the rowdy man behind you, ignoring his grumbles of annoyance, making space so you can descend the last few steps onto the courtyard. 

Out front of the Market Theater you thank him and wonder what exactly his plan is. Is he taking you to an improv show? A concert? Drinks? With your hand still in his he gently moves to the left, under the archway and in front of the long gum wall. You raise a brow at him but he merely smiles and shrugs. 

‘I didn’t peg you for someone who likes tourist attractions.’ 

His eyes dance with amusement. ‘Oh yeah? What kind of person did you imagine me to be?’ 

You purse your lips and try to figure out how to answer him. ‘I’m not sure, actually. Normally I can read people pretty easily, but I can’t pin you down.’ 

‘Me?’ He presses his hand that holds yours to his chest. ‘Baby, I’m an open book.’

The gum wall around you smells sickly sweet and you can almost taste it on your tongue. Everyone around you is taking polaroids in front of the wall or chewing their own gum in preparation to add to it. 

You wonder what the two of you look like from an outsider’s perspective. Tao, tall and imposing with his thick motorcycle boots. You with your white Keds and sweet, checkered dress and headband. It might seem like you’re an odd couple, but the heartbeat in his chest against your hand is strong and underneath it all perhaps you’re not so different. 

With a breathy laugh and a roll of your eyes you grip his hand and pull him further along the alley beside the gum walls, towards the water. Nearby one of the many buskers permitted to perform along Pike Place starts signing a loud and heartfelt, if slightly off-key, rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline,’ drawing the cheers of the onlookers. 

Away from the crowd in Post Alley you emerge onto a side street a block or so from the water. Tilting your head back you watch as everyone sings along. Tao’s free arm suddenly comes around your waist and dramatically he starts swaying you back and forth, crooning along to the Neil Diamond song far better than the busker. A few other people on the street around you smile or laugh, making their way to the pier up ahead. 

Instead of asking him what on earth he’s doing or feeling embarrassed about dancing in the middle of the sidewalk you just cling to him and try to keep up. His voice is rich and soothing, his hand holding you against him is sturdy and comforting. You can’t help but giggle and roll with it, holding onto his jacket and watching his jaw move as he sings. 

All too soon the performance back at the Market behind you ends and the last lyrics are drowned out by applause. Tao takes a step back and the night is cold without his warm embrace. You long to step forward and close the distance once more. Instead you brush your hair back and compose yourself. 

‘What kind of music do you like to sing?’ you ask as the two of you resume your progress towards the pier. 

‘All kinds.’ He shrugs. ‘But mostly love songs.’ 

‘Really?’ The light before you changes and ahead the aquarium looms in the night. To your left is the Kingdome waits, past the long stretch of the boardwalk. Without waiting for Tao you head that direction, the briny ocean air filling your lungs. 

He easily comes to your side. ‘Of course. Everything’s about love I think, when you get down to it.’ 

‘You weren’t singing love songs when I saw you perform.’ 

You answer without thinking, remembering the concert a few months ago that you and your sister went to. Baekhyun had invited you both to see Chanyeol’s band - Yeol and the Salty Wolves - and Tao was performing with the opening group. 

‘You’ve seen me on stage?’ His proud grin is teasing and playful and damned if you don’t want to kiss him. 

‘Yeah. It - my sister dragged me out of the house. She thought getting outside would do me some good.’ You focus on picking off a section of your pink nail polish that’s started to chip. ‘You guys were great. But you were definitely yelling about anarchy, not love.’ 

The imagine of him in his tank top, wide slits cut under the arms revealing a broad swath of his tanned skin, singing passionately, makes you suddenly very aware of him. Tonight he’s composed, a rebel in street clothes. But that night his face was slicked with sweat from his intensity, red in the cheeks and headbanging along with the crowd and the rest of the band. Even that night, so close after your recent break up, you wanted him. It was a dangerous idea then and it’s a dangerous idea now. 

He hums and veers to the right, heading down one of the longer piers. ‘I could argue that anarchy still is love. Love of your beliefs and love of a person or a place or a thing so much that you’re willing to fight for it, to go to war for what you care about.’ 

To that you don’t argue. ‘That’s true. I guess anything could be love when you get down to it. There’s so many poems about sadness - missing love or rejected love. Anger. Bitterness.’ 

The wooden boards of the pier below you give a gentle thunk with each heavy step of Tao’s huge boots. Below you the water sloshes against the planks. Now at the end you lean forward, resting your elbows on the railing, before turning back to Tao. 

‘I guess this is a day to be debating love,’ you smirk, thinking back to the conversation that got you into this. In the wind off the Bay you shiver. 

Like a reflex Tao shrugs out of his jacket and holds it out to you. But you lean over and wave your hand at him. ‘No it’s okay, I’m fine. Please, you don’t have to -’ 

But he drops it over you anyways, the warm weight of his jacket settling on your shoulders and insulating you from the wind. In his black, long-sleeve shirt he doesn’t even seem cold. With a sigh you pull it more fully onto you and bend upright again, inches from him. 

‘Debating love indeed. See I think love and intimacy is made far too complex by a lot of people.’ He slowly rubs his hands together, forearms resting on the railing as he leans over, looking at the waves. ‘I think it comes from knowing someone. Really knowing them. Hopes and fears and memories and all of that. and choosing to be with them. Simple and complicated as that.’

‘Simple as that?’ you gape at him, holding your wind-tousled hair out of the way with one hand so you can look at him. ‘There's no way to truly know someone in one night, though. There's too much nuance for love in such a short time.’ The beating of your heart in your palms when you look at him would argue otherwise and you inhale deeply, trying to keep your center. 

‘Hence why I also said complicated. But now we’re debating what love itself means.’ His gaze darts down to your lips before he meets your eyes. ‘I know plenty about you.’ 

You open your mouth to argue but he carries on. ‘I know you’re stubborn, given the soda earlier and the coat just now. I know you’re practical and competent - I’ve seen you at your job. I know you’re a romantic at heart, you have to be to study poetry, and even if some asshole temporarily doused that fire you look for evidence that love is real everywhere.’ 

Feeling raw and exposed you try to find anything to say to brush off the way his statements cut to the heart of you. ‘That doesn’t mean you - uhm - that you know me.’ 

The word you almost said in your haste was love and the thought makes your palms sweat. Irrational. Impossible. Everyone always says your emotions are easy to read, that they’re written all over your face, and you wonder what he sees as he watches you. The moment you said it you could see the slow smile start on his lips. At the very least he knows you’re not arguing with him as much as arguing with yourself, against what you feel. 

He leans in closer so that his forehead touches yours, low voice almost a murmur. ‘But I want to know you more. I want to do a lot of things. Does that count?’ 

‘Count?’ If you wanted to you could press up on your toes and kiss him. The thought is intoxicating and you close your eyes, heaving a breath into your lungs. 

After a long moment of thinking and waiting and wondering you finally open them again. Tao looks just as conflicted as you are - his brows tug together and the casual flirtation is gone. He holds himself still before you and something far more serious crosses his face. Though he doesn’t answer with words the look in his eyes telegraphs his feelings for you. 

With a sigh he pulls back, reaching to the railing with both hands to steady himself, and you sway in his absence. He looks up at the night sky, at the moon through the clouds, and smiles. The stars peek through here and there. It’s not a cold night, just a breeze across the water to relieve the heat from the long summer day. Distantly a line of poetry comes to you, about being thirsty, parched almost, and wanting to drink him in to quench it. 

Rather than indulge the dangerous impulse to touch him again you take off back down the boardwalk. Back to the city and the lights and far away from the closeness of being with him in the dark. The pressure of his thick jacket will have to be enough, for now. 

‘So, where do you want to go next?’ You’re impressed you manage to sound steady. 

He sticks his hands in his pockets once more and ambles after you, a small smile gracing his lips. ‘I know a place.’ 

As you make your way along the waterfront he turns the conversation to safer territory. You fill each other in on your jobs - how they started and what you like and don’t like. Co-workers who are dating, friends you have in common at the mall. Notorious customers. Tao has dozens of stories and his laugh is easy, his eyes bright with flirtation now that you’re both on safer ground. 

Through the night you meander around the city in a vague Northward direction. Past the Science Center, it’s great white sculptures lit up. Around the Space Needle and the fountain. Another city and the streets would be deserted this late. But here there’s groups of people, laughing and splashing each other at the base of the enormous bowl that forms the center of it. You pass the occasional jogger or couple holding hands, walking home. 

The two of you stop to use the restroom and get a drink of water at a 24 hour grocery store. Tao also insists on buying some snacks, chocolate and a bag of chips that you keep in the large pockets of his jacket as you progress to the edges of Lake Union. 

It’s easy, being with him. His energy is calm, reassuring. He’s got a wicked and witty sense of humor you wouldn’t have expected and you easily spend half an hour looking out at the boats, making up other, naughtier names for them. 

It turns out he likes X-Files just as much as you and your sister do. As you stroll along the Fremont bridge you end up taking his hand once more. The snacks are gone and you can’t resist touching him again. It must be well after midnight, but he doesn’t mention going home. Strangely, you don’t want to either. For someone who’s life has become so habitual you’re surprized you’ve not even spared a thought for your nightly routine of reading in bed with a glass of wine and a candle burning on the windowsill. 

There will be other nights for that, but for tonight you let the momentum of the evening carry you along with him. You both decide to skip a visit to the Troll, not wanting to tempt any disasters. The Keds on your feet hold up well and you give a thanks to your past self for not wearing heels or sandals. 

Eventually his destination becomes clear. The gates to the park are closed for the night. ‘Gas Works? This is your plan - breaking and entering?’ 

He nods, biting his lip. ‘Yep. I know a way in. The nighttime view is unbeatable.’ 

You hold out your hands, gesturing to the enormous PARK HOURS: DAWN TIL DUSK sign. 

‘Afraid of being caught?’ 

You roll your eyes. ‘Yes, actually. I don’t think getting arrested for trespassing would be a great thing for my resume.’ 

Tao considers before backing towards the edge of the fence with a smirk. ‘Come on. How about a little mischief here ‘upon the honey’d middle of the night’?’

‘You know Keats?’ It leaves you breathless, rooted to the ground. It’s not from your favorite poem, but he is your favorite poet. A good guess or has he been doing his research? 

‘Of course. Don’t you?’ Tao teases, folding back a corner of the fence and easing himself through. 

You scoff and charge after him. The smug bastard can’t just quote Keats and then run away from you. Once again you want to kiss the proud look off his face, to rattle him the way he seems so capable of rattling you, getting underneath your surface. With a last thought to your reputation you step through after him and a thrill runs down your spine. 

The rusted red containers and machines that form the center of the park are tall ghosts in the night, rising from the grass and casting long shadows around you in the distant light from the city. He holds out his hand and you easily catch it, both of you winding your way carefully around the gentle hills to make your way to the view. 

You find a suitable spot and sit down on the grass. ‘You’re right,’ you tell him reluctantly. 

‘About what?’ Tao sits beside you, linking his hands over his knees. He sits near enough you can feel his thigh pressing against yours. Close, always so close, but not as close as you want him.  

‘About this.’ You gesture to the Seattle skyline in front of you. 

Sure you’ve been in the daytime, watching the boats sail on Lake Union and the groups of yoga practitioners and families with young kids fill the grassy slopes down to the water. But by night the lights of the city look like a painting. Skyscrapers touching the clouds as the first hints of sun are lightening the horizon. 

‘I thought you’d enjoy it.’ He nudges you with his shoulder and smiles at you. 

The gentle sounds of the water below is relaxing. Even as you lift your hand to cover a yawn you don’t truly feel tired, like the night and closeness to him could keep you awake forever, if you let them. But even so, dawn is coming and you think back to the reason that you’re both here. 

‘So. About that bet?’ Your words are a sigh and somewhere between the late hours and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles you don’t second guess the question. 

He side eyes you and can’t smother the grin on his face. ‘You mean the one about if we can fall in love in one night?’ 

‘Yes, that.’ It must be the lack of sleep causing the giddiness you feel, you tell yourself, as you lean back against the grass and cover your face with your hands. 

His own hands find yours and you turn to see him on his side next to you. Gently he pulls them down, holding them to his chest, so he can look you in the eyes. ‘Hmm, I don’t know about love, but I feel a whole hell of a lot right now. We never came up with an objective definition of it, anyways.’ 

You snort. ‘Did you honestly just say ‘objective definition?’’ 

‘Yes, I think if we’re going to agree here, we need to be on the same page.’ With his intense focus on yours he brushes a kiss against the backs of your hands. ‘If we say love is a feeling, who’s to say that we aren’t in love? If we decide it’s an action then which one is it? A kiss or a commitment or - maybe it’s nothing more complicated than putting words to the way I feel when you look at me?’ 

The smile blooms across your face and right then you’re tempted to say it’s all of them. How much you want his mouth on yours and his hands all over you. How you’re not quite sure you know how to have a relationship with a man anymore, after your ex, but that you want to try with him. How wild and free you feel being next to him. 

‘I don’t know about -’ you whisper. You let the truth fall out, not bothering to think about what it might mean. ‘Long term or after tonight. But I’d say, much that I hate to admit Baekhyun could be right, I’d say… uhm, he could be right.’

You avoid Tao’s eyes, focusing on his jaw or the fabric of his shirt or the way his hands hold yours. But still you see how he smiles, almost glowing in the light of the moon and the barest reflection of the sun coloring the skyline to your left. 

He clears his throat, pressing another kiss to your hand. ‘Well, I'd look at it this way. Let's say we do get together. Maybe we last a month or maybe we last for the rest of our lives. Another fifty or sixty years. In either of those cases tonight would be just a fraction of the relationship. A small sliver. Important when looking at the broad view of a life together, but not crucial by itself.’

With a nod you look at him and the heat in his eyes makes you gasp. He moves over you, releasing your hands to brace himself on the ground behind your head. The sturdy press of his body reminds you this isn’t a movie or a dream, it’s something real that’s happening to you. The cool grass sinks into your dress at your back and brushes against your thighs. 

'Or.' His hot breath cascades across your lips. 'If all we have is tonight.' Moving himself to the side he runs his nose along your jaw, mouth teasing the skin of your neck with barely there kisses. 'One night would be everything. For all the marbles, as they say.' He pulls back and looks at you with a lopsided grin. 

You huff out a breath, blowing your bangs out of your eyes, absently running your hands across his shoulders, along his chest. 'I don't know. I like knowing there's always time for more. Like - what if I was tired tonight or hungry or cranky and I messed it up? The thought of just one night still makes me nervous.’ 

He kisses your forehead and the words come faster, as if hurried along by the morning. ‘If we're a forever thing, then it's okay, because there will be a thousand more chances to get it right. But just once? How can it be perfect if it's so brief?'

'Well, even if we do get together we'd still only have one first kiss.' He rests on one elbow and uses his free hand to cup your jaw, clearing his throat around the roughness of his voice. 'Do you want to wait or shall we attempt perfection tonight?'

The thought of waiting any longer makes you far sadder and you nod. ‘Screw it - kiss me. Please?’ 

Instead of answering he simply drops his head, closing the distance and sealing his mouth over yours. He groans at the contact, the sound vibrating in his chest where it rests against yours. You grip his neck, winding your fingers through the strands of his hair and hold on, to ground yourself, between him and the grass as he slowly, hungrily, kisses you.

Your eyes flutter for a moment as he sucks on your lower lip. Behind him the sky is bright, the rays of light spilling through the clouds and rendering him art himself. The arch of his brows, full of emotion. You squeeze your eyes closed and hold him tight, grazing his neck with your nails and sighing into his open mouth. Before you can kiss him again he pulls back, his cheeks flushed and his eyes full of delight. 

‘That was pretty damn good.’ He huffs out a laugh, running his tongue along his lower lip like he’s trying to keep the taste of you close. ‘Are you sure you want to risk another one? It could be -’

‘Yes,’ you answer immediately. ‘Again.’ 

He grins and buries his face in your neck, his hot breath falling on your sensitive skin. ‘I think we’ve found the crucial difference between us.’ At your hum he carries on. ‘I can take one moment and hold onto it forever, perpetually living off the way it felt. You want to have it over and over again. And here I thought you were the poet.’ 

Rolling onto his back he pulls you on top of him with a squeal as you right yourself, bracing hands on his shoulders for balance. His hand rests against your cheek. ‘But if it helps. I - feel the same way.’ 

‘Oh.’ To keep your surprise and delight from exploding all over your face you bite your lip. ‘Alright then.’ You trace patterns in the fabric covering his chest. 

It’s as simple and as complicated as that, just like he said, hours ago. 

As the day rises full and bright with the heat of the sun you do indeed kiss again. Several more times. When you’re both red lipped and thirsty and covered in wrinkled clothes you head back to your apartment by UW. He gives you a piggy back ride when your feet start to hurt and helps you make breakfast with a sleepy smile and runs his fingers over the covers of the numerous books stacked on every surface of your apartment and all the while the feeling in your chest grows, not diminishes. 

You hurry through a shower and getting dressed for work while he patiently waits on the couch. His eyes are closed when you emerge, putting your hair back in a ponytail. Leaning against the door frame you watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest. You stifle a yawn and think of how not twelve hours ago you didn’t know what his skin felt like beneath your palms or what he’d be like to kiss or how perfectly your bodies seem to line up.

Tomorrow, or perhaps later tonight, you’ll have to report back to Baekhyun and your sister. Though you still have no idea what you’ll say when he asks if the two of you fell in love in one night, you know that, at the very least, it was the start of something. 

You leave Tao a note with instructions to sleep as long as he wants and a spare copy of your keys. He works his own shift tonight at Flanagan’s at two, his last one before he leaves on tour. Reassured that at least you’ll see him once more tonight at the party, before he’s gone for - well, you suppose you didn’t ask the specifics yet. You laugh at the thought and quietly shut the door and sprint down the steps to work. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s hardly after nine in the morning when Tao arrives. Far earlier than you were expecting, but you’ve learned that he likes to surprise you. When you see him standing in line you bite your lip, tilting your head and giving him a sleepy smile. 

‘A bit early for you, isn’t it?’ You ask, friendly and professional. ‘You look like you had a long night.’

He laughs, shaking his head and resting his palms on the counter. ‘I did indeed. But it’s been over two hours since I last saw you.’ 

‘Oh yeah? Is that a long time, then?’ you tease him. 

He whistles and leans in to whisper so only you can hear. ‘Far too long for someone in love.’ 

‘Love?’ The word thunders in your chest.

‘Maybe it’s too soon to know,’ he says, not backing up at all. ‘Maybe love is confirmed by time. But what I feel, whatever this is the start of, I’m greatly looking forward to.’

‘Are you sure you want to start this? You’re leaving, like, tomorrow.’ Suddenly in the light of day the reality of the situation makes your stomach flip.

He clutches his chest dramatically. ‘Don’t sound so sad, love. Please. You say that like I won’t come back.’ He reaches for your hand across the counter. ‘At least we'll have tonight. Tonight or forever, right?’ 

‘Exactly.’ Unable to resist you lift your hand to hold his cheek and kiss him. It was killing you not to and why not? He’s right. If it’s just one more night, you’re going to make it count.

You pull back and fill out his cup, insisting it’s your treat. Before he leaves you hold out the jar of poems. When he reads the line he laughs, holding it out to you.

“And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.”

― Pablo Neruda

[rahuljha8838]

With the country fighting the pandemic pretty bravely since the past year, every Indian is only hoping for a quick vaccination to end this battle. Satya Prakash Gupta who had been at the forefront, serving the nation during these hard times has always been hopeful about the changes that the vaccination drive would bring to the country, especially when the citizens understand its importance. There still have been speculations about the efficacy of the vaccines and the government has been trying its best to resolve the arising issues.

The vaccination drive will be able to effectively control the pandemic if above 50% of the population will be vaccinated. Satya Prakash Gupta knows how countries have been able to cope up with the previous pandemics of smallpox and polio and is hopeful about recovery from the COVID-19 too. He has always been educating the mass about how well can vaccines protect, control transmission, and reduce disease incidence. The philanthropist also knows about how well the vaccine has been performing to date. With an efficacy greater than 70%, the Indian vaccines have been declared effective.

The masses should not refrain from getting themselves vaccinated as it has successfully passed the “Phase 1” trials. Extensive applications revealed these vaccines have some common mild symptoms. The effects range from mild flu, body ache, or tiredness that vanishes within a day or two. But despite these, Satya Prakash Gupta presses down upon not missing out on the second dose unless the individual has been medically advised to do so.  

After the amazingly positive results of the effectiveness of the vaccines, people must not hesitate from taking them now. This is, by far, the best way to develop immunity against the virus. But what people must understand is, as Satya Prakash Gupta stresses upon that people will still not be able to get back to a pre-COVID lifestyle despite being fully vaccinated. This vaccine only reduces the chances of you succumbing to the virus and undergoing health deterioration, but does not entirely omit the risk. Precautions must be duly followed till the time the pandemic is eradicated or under control.

There have also been reports highlighting that patients with cases of co-morbidity like heart diseases, diabetes, and lung diseases must get vaccinated as soon as possible. The individuals recovering from the infection must consult their physicians to know the right time to get vaccinated.

It was not long back since the vaccination slots for the age group 18-44 years were opened and the Indian citizens were more perplexed than ever. The Covishield and Covaxin have been administered through the Arogya Setu app and CoWIN portal. But the administration of Sputnik V followed soon. The platforms included individuals to self-register themselves and find their nearby vaccination centres with their choice of the vaccines. Upon successful registration, they can reach the centre on time and get the vaccination done.

Satya Prakash Gupta has always been in appreciation of how seamless the entire process has become and how easily one can get vaccinated without involving troubles of waiting in long queues or crowded corridors. He says in this fight against the pandemic, we must work as a team.

[rahulrajput814153]

With the country fighting the pandemic pretty bravely since the past year, every Indian is only hoping for a quick vaccination to end this battle. Satya Prakash Gupta who had been at the forefront, serving the nation during these hard times has always been hopeful about the changes that the vaccination drive would bring to the country, especially when the citizens understand its importance. There still have been speculations about the efficacy of the vaccines and the government has been trying its best to resolve the arising issues.

The vaccination drive will be able to effectively control the pandemic if above 50% of the population will be vaccinated. Satya Prakash Gupta knows how countries have been able to cope up with the previous pandemics of smallpox and polio and is hopeful about recovery from the COVID-19 too. He has always been educating the mass about how well can vaccines protect, control transmission, and reduce disease incidence. The philanthropist also knows about how well the vaccine has been performing to date. With an efficacy greater than 70%, the Indian vaccines have been declared effective.

The masses should not refrain from getting themselves vaccinated as it has successfully passed the “Phase 1” trials. Extensive applications revealed these vaccines have some common mild symptoms. The effects range from mild flu, body ache, or tiredness that vanishes within a day or two. But despite these, Satya Prakash Gupta presses down upon not missing out on the second dose unless the individual has been medically advised to do so.  

After the amazingly positive results of the effectiveness of the vaccines, people must not hesitate from taking them now. This is, by far, the best way to develop immunity against the virus. But what people must understand is, as Satya Prakash Gupta stresses upon that people will still not be able to get back to a pre-COVID lifestyle despite being fully vaccinated. This vaccine only reduces the chances of you succumbing to the virus and undergoing health deterioration, but does not entirely omit the risk. Precautions must be duly followed till the time the pandemic is eradicated or under control.

There have also been reports highlighting that patients with cases of co-morbidity like heart diseases, diabetes, and lung diseases must get vaccinated as soon as possible. The individuals recovering from the infection must consult their physicians to know the right time to get vaccinated.

It was not long back since the vaccination slots for the age group 18-44 years were opened and the Indian citizens were more perplexed than ever. The Covishield and Covaxin have been administered through the Arogya Setu app and CoWIN portal. But the administration of Sputnik V followed soon. The platforms included individuals to self-register themselves and find their nearby vaccination centres with their choice of the vaccines. Upon successful registration, they can reach the centre on time and get the vaccination done.

Satya Prakash Gupta has always been in appreciation of how seamless the entire process has become and how easily one can get vaccinated without involving troubles of waiting in long queues or crowded corridors. He says in this fight against the pandemic, we must work as a team.

[certificateattestation]

Things to remember when you get married in Dubai.

Dubai is recognized as one of the safest cities in the world. People all over the world consider Dubai to be an ideal place to live, settle down, and raise a family. There are numerous reasons for this, including the fact that the weather is fairly happy, housing options are readily available, schools are excellent, and religious and cultural expression is freely exercised. Many ex-pat families have lived in the emirate for decades and consider it their home. As a result, it is not surprising that a large number of ex-pats marry in Dubai.

Requirements for experts getting married in Dubai.

Expats getting married in Dubai must follow certain requirements and procedures. These requirements and procedures may differ according to the couple:

·        Nationality

·        Religion Citizenship

·        Residency Status

Let's look at the requirements for Dubai ex-pat marriages in each of these situations.

DUBAI'S GENERAL PRE-MARITAL REQUIREMENTS

Regardless of who you are or where you are from, the following are the preconditions and documents required to marry in Dubai:

·        The bride's approval.

·        Emirates identification cards for the couple.

·        Passports must be valid.

·        Both parties' visa status

·        At least one person in the marriage contract (groom, bride, or bride's guardian) must have a valid UAE residence visa. Seek the UAE visa status inquiry to learn about the validity of your visa.

·        Both the bride and groom must obtain a positive pre-marital health screening certificate from healthcare centers.

This pre-marital screening is a legal requirement in Dubai when getting married. You can apply for it and obtain it for a fee of AED 260. The PHC-pre-marital test is performed to reduce the risk of communicable and inherited diseases spreading.

 The consultation could last up to 12 minutes. Keep in mind that a marriage application may be rejected if the medical screening certificate is negative.

Marriage requirements of Muslim experts in The UAE

Muslim ex-pats who want to marry in Dubai must meet the following criteria:

·        Both the bride and groom must be at least 18 years old. If one or both of them are under the legal marriage age in the UAE, a special court order is required.

·        A spouse's age cannot be more than twice that of the other. If they are, a judge's permission must be obtained.

·        The couple must be present.

·        The bridesmaid's father or his designated proxy must be present.

·        There must be two Muslim male witnesses present.

·        A Muslim woman getting married in Dubai necessitates the approval of her legal guardian.

·        If the bride's father is not present, her next closest male guardian (brother or uncle) must be present.

·        People who are widowed or divorced must provide proof of their marital status.

·        If a Muslim bride's father is not Muslim, she must obtain a 'No Objection Certificate from her country's consulate or embassy in the UAE.

·        The marriage contract must be registered in a Sharia court in the UAE for the marriage to be legally valid.

Marriage requirements of Non-Muslim experts in The UAE

Non-Muslim ex-pats in Dubai can marry and have their marriages registered at their home countries' embassies or consulates. Christian ex-pats can get married in one of Dubai's churches and have their marriage registered at the embassy or consulate.

To be eligible to marry in Dubai, ex-pats must meet the following requirements:

·        The bride and groom must be over the age of 18.

·        The ceremony should be witnessed by two people.

Other requirements for getting married in Dubai may be placed by the embassy or church. These are dependent on and may differ from one organization to the next. However, in most cases, the embassy and/or church will require additional documents such as:

 ·        Passport copies for the couples

·        Birth certificates for the couple

·        The witnesses' identification must be valid.

·        Evidence of divorce or the death of a previous spouse (where applicable).

A marriage certificate  from the Dubai Shariah Court costs AED 220. It does not include the marriage official's fee. The cost of getting married in Dubai for non-Muslims varies depending on the embassy/consulate. For more information contact your nearest Marriage certificate attestation service agencies.

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Congratulations Nat!

Your application for Lucius Malfoy has been accepted. So excited to be getting more former/ex/reformed(?) Death Eaters around. Be careful, too—Death isn’t resting so easy these days and how’d you’d feel about the people who tried to ‘Eat’ you?

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: Nat | She/her/hers

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Better than initially expected?? Available 3/7 days a week most days. Working full-time M-F and taking two classes so that may change but I should be able to maintain that 3/7 days for the time being.

ANYTHING ELSE: N/A besides me going hi, I would (happy) CRY at the setup of Lucius and Narcissa needing to like… rebuild trusting each other and that sort of stuff after nearly losing their son. I freaking adore that ship but am under the impression some sort of fallout had to happen between Lucius coming back from Azkaban, Voldemort living in their home, passing, and realizing they were on the wrong side of things.

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Lucius Abraxas Malfoy

BIRTHDATE: September 18, 1954

DEATHDATE: N/A

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Male, he/him/his, demisexual - where that was not a term that was used while growing up, Lucius would say he is straight. He simply didn’t find people attractive in the traditional sense of being able to check someone out and be like “damn I’d tap that.” It was a little more difficult for him since he needed to get to know someone on an emotional level before allowing things to get physical or sexual.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

OCCUPATION: Owner - Malfoy Apothecary When overly stressed, Lucius can be found working at the Malfoy Apothecary. Either stocking shelves or working on organizing the storeroom. He tries to avoid working the register since he isn’t looking for confrontation at the moment.

FACECLAIM: Alexander Skarsgård

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

POSTBELLUM

Lucius is a shadow of himself. Still proud and sticking to the few friends and family members he has left, but less confident when it comes to letting his voice be heard. His dark mark serves as a mark of shame — his father encouraged him to take it and his supporting the Dark Lord’s ideals turned into his own son taking on the mark. His biggest regret thus far was his stint in Azkaban. Draco took the mark during that time and he got out of prison and was hit with the news that his father passed away, his son was marked because of his actions, and the Dark Lord was using his manor as headquarters.

The war served as a reminder that family was the most important thing in his life. There were several times leading up to (and during) the second war where he truly feared he would lose his wife, his son, or both of them. Having made it out without losing either of them was a blessing. He considers himself truly lucky to have had his small family come out without loss. The trauma and impact of a year spent fearing for his life and the wellbeing of his wife and son left him rather shaken. His ideals were challenged and he was forced to give up his wand, stuck at the Dark Lord’s side with no way out.

Although a few years have passed since the war, Lucius still has nightmares. He is riddled with guilt after what his son and wife were put through and fears what will happen if his father, Bellatrix, or the Dark Lord comes out of the veil. Defecting was unthinkable during the first war and the second resulted in his sucking up his pride and shifting his focus on getting his son and wife out alive.

The war may be over but he knows there is a target on his back. One wrong step, and it could be a reason for people to believe they made a mistake in not making him return to Azkaban.

PERSONALITY

What are they good at? What do they struggle with? What are their strengths and weaknesses?

Lucius is good at lying his way out of trouble. A keen mind and a sharp tongue left him with several friends in the Ministry. It gave him the ability to be in the know about everything without needing to actively hold a job there. He is incredibly family-oriented. One look from his wife is all it takes to get him to rethink speaking out of turn or behaving foolishly. Lucius can speak French, Italian and Latin. He is a skilled piano player and occasionally sings but that is usually only done in his wife’s presence.

Traits:

— Arrogant: This trait is a struggle for Lucius since his opinion of believing he was better than everyone got him into more trouble than it was worth. He is working on downplaying his arrogance but still has the habit of turning up his nose at certain people (Arthur Weasley). He prides in his appearance and has dropped a lot of money on clothes, hair supplies, and making sure he has a decent skincare routine.

— Wily: Lucius has a sharp tongue. His arrogance and money allowed him to wiggle his way into a high ranking position at the Ministry before he married. He is a skilled liar and will do whatever it takes to get his thoughts across.

— Family oriented: At this point, family is all Lucius has left. There is a lot of guilt surrounding that trait since he nearly got everyone killed but he is using it as an excuse to grow and learn from his mistakes.

— Cowardly: Lucius dislikes getting his hands dirty. It is easier to play as puppet master and have others take the fall for his actions or ideas. Although a death eater, he seldom got his hands dirty. Torturing was his specialty but anything that came with the risk of getting another person’s blood on him left him talking someone else into doing the dirty work for him.

— Well-spoken: Lucius’s parents wanted the Malfoy heir to be a positive reflection on the family. They hired a tutor to come in and work with Lucius from a young age. Any sort of stammering and stuttering were quickly discouraged. He was taught simple coping mechanisms for his feelings since bottling them up left him prone to exploding and not being able to watch his tongue when everything became too much. He prides in being articulate and has an eloquent way of writing.

— Ex-Elitist: Abraxas Malfoy made sure his son knew purebloods were on top. Lucius was taught that at a young age and only recently realized that way of thinking was wrong. Although able to keep his thoughts to himself, he is struggling to come to terms with unlearning the beliefs he was raised with and carried for the majority of his life.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Lucius is the only son of Abraxas Malfoy and Katerina Malfoy née Selwyn. His mother passed away when he was five years old. Things were just him, his father, and the occasional woman Abraxas kept for company. Having never remarried and having blamed the birth of his son on weakening his wife’s health caused Abraxas to keep Lucius at a distance. The boy spent more time with house-elves and nannies than with him. They were only ever seen together forcing the image of a happy family at pureblood gatherings.

Abraxas had strict expectations of his son. Lucius was required to learn several languages (French and Italian among his favorites), instruments, and show he understood his father’s values from a young age. He wasn’t given much of a chance to be with other children so Hogwarts came as a bit of a shock. One letter home from a professor about his behavior and a howler back in response was all it took to ensure Lucius didn’t do anything to bring shame to the family.

He took the dark mark as a teenager and thought little of it outside of knowing it was something that would make his father proud. Although proud, Abraxas only ever showed contempt for his son. He feared the young man would get cocky and do something to get himself killed before he got the chance to prove himself.

Draco is Lucius’s pride and joy. He is of the belief he and Narcissa couldn’t have created a more perfect child. While he would have appreciated having a sibling for Draco it wasn’t in their cards. Narcissa is currently the only person Lucius would trust with his life. (Severus Snape would have been a close second if he hadn’t gotten killed.) He loves his wife and son dearly and regrets the situation the family was put into. If given a chance he would have never taken the mark in the first place. There’s no way of changing that though so treading carefully to avoid risking conflict has been his best approach at mending the uneasiness he gets when thinking about what he put his wife and son through.

HISTORY

Family proved to be the most important part of Lucius’s life. His marriage to Narcissa made it clear he is absolutely smitten with his wife. He trusts her with his life and she has seen him at his weakest points. The stint in Azkaban left him fearing she would leave him but she stayed at his side. Whether this was to save face for Draco or her assuming he would eventually do the right thing is beyond him. He hasn’t had it in him to ask why. At his lowest points, he can be found questioning why she stayed with him and doing small actions to make it known he is indebted to her for putting up with the ridiculousness that nearly got the whole family killed.

Pre-war of ‘98 involved Lucius planning moves for the death eaters once Voldemort returned. Before that, his focus was on his wife and his son, appreciating the little life they made for themselves. Lucius was close to Lord Voldemort and considered himself one of the most trusted of the death eaters until he lost the prophecy. To add insult to injury, he was arrested and spent several months in Azkaban for his blunder. Returning from jail came with the shock of learning his son took the mark and Lord Voldemort claimed his manor as headquarters. A lot of unspeakable things happened and his life spiraled to a point where he felt as though he was no longer in control. It left him paranoid and extra jumpy, turning into a submissive shell of the man that once oozed confidence and a better-than-everyone sense of self-esteem.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I’ll be honest — I’m trash for Lucissa. There is something about the two that makes that ship one of my favorites. On a non-ship related note: I want to see Lucius face his demons — people challenging his ideals and/or using his past against him, him feeling guilty over Severus having died, etc.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Headcanon wise, I’m going to be working with Lucius having chopped his hair off shortly after the war ended. He’ll be claiming losing his locks was his turning a new leaf but it was definitely because it reminded him of past decisions and had thinned out from the amount of stress he was under. He currently has no plans of growing it back to its old length.

As a note, I don’t view the Malfoy family as having gone out of their way to abuse/mistreat their son. Perhaps indirectly from Lucius’s end since his own upbringing wasn’t ideal, but my version of him doesn’t involve him going “let me do what my dad did to me to you.” I also do not support Cursed Child’s erasure of Lucius and Narcissa running around wandless in search of their son in Deathly Hallows and Lucius coming out of that not wanting to change his ways/hating on his child’s spouse. While I know the epilogue/cursed child isn’t considered canon for this group it’s still me just wanting my opinion of nah we’re having a Lucius that’s trying to learn from his mistakes out in the open.

https://lusciousviper.tumblr.com is the original Lucius I played. It’ll be interesting taking him on about fifteen years older than the age I am used to playing him at but I’m happy to take that challenge.

https://iheardaboutit.tumblr.com/ mock blog

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS

CHARACTER CONTRIBUTION

He’s fallen from grace. Lucius nearly lost everything to the second war. He is attempting to learn from his mistakes and that unlearning is taking more patience than he was aware he had. The second war left him well aware that his wife and son were the most important parts of his life. Losing them was practically unthinkable to a point where he would have given his own life up for the sake of ensuring Draco and Narcissa survived.

Where Lucius was very active with officials in the ministry and had a high societal standing, this leaves him open to having countless friends and enemies. I assume there are several people that may be skeptical of his having avoided jail time and all too eager to prove their suspicions right.

PRESENT

Having taken in a ward has left Lucius a little concerned about the returned. Thankfully, it happens to be his wife’s youngest cousin but that has done little in easing his nerves. He knows little about Regulus outside of the rumors that spread when the young death eater went missing and never returned. It isn’t necessarily a problem but he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Bellatrix, his father, or someone worse comes out of the veil. He’s taken to working at the family’s apothecary as a way of keeping busy but there is only so much work that can be done before he runs out of things to do.

—————

“I’m sorry, did you say Regulus?” Lucius quirked a brow at his wife, the look of disbelief planted firmly across his face. There had only been rumors about the returned — the stray whisper from the few trusted acquaintances he had back at the ministry. Nothing about anyone of relation to him or his wife coming through. “And they are expecting us to…” He trailed off when his wife fixed him with a look. The nonverbal eyebrow raise was enough to make it clear her cousin would be staying with them. His opinion on the matter was useless since there was no room for him to have a say— wasn’t his cousin and attempting to stay in his wife’s good graces. “Whatever you say, love,” He sighed. “We have space. I just wish we knew what accepting him into the home would entail. You know, he tried leaving and the rumors were the dark lord went—” He trailed off after another look from his wife. “Right, right. I won’t be mentioning that to him in person.”