#not connected to a prompt and probably a bit rush but i'm busy this week and doing my best

[lordgrimwing]

Glorfindel the Child Lord

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 2, a companion piece to Glorfindel the Child Balrog Slayer]

“My King?” Glorfindel said. “You sent a message?”

Turgon’s office was small and intimate. The council room and other official and ceremonial rooms in the spiraling tower were large and opulent as only the Noldor could be, but he liked his private room small and tastefully decorated with a handful of meaningful items. There was something about conversing in these rooms as opposed to anywhere else that made Glorfindel feel completely seen and understood, even if he was not always called here for the most pleasant of discussions. 

Turgon looked up from his armchair by the window. He held a book in one hand and an elegant glass of some russet drink in the other. The gold woven into his hair flashed in the setting sun as he raised his head. “I see the message found you. I wondered how long it would take.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed, conscious of the flecks of dirt on his clothes that threatened to fall onto the pristine rug. Maybe he should have taken the time to change first. “The courier should be commended: she let no great feat daunt her.”

Turgon smiled and gestured at the seat across from him as he set the leather-bound book on a side table. “Nor mountain cliffs, I suspect. Calatail more than earns her name. Please, sit.”

“I dare not, for my tunic is soiled. I am quite happy to speak on my feet.” He pointed at one of the various muddy marks to illustrate the risk he posed to furniture. He really should have changed, and maybe washed his hair, too. He doubted Turgon had expected him, the lord of one of his houses, to arrive several hours late and covered in dirt and detritus. He wasn’t doing a very good job at this lord business, was he?

“Laurefindelë, a little dirt will not harm the upholstery. Sit.” Turgon said it with a serious but teasing tone, mixing Sindarin with Quenya. 

Glorfindel did so, settling himself on the edge of the seat and touching as little of the cushion as possible. Turgon definitely noticed but refrained from commenting further, which was a relief. He did not want to disobey his king, but also, he really should have made himself presentable. He wasn’t a child anymore.

“Now, Glorfindel,” Turgon said, relaxing back into his seat and into casual Quenya, using the Sindarin version of his guest’s name, which he knew the young lord preferred. “From all appearances, I will assume Calatail had to retrieve you from your House’s fields in the northern glen-”

Glorfindel kept his mouth shut. That was not true at all and he was fairly certain Turgon knew he hadn’t been anywhere near where he should have been. It wasn’t that he was trying to shirk his new duties, and he understood the weight of responsibility the title of Lord gave him—he grew up watching his parents bear that responsibility. Sometimes he just wanted to run off and leave it all behind. He couldn’t though, so he’d compromise by climbing as high up the precipice surrounding the secret city as he could. He knew he shouldn’t do it but he did.

“-and that our meeting slipped your mind while you were thus occupied.” Turgon’s voice was calm, his face untroubled, but he was without doubt giving gentle chastisement. 

It would have been better, Glorfindel thought, if the king had reprimanded him with sharp words, or demanded an explanation for the tardiness. He would have if any of the other lords kept him waiting for so long. He had much to do and little time to wait for dawdlers. 

Glorfindel cast his eyes down and clasped his dirty hands in his lap, attempting to look duly chastened, even if he didn't feel it. He knew he should do better, could treat his title with all the gravity it deserved (he'd seen his parents bear it with all the honor they could, even during the hardest parts of the March) but he knew he’d do this again, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry about it. He would try to not miss another meeting, at least.   

“We’ll put that behind us,” Turgon said kindly. “I wanted to discuss your House’s contribution to the Festival of Trees.”

Glorfindel straightened in his seat. This was about his House; he needed to represent his people well. This was one thing he couldn’t fall short of. “Preparations are well underway. We have dual responsibilities with guarding the fourth gate, so I’ve broached the possibility of collaboration with the House of the Fountain for the tournaments.”

“Very good,” Turgon said with a nod. “As usual, Idril is organizing special events for the children.”

This was clearly the reason he wanted to meet with Glorfindel.

“In years passed, you’ve assisted her with that.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed. Idril recruited him to shepherd the younger children—mostly products of the Long Peace before the construction of Gondolin—from activity to activity. He liked it. The formal festivities were nice, especially once he was old enough to appreciate the more solemn bits, but he always looked forward to gathering up the children to meet Idril.

Turgon smiled again but his lips were thin, like he was about to say something and did not fully like the taste of the words. “I’ve asked that she find someone else to help her this year and going forward. With your new responsibilities, I thought it best to relieve you of that burden so that you can focus on your House.”

Glofindel did not slump in the seat. He did not let his shoulders drop with disappointment because he was not disappointed. He really wasn’t. He knew this would come eventually; he wasn’t a child anymore, and he could name at least three elflings who’d happily take up the honor of working with Idril. Still, a pang of loss shot through his chest at the finality heralded by the king’s words.

He’d given up his childhood when Turgon placed the lordship on his shoulders.

(his memories of the ceremony tasted like smoke from the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and salt from the tears on his face, his parents’ absence a bleeding wound inside his chest)

“My deepest thanks,” he said past the lump in his throat. “I might have forgotten about the conflict until the celebration was upon us. I will write a letter for Idril to thank her for allowing me to work with her for so long, and suggesting new candidates to fill the role.”

“I’m sure she’ll track you down herself in the coming months.” Turgon’s expression was once again relaxed, the challenging part of the conversation over. 

She would, wouldn’t she? He wondered how long he could avoid it without being rude. Idril was nothing if not determined (that was one of the things he admired about her when he was young).

There was another pause, but this time Glorfindel had nothing to contribute to the silence other than his own. 

Turgon’s tone changed again when he opened his mouth, going from the king he had become in Beleriand to the family friend Glorfindel vaguely recalled from Valinor. “Lordship is a great weight I have asked you to shoulder. How are you doing, Laurë?”

“I am learning a great many things.” Glorfindel didn’t know how much more he could bring himself to say. “And as you’ve seen, schedule management is still a trial. My King,” he stood, “if our business is finished, might I beg leave to depart? I’ve just remembered I have a House meeting to preside over that starts in half an hour. I promised my steward I wouldn’t be late this time.”

Turgon looked taken aback at the sudden change in the conversation. He looked up at the young lord from his seat. “That was everything pressing. Please, go if you need.”

Relief filled the parts of Glorfindel’s body not already flooded with painful memories. He spun on his heel, no longer caring if his clothes shed debris on the rugs, and hurried from the office. He barely caught the king’s promise that they’d talk again soon. 

He left the palace tower as quickly as he could, nearly tripping on the stairs in his haste to be out and away so he could find a quiet spot to recompose himself. The House meeting wasn’t as imminent as he’d said, but he didn’t have enough time to hide the evidence of tears from his steward if he started crying now. 

(she’d been his parents' steward since Valinor, and she’d watched him grow up)

(he feared he was disappointing her with his struggles to fill his father’s shadow as Lord of the House of the Golden Flower)

He tucked himself away in the unused space behind a bakery. Sitting very still, he focused on the tantalizing smells coming from the open windows rather than the memories of the day the battered, fractured army came back from the Nirn.

[kookscrescent]

A Needy, Desperate Fuck Up (m) │ pjm

❒ pairing: jimin x female reader ❒ summary: jimin’s desperation leads to a fuck up. ❒ prompt: "Fuck fuck fuck fuck, that's not fucking good!" and "Fuck! I'm not on the pill!" ❒ rating: nc-17, 18+ ❒ genre: smut, pwp ❒ warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), dirty talk, cursing, accidental creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, choking, crying, Jimin is neeedyyyy for that puzz puzz ❒ word count: 3.1k │ unedited ❒ release date: may 8th 2021 ❒ disclaimer: This is all fiction! Nothing mentioned/written are facts and/or real! So please just keep that in mind when reading and enjoy! Thank you ♡

The door to your bedroom barely has a chance to close properly before Jimin has you pressed flat against the wall. The coldness of the exposed brick wall has goosebumps rising on your rapidly heating skin, and you shudder at the contact.

But you don’t care. All you can think about is the way Jimin feels pressed against your body – the hard panels of his toned chest and abdominal muscles, not to mention his hard length growing against your leg.

You can’t help but moan at the feeling. It’s been way too long since you and Jimin have had sex! He’s been extremely busy with recording for the new album, and his schedule is almost jammed packed every day, and on the rare occasion that he has a few hours of free time, you would much rather have him spend it on catching up on some rest.

But something had come over him the minute he opened your front door and stepped inside. Like you normally would, you’d yelled out a hello to him, letting him know you were in the kitchen, with your hands buried in the dirty dish water as you were cleaning the few dishes you had neglected since the day before. You hadn’t heard him call back a hello to you like he normally would, but you thought he might just be tired and didn’t really think anything of it. However, you did hear him entering the kitchen and stopping just behind you. About to ask him if he was hungry and if he wanted you to make him something, you’d dried your hands on the nearest rag, but you didn’t even manage to get a proper look at him before his hands were in your hair and his lips were claiming yours in a hard kiss.

It took your breath away. Literally. The rag fell to the floor without a sound and without pulling away to question his sudden behavior you grabbed his face in your hands, trying to bring him closer. He took the hint and stepped forward, pushing his chest and pelvis against your body. he was hot and cold at the same time. His clothes cold from the slight breeze outside, but his hands and lips warm and hot against your skin.

Things escalated pretty quickly from that point and you honestly can’t really remember the journey from the kitchen to your bedroom. Every breath you each take is rushed and breathy, and all you seem to recall is hands frantically trying to remove pieces of clothing and said clothing landing haphazardly on the floor in a line behind you. Hard and wet kisses to your lips and neck, and your hands desperately trying to undo the string on Jimin’s joggers.

At this point you’ve both managed to get each other undressed, both of you now lying naked on the bed, Jimin hovering above you, your legs caging him in and his hard cock resting between your soaked folds as he slowly grinds himself against you. Your mouths are a hot mess, lips slipping and sliding over each other and your tongues erotically dancing.

It’s like all hell have broken loose and the both of you have just lost it. You have no idea what has spurred on his sudden desperate need to claim you, but you can’t say that you mind one bit. You’re equally as desperate to have him, not having felt him inside of you for almost three weeks!

Throwing your head back, you groan as the tip of his cock nudge your clit. “Shit, that feels so good!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” You find his eyes, hoping to god he won’t stop moving against you.

He leans down for another kiss. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed your sweet pussy!” He rumbles, lifting to his hands so he can watch his cock effortlessly slid between your folds, your slick coating every thick inch of him. “Fuck, I need to taste you baby.”

With a jerk he moves down your body, your legs automatically parting wider to make room for him. Once settles between your legs, Jimin looks up at you from under lust clouded eyes, his pupils so dark and intense that you become slightly nervous. Pressing a kiss to the juncture of your thigh, he gently and ever so slowly runs the tip of his pointer finger down your slit, collecting your juices before sucking his finger clean.

He groans and you almost dissipate on the spot. His finger returns to your heat as another kiss is pressed to the juncture of your thigh. He repeats his previous action – running his finger down your slit, collecting your arousal, but he stops at your entrance, teasingly circling your hole. He pushes in just an inch before retreating and you mumble a frustrated please. You lock eyes, just as a second finger joins the first and he pushes in all the way to his knuckles.

Your head hits the pillows in a sigh of relief. He pushes in and out of you in a slow and tantalizing rhythm. It has your head swimming, and you need more.

“Please Jimin, please! Don’t tease me.”

“Don’t tease you baby?” he repeats and following with a kiss right above your clit. “Why not?”

Arrogant shit, you think!

“It’s been so long…” you mumble, your voice muffled by the pillows when he begins to pick up the pace. “Make me cum!”

“Hmmm,” he places another kiss above your clit, so close to touching but never enough to give you the relief you want. He begins scissoring his fingers inside of you, and the familiar fire starts in your stomach. “Want me to make you cum with my mouth babygirl?”

You nod frantically! “Yes yes yes ye- ahhhh!” You’re abruptly cut off by the feeling of Jimin’s tongue finally making contact with your clit. He gently licks it – long fat swipes with his warm tongue.

The sounds coming out of you is only spurring him on. Two fingers turn to three and he sucks your clit so violently it has your hips rising from the bed. He easily folds one arm across your lower abdomen, holding you down as he continues to suck.

The fire picks up, and your cries grows louder and louder with each suck of his mouth and each thrust of his fingers. You can’t remember a time where you’ve ever wanted, no needed, to cum so desperately. You can almost taste the release on your tongue. So close.

You can feel how eager Jimin is to make you explode on his tongue as well. He pushes the entirety of his face into your soaked pussy. His tongue working you so feverishly, his nose bumping your sensitive clit.

You grasp at his hair, pushing his face deeper into you and he groans in respond. The vibration sending a wave of tingles through your clit and all the way down to your toes, making them curl. You feel like your brain is no longer connected to the rest of your body, your legs and hips having a life of their own – bucking wildly against his face, trying to reach your high.

Slipping his fingers out of you, he reaches up to press your hips to the bed with both of his hands, making you completely immobilized.

You’re about to whine at the loss of his fingers inside of you, but Jimin is quick to replace them with his fat tongue instead.

“Ah…ah Jimin- oh god!” You moan.

He continues his feast. Slurping and sucking every inch of your wet pussy. You’re so close, so fucking close to cumming, every nerve in your body is on high alert, ready to explode in a fit of euphoria.

Jimin moans between your legs. Loving the way your sweet juices cover his face and tongue. If he’s not careful, the mere taste of you on his tongue combined with the way you sound when you’re losing control, he could probably cum.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop!” You plead, digging your fingers deeper into his scalp, yanking at his hair.

He doesn’t stop. Jimin keeps going, your moaning pleas urging him to go even faster, and he throws his fingers back into the equation. Plunging two fingers into your tight hole and working them at the same fast rhythm as his tongue on your clit.

When your grip on his hair becomes almost too painfully tight, he knows your cumming.

“Shit shit shit shit shit! Ohhhhhhh…!!”

He keeps lapping up every inch of you until he’s sure you’ve ridden out every small inch of your orgasm. Only when your hands fall limply to the bad, does he ease up.

You’re panting, trying to catch your breath as Jimin kisses his way back up your body. He seems just as out of breath as you are, but you can tell that he’s no way near finished with you.

And you would be sourly disappointed if he were.

*

“God you’re so hot!” Jimin breaths, lips hovering above yours, barely touching. He thumbs your lower lip, drawing it down before flicking his tongue across it. Locking his eyes on yours, he holds your gaze as he works his hips between your legs.

Supporting himself on one elbow, he lets the other arm travel behind your body to roughly grab onto your ass cheek, squeezing it tightly as he grinds his pelvis against you, letting his pelvis rub against your still sensitive clit as his cock is nestled deep inside of you.

Lifting, you reach for his mouth, your breast pressing against his sweaty chest. You whimper into his mouth as he slowly begins drawing back his hips and pushing his cock back inside with a hard thrust. He repeats this several times. Each time pushing a little deeper and thrusting a little harder.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, he whispers, “I’m gonna make you cum so hard on my cock.”

“Please!”

“Would you like that?”

“Yes! God yes!”

He forces one of your legs over his shoulder as he moves to sit on his knees, trapping your remaining leg between his. This automatically causes you to roll to your side, changing the position and making him go deeper.

Fisting the sheets, you hold on for dear life as Jimin begins fucking into you at an almost violent pace. He kisses your shin as he uses your leg as leverage to push himself faster and deeper inside of you.

It’s a bruising pace – hard, fast and rough.

“I-I… Jimin!” You hoarsely call out his name as heat washes through your body and the knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“Shit! Are you gonna cum baby?” His eyes zero in on the way your pussy swallows his cock so desperately, your wall tightening and sucking him in. “Fuck you’re getting so tight!” He whines almost painfully.

You cry out, your orgasm crashing through you like a volcano erupting. Your entire body is convulsing and tingling with the sweet feeling of the release you’ve missed so much. And even when you’re spend and don’t think you can take much more, Jimin keeps going. He fucks you through the waves aftershocks till they subside, and you feel a new knot of fire starting to form.

Your pussy spasms around his cock and it feels like he’s splitting you open. “Oh my fucking god!”

“Fuck! How do you keep getting tighter?!” He throws his head to the ceiling with a deep growl, his fingers digging into your flesh and he slows down to let your both catch your breath.

“Kiss me please,” you manage to stammer out the few words, needing to feel him close to you again.

With your leg still over his shoulder, he leans down on his elbows till he’s able to slot his lips over yours in a sweet kiss. You claim his mouth, your hands cupping his cheeks as your tongue licking its way inside. It’s wet and messy, and Jimin switches his rhythm to match the pace of the kiss. Slowly, he grinds his hips against yours as your mouths make love. It’s a complete switch of mood from what it was mere seconds ago. But none the less, the know forming in the pit of your stomach keeps on growing.

Jimin pick up the pace once again. Frantically, desperately snapping his hips against yours – the sound of your skin slapping together and the squelch of your juices as the pumps in and out, filling the room.

“Fuck,” he breaths and finds your neck, licking a fat stripe from your ear to the juncture between your shoulder and neck. He bits down softly and your face contorts in pleasure, hands scratching down his sweaty back.

You don’t know how he’s able to keep going like this, but you’re not about to tell him to slow down or stop. Not when the tingling feeling of another orgasm starts spreading through your body. But before the feeling can take full flight, Jimin stops to sit up on his haunches, and you whine loudly.

“Noooo!”

He laughs, running a hand through his thick wet locks. “Don’t worry babygirl. I’ve got you.”

And he does. He doesn’t waste a beat and immediately pick up where he left. He spreads your legs wide, his eyes focusing on the way he sinks his cock into your sweet heat, the way you drink up every inch of him. The sight nearly makes him cum on the spot and he has to concentrate real hard not to blow his load inside already. He’s not done with you yet!

Having gone so long without being inside of you, he’s not ready for this to be over!

“Jimin- ah ah ahhhhh- hnnng!” Your back arches off the bed as the crown of his cock rubs against your sweet spot. Jimin responds with his hand on your throat, putting just the right amount of pressure. You can feel your eyes tearing up at the intense amount of pleasure running through your body, he’s everywhere! You can feel him everywhere! And you don’t know how much more you’ll be able to take, feeling spend and used after 2 orgasms already.

“Baby please,” you beg him teary eyed. “Need you to cum!”

Jimin shakes his head, his hair falling over his eyes as determination takes over his features. “Gonna make you cum again!” he rasps, throwing his other hand into the mix as well – using his thumb to draw harsh circles on your clit.

Your hips buck against his touch and the fire in your stomach intensifies to the point of pain. “I-I can’t…” you sob, and you desperately try to find something to grab onto, eventually settling on Jimin’s thighs, your nails digging into his skin. You’re sure that will leave a mark in the morning.

“Yes you can!” Jimin growls, teeth biting into his bottom lip and he begins pounding into your so ruthlessly and desperately. He fucks you so hard and fast, that you’re almost positive that the bed will break.

He squeezes your throat a little harder, making the tears stream down your cheeks – wetting the pillow below you.

“Fucking cum! Cum around my cock baby!” he breathes, leaning down to kiss the tears from your cheeks.

The slight change in position, has his cock reaching so deep inside of you. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, fingers clawing into Jimin’s back – trying to hold on for dear life as he pounds you to your third orgasm for the night.

“Jimi- fuck…ahhhhhh!” you cry hoarsely, as you cum so hard that spots start dancing in front of your eyes and your breath catches in your throat when Jimin tighten his hold on your throat the slights bit – adding fuel to your already too intense pleasure.

“That’s it,” he grunts, continuing his abuse and fucking you through your orgasm, now chasing his own as well.

“Oh my god, please!”

You’re so desperate to feel him fall apart, to feel him lose control as much as you are. Wrapping yourself around him, you pull him as close as possible, your hands grasping his ass, pushing and pulling him towards you and your hips matching him thrust for thrust.

“Yesssss! Fuck ____, just like that. Just like that,” he chants, and you cry out in relief when you feel his muscles tensing up under your fingers and his cock twitching inside of you as he cums in hot spurts.

He continues to swirl his hips slowly as you both come down from your high. He finds your lips, placing small, sweet pecks of love over and over again as you both try to find your breath.

“That was…” you mumble against his lips.

He cracks a smile, “It was.”

Eventually Jimin stops moving completely, just lying on top of you with his arms caging you in and his hands running lovingly through your sweat soaked hair. You really need a shower before you go to bed. But you stay like that for what feels like an eternity. Just kissing and touching each other. You’re pretty sure you won’t be able to move once you have to get out of bed, your legs feeling completely numb. But at this rate, you’re not even sure you want to get out of bed at all – the way Jimin feels on top of you, his weight pressing you down, the way his cock feels inside of you and his warm cum still filling your-

“Did you come inside of me?” you ask him abruptly, your eyes going as big as saucers.

He looks down to where your bodies are connected, confused for a second. “Did I? I guess I did.”

“Jimin!” You begin to panic, your voice going up an octave. “Fuck! I’m not on the pill!”

Jimin’s entire body stiffens upon hearing your words. “What?!” He still asks, not sure he heard you right.

“I’m not on the pill right now!”

“What? Why? You’ve always been on the pill!” He says, sitting up and pulling out of you. You wince at the slight sting he leaves behind from pounding you so thorough and good.

“Yes, but remember last month when I had my doctor’s appointment because I was having really bad cramps? She told me to stop taking them for a while to see how my body would respond! I clearly remember telling you this and that you needed to wear condoms!”

“WHAT?!” he practically screeches in disbelief, watching as his cum slowly leaks out of your abused entrance. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck, that’s not fucking good!”

[rogue-durin-16]

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part VII/VII)

"apart"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

George Weasley: @meph1stophelian

Things never go as planned: @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @sunshineandshadows @missmulti @accioweaslcy @andreaareynoso @georgeweasley16 @dianarte @skarlettmikaelson

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality

Warnings: language (?) Angst

A/N: P L E A S E DON'T MURDER ME YET THERE'S AN EPILOGUE OKAY?! OKAY now enjoy <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part I: sleepless nights

Part II: candy floss

Part III: shock therapy

Part VI: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Since the Amortentia incident, Y/n had barely looked at me; not in the way I had avoided her after New Year, though, this time, it was different. She didn't seem to be doing it accidentally, rather than on purpose; she appeared to be too lost into her turmoil of thoughts to realise what she was doing, which scared me more.

I had figured the Amortentia would have had something to do with it, but it took me two days to pick up on it.

Undoubtedly, Y/n had smelled Fred's scent on it, and it dawned on her how twisted what we were doing was.

I cried myself to sleep the night that my mind stumbled upon that information. I let myself sob violently, pouring out as much pain as I could, wanting to wash away the recurrent thoughts that creeped on my mind, thoughts that were not unfounded.

That was it— I had lost both a friend and the woman I loved.

Once the tears seem to die out, a new thought appeared in my mind; maybe I was meant to be alone. I could barely function alone, how was I supposed to function with another person?

Perhaps I had always be meant to be alone.

I was going to be alone forever.

I was alone.

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

READER'S P. O. V.

It took my careless arse a hot minute to be aware of how obvious my emotional rollercoaster was from the outside; George had been getting visibly upset by it —I'd dare to reckon he even cried the past night because of it—, and I had to stop that, but how?

I knew it was always best to tell the truth, but where would that take us? Nowhere good. I couldn't just tell George I was in love with him and expect us not to fall apart even harder.

He would think I'm lying, or that I'm using him as a second option —I couldn't let him think that—, but again, his mind had probably gone to those thoughts due to my radio silence.

I had to tell him the truth, and face the consequences.

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

The sound of our front door's lock opening snapped me out of my own mind, and even made me jump a bit in the couch I sat. I had been waiting for George to arrive for a good couple of hours, weighing on how I could approach the topic, but I didn't seem to come up with anything remotely good.

He stepped into the flat with his eyes casted down, so it took him a moment to acknowledge my presence. "I—" his now dull eyes observed me with confusion, as if he wasn't expecting to see me in my own flat. "what are you doing awake?"

"Waiting for you." He closed the door, scrutinising me with furrowed brows. "I— well—" I cleared my throat and got up, causing his shoulders to tense up. "I wanted to tell you something."

I thought I would have to fight his childish behavior and convince him not to dodge the subject, but he only leaned on the door, his hands behind his back and his eyes casted down. "I... I wanted to tell you something too."

"You go first." I prompted him, planning on using those extra seconds to mentally prepare myself for what I was about to say —as if I hadn't been trying to mentally prepare myself for two hours already.

He peeked at me and sighed, his eyes coming back to his shoes before speaking. "I don't know how to say this— I" he pursed his lips and I could see the struggle irradiating from him. "I think you should move out." Now I knew why he refused to meet my gaze. "We— we need time away y'know— Fleur offered to help you look for an apartment. I'll go back to the Burrow until you find one— and I'm not firing you but I would appreciate if you didn't attend the clients if I'm there."

I should have spoken first, I scolded myself.

"Why?"

"What why?"

"Why you should've spoken first?"

"I— well, so you see," I tugged on my sleeves; it was my turn to avoid his look. "W-when I spilled the Amortentia— well I— I smelled—"

"I know."

"You... Do?"

"Yeah, that's... That's why I think we need some time away."

I had never in my life had my heart shattered in so many pieces in such a short span of time. The pain was so immense that I wasn't able to shed a single tear. Out of every outcome, this was the least expected.

"O-okay." We kept sneaking glances at each other in a dreadful silence until our eyes accidentally met. "I think—"

"I should—"

Another best of silence fell among us after we simultaneously spoke.

"I should go pick some things up." He muttered, passing by my side as fast as he could.

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

The next morning I caught him, as I expected, sneaking out of the flat with one of the bags he had carried in months ago.

He was already exiting when I jogged out of my room, managing to catch his hand.

I could see the goosebumps in his arm, and I thanked Merlin he couldn't hear my heart threatening to leaving my chest to go with him.

"I'm really sorry, George." I whispered, squeezing his hand. Although I had a tiny bit of hope that he would change his mind and step back into our home if I said those words, it was more of a goodbye.

He just shook his head, letting me know there was no need for an apology, and squeezed my hand back before pulling away.

His fingers slipping away from mines was such an emptying feeling, as if my connection with him slept away from my grasp forever.

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

I went to sleep that night hoping George's parting would have been a nightmare, and I cried the morning after when my brain took in that it was, in fact, very much real.

A heavily pregnant Fleur showed up that afternoon; she made me dinner and tried to cheer me up a little before making me get dressed so she could drag me out to look for flats in the Diagon Alley. It was an unsuccessful trip, but the Triwizard Tournament Champion wasn't about to give up so easily, so she came the next day, and the following, and on and on for a week.

As if summoned by the woman's will to find me a new home, we found a cheap, acceptable apartment near the shop.

I purchased it instantly, and soon enough I was moving out my things with Bill's help, to stop his wife from helping me herself.

"That's the last one, right?" Bill questioned, nodding at the bag laying on the couch with a box in his hands.

"Yup." I pulled it up and hung it on my shoulder.

"Need anything else?" I shook my head no. "Alright then I'll leave this at your place and apparate back home." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I know it's none of my business but... Whatever happened between you two— it's fixable, believe me."

"I really don't think so." I muttered, gripping the bag's strap.

"It is," he repeated, adjusting the box in his arms. "just don't give up." He gave me a small, reassuring smile and disapparated.

Maybe he was right, maybe it was fixable. Taking a look around the now emptier apartment, I thought it surely didn't seem like it, but hope is the last thing you lose, right?

In a final attempt of getting him back, I grabbed a notebook from the bag and teared a page off it; I left the bag besides me as I knelt down and reached for a pencil forgotten over the coffee table.

Three Days Later

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

I entered the apartment— it was quiet, similar to a cemetery, just like the first time I stepped on the apartment after the war.

This time, it was empty, though.

Y/n didn't rush to the door when I opened it.

She didn't catch me when I fell on my knees and broke down to tears.

I was alone.

After Godric knows how long I managed to get myself back to my feet. I passed Y/n's old room as fast as I had first passed Fred's room months ago.

Once I got to my room and lay down on my bed, my mind cleared up enough for me to realise that I would be seeing Y/n the next day —at least once— at the shop.

"Fuck." I muttered, burying my face on my pillow.

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

READER'S P. O. V.

He had asked me not to leave the office while he was in the shop.

He had explicitly asked me not to, but I needed to know if he had read my letter— no, I need to know if I had taken a step in the right direction by writing the letter.

So there I was, descending the stairs in his direction, and taking my time to do so since he was talking with a couple of clients.

"Y/n!" Verity rushed to me with what seemed a defective portable swamp. "I need your help with this," My eyes, still on George, caught the way his head snapped in my direction with sheer fear on it. "I've got a woman there threatening with suing us because the swamp send one of her children to St. Mungo!" The girl managed to get my attention with her anxious rambling.

"She can't do that." George, who had probably caught on Verity's words, spoke before I could. "She agreed on our shop policy." He reminded her, walking to stand by my side.

"I already told her that Mister Weasley, but she said she's 'not taking the words of a pipsqueak'." She replied in a whisper.

"She said what?" George questioned in disbelief.

"I'm gonna shove that lawsuit up her arse." I spoke, spotting the completely out of place middle aged woman who stood in front of Verity's till. "Send her to the office." Verity looked at me and then at George for confirmation, who simply gave her a nod.

Once Verity left, I turned to the ginger, whose warm eyes were already fixed on me. "How are you?" He inquired in a way that let me see it was out of politeness, which made my hopes die a little.

"Been better." I replied, ready to somehow test the waters. "How about you?"

"Same, I suppose." George didn't even try to put on a happy face, and I started to get anxious; there was no way he would have missed the note —I left it on the kitchen table— so that meant he had read it and- "You should go back to the office."

My heart attempted to hold onto the possibility of him not having read the note, but my brain knew better than that. "Alright." I nodded and went back to my workplace; I would deal with that woman and after that, I would prepare a resignation letter.

George was right, we needed to be apart.

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

It wasn't that bad, I lied to myself, sitting down on the sofa while undoing the tie's knot.

My mind was about to begin the overthinking of Y/n's words when my stomach growled. Without noticing, I had gone without a single meal for the entire day.

I listened to my body and moved to the kitchen to prepare myself something. While the stove heated up, I turned around and took a look at the kitchen; just like the rest of the rooms, it seemed gloomier without Y/n lighting up the apartment.

Stop thinking about her.

My eyes landed on a piece of paper with one of Y/n's rings over it. Before properly realising it, I was sitting down on one of the chairs and reading what had been written in the scrapped page.

Dear George,

I know what happened is on both of us, but I can't help but blame myself, as selfish as it might sound.

You don't know this, but while at Hogwarts, I found you and Fred rather annoying— I didn't understand why everyone seemed to fancy you so much. Then, you hired me to work in this amazing shop, and I understood.

During these past two years I had the pleasure and honour to call you my friend; you made my life much better, I'd like to think I did the same.

I wanted to apologise for everything I've done since New Year. I'm so very sorry for falling in love with you. Though it was something so easy to happen, I never thought it would go this far.

I don't know what is this letter (a proper goodbye? I don't know), but I want need you to know that I never wanted to harm you nor our friendship, and that I'm still going to be here for you, feelings aside.

Love,

Y/n.

I re-read the fourth paragraph at least five times before taking it in.

She had fallen in love with me.

That's what she had meant to say when she spoke to me about the Amortentia— that she had smelled my scent— Oh no.

My reply— she probably thought it was unrequited; she probably thought I had kicked her out because she was in love with me and not quite the opposite.

Without thinking twice, I ran down to the office with the letter clutched in my hand; she had to be there, she was always the last one to leave.

She had to be there.

I was so focused on reaching the office on time that I missed Y/b's figure exiting the shop.

I slammed the door open, just to find the table's surface, which used to be full of Y/n's things, clean in its entirety, aside from an envelope which had written on it 'resignation'.

"No."

READER'S P. O. V.

I had just left the small box with my things over the coffee table, and was taking off my shoes when an apparition noise followed by a couple of bangs on my front door made me jolt.

Out of a sad habit I, among the rest of the Order, had gotten during the war, I grabbed my wand and approached the door.

My arm fell limply on my side while I stared into George's eyes, which seemed to hold back a storm of mixed emotions.

"C-can we talk?" My gaze then fell on the paper his hand was gripping, and that I assumed was my resignation.

"George, listen, I can't—"

"I'm in love with you."

Words had stumbled out of his mouth in panic, and the only thing I could reply was, "What?"

[helloliriels]

Prompt #2: Allergies

February 2021 Johnlock prompt challenge, hosted by @ohlooktheresabee. Daily entry by 🐝 @helloliriels🐝 *** 🐝🐝🐝 Gonna have to cheat on this one, down sick, but since bees & allergies go together, here it is. Enjoy! 🐝🐝🐝 ***

Do Bees Kiss? or just Sting? 

Q: Do bees "kiss"?

             Why do bees "kiss"?  I went to Wikipedia.

A: When bees "kiss" they are actually passing nectar to other bees.

*******************************************

Sherlock kisses John.

It was early morning. And John was getting ready for work.

Sherlock bloody Holmes of course, pays no attention to people's privacy or morning routines, and can't be bothered to explain why he's standing in John's way as he makes his toast and goes about his business...  but there he is. Every place John needs to be. Waiting for something.

John is just about done and ready to head out the door - No thanks to Sherlock for making him late again - when he gets the shock of his life.

Sherlock kisses him.

A small peck on the lips. Almost chaste. Like those kisses you give to your crush in kindergarten. Or to your mum. When she insists.

John thinks it's an experiment. He knows it is. 

It must be. 

He gives Sherlock a 'you done now?' look, then goes around him when he gets no reply. 

Sherlock heads off to do his own morning routine. John sighs. Dropping the butter knife in the sink with a loud clank. Exasperated. He doesn't have time for this shit. 

Why do I bloody put up with it? 

He fumbles with his keys and jacket. Noting now that the genius has decided to get OUT of his GOD damn way of course, he is twice as late!!

He heads out the door in a rush. Slamming it, just a little in revenge on the way out.

***

Talking to Greg later that evening - around the corner from a crime scene where Sherlock is currently arguing with Anderson - he tells him about it off-hand. Confession of a sort. Get it off his mind. Greg will think it's damn funny.  "Pompous git, gave me a kiss earlier..."

"Wha???!!!....," Greg mouths a mock 'O' in awe as he turns to look at John, eyes wide in amazement...  a look that fully says, 'finally! It's going down!'

"I know right?" Playing it up, John laughs it off. Great joke. Were not a couple! He shrugs.

"What else happened?? What did he say?" Greg was dying to know now, taking his hands out and shaking John for more details. The man wanted details?! John could see this was the happiest moment of Papa Lestrade's life. It was almost a bummer to have to disappoint him...

         🐝   ***REST UNDER THE CUT***   🐝

"No, no, nothing like that." John reassured, "God I wish!" (It came out before he had time to stop himself). And Lestrade looked taken aback.

He added a little "Haha," like he had meant it as a joke after all.

He really didn't.

         Sobering thought.

Thinking better to explain himself, he added - "Hey, don't tell Sherlock I just said that?... by the way. Bit not good. It was just an experiment after all, I'm sure. You know how he is."

Greg was still just... flabbergasted. A balloon deflating. Open mouthed staring at John. No words.

John's half sad-smile said more than he probably intended. Shouldn't have mentioned it after all, he thought. "Well!" He added cheerfully, slapping Greg on the shoulder. "Was a fun case tonight. Sherlock will be happy. Solved it in under 5 minutes!" He prepared to leave, and shot off a parting, "See you round." With a half-smile. He bowed his head and walked off to follow Sherlock who was now leaving. John had his hands in his pockets now. Quite unlike him. Shuffling along. 

Greg watched as John kicked some debris in his path in frustration, mindlessly, as they left. He had never seen the man looking so downtrodden...  

At least, not after such a brilliantly resolved case! John was usually on cloud nine after watching the curly haired genius work. It was rather embarrassing really. The puppy eyes that looked up in worship at Sherlock as he dished out deductions, it was almost criminal. But lately he was getting more and more moody... Greg wondered.

And here, with this new evidence, Sherlock had managed to...   He stopped. Shaking his head. Unbelievable. Just unbelievable...

Greg took one last look over his shoulder at their retreating forms, before heading out himself. 

 "Unbelievable."

*** 

The week goes on.                       

Sherlock continues to kiss him, Randomly. Small pecks mostly. But sometimes a smooch. Nothing more. No explanations. Just kisses.

Experiment.

Must be. John kept telling himself.

Experiments require further data. It was the only possible explanation...

Sherlock had never shown any signs of wanting... relationship in his life. Mister 'girlfriends aren't his area' and 'married to his work', and... 'alone protects me'...  had never expressed any interest in any men either (that John knew of?). Hell, he'd even turned down some of the most bloody gorgeous ones they had met so far, both men and women. So John doubted that he was interested in that sort of thing. Some people just aren't.

The only really odd thing about it, is - Sherlock isn't saying anything to address the kisses.... 

It must be like having toes on the kitchen table, to him. John thought. A dummy hanging itself from their rafters. Or penicillin growing in the bread box. I'm just a thing. A dummy for this latest experiment.

At that last thought, a realization dawned on John. A horrifying, terrible realization. How had he not seen it sooner?!

Was Sherlock going to break out some rare dye, or some insane chemical powder he'd concocted - to dust and test John's lips for lip prints left at a crime scene next?? John could just see himself going to work with purple lips and a chemical burn that would take weeks to heal. Perhaps even suffering an allergic reaction...

All because Sherlock did not realize the exotic stuff would not COME OFF!!! and was actually quite dangerous.

He pinches the bridge of his nose at the thought. Exasperated. 

His brain hurts now. 

    This was happening a lot lately. 

The thought of what he was going to be subjected to next....the worry. Was almost worst. Well, it is worse - than the kisses, John thinks.

The kisses. 

Damn. Need to stop thinking about this.

John did his best to push it out of his mind. Not wishing to upset the equilibrium of their friendship. Crazy as it might be right now. At least this is one way, he was getting what he wanted? Or something like it. Gift horse and all. One doesn't ask...

He is tempted to ask however, about how you would go about setting up a mind palace? Just so he could keep the memories locked forever away in there to return to. But that would be more than telling.

So he just closes his eyes most of the time, when he knows it's going to happen; and stores it in the best way he knows how. Memorization. Skills learnt in public school. Repetition. 

Sherlock was certainly giving him that. 

John smiles despite himself. He gives it about a week before the worst will come out.

           He isn't wrong.

***

The height of ridiculousness comes one morning, almost exactly a week later. 

John is there in the kitchen, fork in hand - eating his breakfast, and reading the paper out of the corner of his eye. Completely non-plussed, while Sherlock continues to dive in for a small kiss. Between. Every. Single. Bite. The paper rattles a bit each time. 

John isn't even looking at him anymore.

Or acknowledging that this is happening.

At all.

He's got his back to the cabinets, facing out. And his slippered foot keeps tapping away.

Sherlock, as anyone watching would have seen - was acting as childishly as could be imagined. Not unlike when you see two kids who won't stop hitting one another, while say 'I'm not hitting you". If he hadn't been the recipient of it, John might have thought it was quite funny.

He wasn't sure how long this was going to go on. And clearly had decided to take the saint's role and be above it all; when Sherlock dives in for one more kiss. 

This time, he presses in deep, and opens his mouth a little. Holding it there. Breathing his air. 

  Waiting.

  Watching with a perplexed furrow of his brow,

                  for John's reaction.

Oh god. John thinks. Feeling the warm breath, and the warmer lips pressed up against his own.

What is now a very REAL, albeit awkward, kiss.

Sherlock does not have much experience in this area, after all.

John's breathing stops. He swallows hard. Tries to remember not to drop his fork.

His heart has just jumped out of his chest. And is now screaming at him. Pumping and pulsing like it's running a marathon. And his eyes scan around the room, as if someone might materialize from thin air, who could help, or at least explain all of THIS to him?!!!

     ...WHat the HeLL wAs GoiNg On??!!!

Lips still connected, breath shared, he looks up at Sherlock at last. Unable, really to avoid it at this point. He makes eye contact. 

His eyes full of fear, his eyebrows raised in question.

And showing... Honestly showing something else entirely, he hadn't meant to show at all.

Longing.

He looks like he is about to cry. He is about to cry. This. THIS. Is too much.

Sherlock can't have THIS from him. Not without a relationship. 

He pulls away. And turns his head, his lips out of reach. Closing his eyes. His signal, that he is DONE.

Done with this bloody experiment. Done with his stupid, unfeeling, selfish flatmate. Just done.

***

He feels, more than sees, Sherlock grin his way out of the kiss. Backing off just the slightest bit. But still not going away. 

When he looks back a few moments later, having calmed down his own breathing. And collected his feelings. Sherlock is still standing there. Looking down at him. A wicked grin on his face. At that look, John is stunned. Has this all been a JOKE to the man?!! 

He has only a moment to think before Sherlock's lips are on his again.

John drops everything this time. Throws, more like. Literally - newspaper, plate, fork, all of it - down. And pulls down on Sherlock's neck, forcibly dragging him closer. If Sherlock wants to kiss, then GOD DAMN IT, he is going to get fucking KISSED! And John releases everything that has been pent up inside of him, all week. All month. All of the years he has known and been in love, with Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was now holding onto him also, arms wrapping around his middle. Keeping him upright, somehow. While John was snogging him senseless.

That should teach him. John thinks as he pulls away. Completely out of breath and panting with the exertion he had just enforced. And glares up at his flatmate. Absolute daggers.

But Sherlock...  is now blushing, and looking pleased as punch. The response John sees, is also the kindest, and gentlest look in his eyes.

More love than he has ever dared to hope for from anyone, let alone, from his companion. More love than John thought the man standing before him, was capable of feeling. 

Contrary to everything Sherlock had tried to tell everyone, loudly, since the day John had met him. This was Sherlock being human. 

And it was all for him.

It was like a wall had come down. And the great genius' emotions were laid bare - exposed before John, for what they really were. Insecurity. Inexperience. He was offering himself up as a gift to be taken. A student to be taught. And John had... Oh.

Oh.

John blushes. He had just taught. Hadn't he?

Sherlock smiled. Glad to see John finally catching up. A puzzle at last, solved. 

A sweet little shrug of, forgive me? but this was the only way I know how... accompanied his smile. And John found himself laughing with relief at the expression. Giddy with it.

He pulled Sherlock back in to himself, gently this time. And gave him more of a sweet, first-date kiss.

With Sherlock's permission, it deepened it into a full, gorgeous, lovers kiss - His hand gripped tight in the expensive fabric of Sherlock's shirt, to keep him in place. Buttons be damned.

This kiss was;

Full of all the things John had wanted to say; 

Full of all the things Sherlock had been trying to say;

Full of all the things they had both held back for so long.

When it ended, John felt Sherlock lick a tiny bit of honey off of the corner of his mouth. Humming as he did so.

A little like a buzz.

🐝🍯🐝 Not unlike a bee.🐝🍯🐝

John shivered in anticipation. As Sherlock led the way...

If this was what loving Sherlock Holmes was going to be like... Watson smiled, then sign him up as beekeeper.

***************************************

posted on AO3 by helloliriels

More great fics and daily updates under the February 2021 Johnlock prompt challenge from ohlooktheresabee on AO3