#blue bloke my beloved

[slashrabbitbunny]

She John on my Ward till I Mortis ❤️🐰❤️

(Doodles underneath)

[laurfilijames]

Like My Dreams

Part 2

Pete Dunham Masterlist

Intro Part 1

Pairing: Pete Dunham x female reader

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: 18+. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. Use of pain medication. Mentions of fighting/violence/hooliganism. Sexual tension/alluding to oral sex. Car accident resulting in a concussion, broken ribs, cuts/bruises. Mentions of stitches.

Summary: The days that followed meeting Pete consist of a blur of exciting moments of getting to know each other and growing feelings, and just when things start to really develop between you, a wrench is thrown in to disrupt it all but also drives home how precious life and love are.

A/N: Not much to say other than my love for Pete grows every day along with my drive to give him the justice he deserves! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!! This film has a very small fan base so I'd love to chat with anyone who enjoys it as much as I do 💗

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Pete Dunham.

The name turned over in your head again and again as he walked toward you, his limp less noticeable in his slightly cocky strut, and you nearly asked Fiona to pinch you in order to help you comprehend the reality of this.

Your eyes locked with his as soon as you noticed him, your surprise at seeing him there dressing your face, and you could easily see his own shock at you being Fiona's friend quickly morph into amusement.

"Well, look who we have here," he drawled. "I've either died and gone to heaven or someone is taking the piss."

You tilted your head, "Why would that be?"

"First of all, you show up in my class, and now you're standing in my pub. I already cheated death once, so I really can't figure out how else I'd be seeing you twice in one day."

"Is that a bad thing?"

He flashed you that same smile you had been picturing all day and shook his head slowly back and forth, "Oh, no."

"Good."

You could feel everyone else's eyes on you, watching the exchange between you and him, and yet all you could focus on were those blue eyes that seemed like they were staring into your soul.

"So this beautiful woman is both one of my student's aunts and Fiona's best mate?" he asked, to no one in particular.

You nodded, confirming his inquiries while chewing on your lower lip.

"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, the simple but fully-charged words making you shiver.

"And you're not only the beloved Mr. Dunham, but also the infamous top bloke of the GSE?" you asked, finding your voice.

His eyebrows raised high on his forehead, "Have you been asking about me?"

"I might've been."

He let out a sort of growl and licked his lips, "Well then, I guess there's no use in denying any of it."

His hand was now outstretched between you, allowing you a better look of his long fingers than you had this morning, noticing the middle one was adorned with a gold ring, wild thoughts of how they might feel against your skin causing you to hesitate while he stood waiting for you to make contact in a handshake. You did so assuredly after taking a steadying breath to regain your composure, the confidence you seemed to radiate while being in his presence like nothing you had experienced before.

You gave him your name as your hands lingered, the tone of your voice holding onto something low and lusty, "It's nice to officially meet you, Pete."

The way you looked at him and the sound of his name falling off your tongue made him want to crash into you and kiss you right then, and although he was confident you would've welcomed it, he took a deep breath and willed his patience to come through.

Setting his empty glass on the bar, he declined another with the shake of his head when Terry offered a refill, turning his attention immediately back to you after disrupting it briefly. There weren't many times in Pete's life that he had turned down pints, and even if he hadn't taken a pain pill earlier, he still would refuse drinking another one, the thought of clouding this euphoria he felt in seeing you again something he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for. The high he was experiencing beat any scrap or victory by the Hammers, and he silently vowed to give it all up tomorrow and be sober as a judge if it meant living and breathing the same air as you.

The endless days spent alone in his hospital bed gave Pete more than enough time to assess his life and think about his future, something he never really paid any mind to aside from when the next match was and who him and the boys would be up against, but those lonely moments had brought on a harsh realization that maybe he was missing something. He often envied seeing families pass by his room with arms full of gifts and treats to help their loved ones feel better, his smile fading as he grasped the fact that no one other than his brother and his mates occasionally stopped by to check in on him and make sure he hadn't done a runner, but he was grateful he even had that. With their dad long passed away and their mum living too far to warrant frequent visits, Pete began to consider what it would be like to have someone else in his life who cared about him, someone who could fill the space in his heart that up until then had been occupied solely by football and all the senseless nonsense that came along with it.

Those curiosities only increased when he was dismissed and staying with Steve and Shannon, having watched them rekindle their love for each other carefully and tenderly; her decision to stay and make things work solidified when the second Dunham brother had found his life gripped tightly in Death's hands.

He had promised himself that he would make it all count now, not wanting to waste the time that was given to him, and after meeting you he knew he wasn't going to let anything good slip through his fingers.

"Can I take you out sometime?" he suddenly blurted, the question tumbling out of his mouth on its own accord.

The gorgeous smile that seemed like a permanent fixture on your face grew while his did the same, and he felt his heart hammer in his chest as a fury of nerves burst through him as he waited for your answer to his question that now seemed completely mental.

"Yes," you giggled, your disbelief clear by the shake of your head and raise of your eyebrows. "I would love that."

Pete let out a nervous laugh and ran his hand over his head, the rush of relief and excitement he felt making him almost dizzy as he glanced around at the humored faces of his mates standing around him.

"Sweet," he said, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he turned his focus back to you. "Is tonight too soon?"

Reluctant goodbye's were finally said after you exchanged phone numbers with Pete, having Fiona essentially drag you out of the pub behind her, finding you were unwilling and nearly unable to peel yourself away from Pete.

He was incredibly charming and sweet, and you struggled to push down the feeling in your stomach you were certain that you had never felt so intensely before.

Fiona sighed dramatically as the door of the pub slammed shut behind you, her exasperation only fuelling you to smile even more.

"You two!" she cursed, grabbing your arms and shaking you as you lifted your hands up to your face to cup your own cheeks as you began laughing.

"My cheeks hurt!"

"No bloody wonder," she said with the roll of her eyes. "You've been grinning like a loon all night!"

Fiona released her grip on you and began walking in the direction of her house, leaving you standing looking at the door, half tempted to go back inside.

"Don't you DARE make me regret this!" she hollered, prompting you to move your feet and follow her down the road.

You ran a few steps to catch up, linking your arm in hers to help you keep in time with her quick and determined pace.

"Oh, come on, Fi! Besides, we met each other first without anybody's assistance," you reminded her, thinking back to hours ago when Pete looked just as heavenly in the morning sun shining through his classroom windows as he did in the dim light of The Abbey.

"Swill is gutted," she said dramatically.

You tapped her arm with your hand, "Oh, stop! He is not! Nothing has even happened…" you trailed off, thinking of all the things that were hopefully going to happen.

"The church is booked and the cake is being made as we speak. Oh! And listen…" she paused, stopping in her tracks and putting her finger to her ear, "There's the wedding bells…"

A week had passed since meeting Pete, those seven days filled with a joy you couldn't recall having experienced to that extent, each moment spent with him blissful and ecstatically happy.

Pete had an exuberance about him that was truly infectious, reflecting onto you and anyone around him like a drug, his liveliness noticed by everyone.

You admired him now, watching as he laughed with Terry, sharing a joke that made his lips spread so wide on his face that his cheeks creased the way you had quickly discovered you loved.

Beer spilled over the side of the pint glass as he handed it to you, the warmth of his fingers contrasting to that of the beer as they brushed with yours, his blue eyes alight with the same vigor that showed in his smile.

"Cheers, babe," he winked, clinking his glass with yours hard enough it made even more beer splash off the top of it and down his hand, his eyes still fixed on you as he brought it up to his mouth and licked the mess off his skin with a broad sweep of his smooth and incredibly alluring tongue. It was like he knew everything you were thinking, the mischief in his eyes confirming that this move of his was a subtle tell of meaning more, and flashing you another playful wink, he glanced up to the screen with the match on, making your heart flip in your chest and leaving you aching to discover everything his mouth was capable of.

So far it had all been just like this; hanging out at The Abbey with him, the lads and Fi, slowly getting to know each other amidst the normalcy of the GSE's scheduled meet-ups, your heart growing its affection toward him the more you were in his presence.

"I'd love to go one day," you shouted, loud enough Pete would hear you over the busy crowd surrounding you.

Shock, and mostly amusement crossed his features, his eyes twinkling while his lips curled into an even bigger grin, the stretch making the cut on the lower one split open and start bleeding again.

"You've never been?"

"To a West Ham match? No!" you returned his smile, unable to help yourself. "My uncle is an Arsenal fan. I've been to one game in my whole life."

Pete looked at you with astoundment, an exaggerated expression that bordered on being genuine dressing his gorgeous face.

"Tell me you're not a Gooner…"

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, ignoring the inquisition, unsure if being an Arsenal supporter out of default was worse than not paying attention to the sport hardly at all.

"He brought me once because I begged him! He was so nervous about taking me because it was too dangerous…thanks to hooligans like you!" You touched his arm flirtatiously, feeling his muscles flex while he watched you with an expression you couldn't place.

"One game?"

You nodded, taking a sip of your beer.

He licked his lips, increasing your ache for wanting to do that yourself, glancing up at the telly before back at you.

"Right, we're going Saturday."

"Really?"

"Really."

He held your gaze for a beat, making your heart feel like it stopped completely, and you dared to bring your hand up to his face, using your thumb to swipe away the blood that clung to the corner of his lip.

Pete hung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, the temptation he felt to kiss you making him feel antsy enough he had to take another long drink of his pint to distract from it.

Everything buzzed around you.

It was unclear if it was because you were with him, or it was just the enthusiasm of the stadium that had you feeling this way, but it felt like the most exciting thing you had ever been a part of as you walked down the concrete steps to the GSE's designated seats.

"Can I at least buy the beers after?" you asked, feeling slightly guilty in knowing how much these boys forked out for the seats.

Pete laughed heartily, "Fuck, no! You're my date! I refuse to let you pay for a single thing when this was all my idea."

He smiled at you before looking out onto the pitch proudly, allowing you another chance to admire him just as you did any other time the opportunity arose, his features something you swore could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself.

"Besides," he grinned, "It's Swill's turn to buy all the rounds after the game…"

"'S not!" Swill shouted, his scowl making Pete's grin shine even more, his pleased chuckle at riling up his mate mixing in with the noise of the crowd.

An argument broke out between Swill, Ike and Dave about who owed what in terms of beer and exactly how many rounds were left unsettled, leaving you and Pete to lose yourselves in each other, leaning in close to talk, the start of the match very unimportant as his hand rested on your thigh and his gaze lingered on your lips.

With the Hammers having won, everyone was in bright spirits, and you knew as you walked through the congested crowd with your hand entwined in Pete's that you would've felt the same even if they had lost, the charged glances he was continuously flashing sparking the growing need inside you to uncover all the pleasurable things that were possible.

The two of you lagged behind while the other boys walked on ahead in the direction of the pub, allowing softer moments shared without notice, Pete pausing in his confident strides to search your eyes with his vibrantly blue ones while his smile split his face.

"Did you have a good time?"

"I did," you assured, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

"No dangerous hooligans to scare you off?" he teased.

"Not a single one…"

His laugh turned into a sort of growl as his own lip tucked in his teeth, his head turning in the direction of his mates before whipping back to you.

"You sure about that?"

You nodded. "I'm not scared, Pete…"

He was about to kiss you, leaning in to dip his face beside yours, until Swill's voice echoed through the tunnel and stopped him in his tracks.

"Oi! Fuck head! 'S your round, Pete, ya cunt!"

"Fucking Christ…" Pete muttered, pulling away from you reluctantly. "I may kill him one day."

You laughed, causing his frustration to grow into a chuckle, and he grabbed your hand and started walking again, nodding in the direction of the others with another beaming smile.

"Come on."

It had been three days since last seeing Pete, the amount that you missed him equalling the excitement you felt about seeing him tonight when you would go out on your first 'proper date' as he had called it.

Everything was up to him when it came to the plans, the only thing revealed to you so far that he was taking you to a lush Italian restaurant he had made reservations at, and that he was picking you up from Fiona's at seven.

Butterflies had made themselves busy in your stomach since the moment your alarm woke you up, and as you drove Jack to school now, they increased even more in knowing there was a small chance of seeing him outside as he went into work.

"Are you coming for tea tonight?" Jack asked, his hopeful voice making you feel guilty before even telling him no. "Mum's making that chicken dish you love so much."

"Ahh, of course she is! But sadly, I can't tonight, little lad," you gently explained, pulling up to a traffic light. "I'm actually going on a date…"

Your words trailed off as you glanced in the rearview mirror at him, waiting for his reaction, which came as you had expected in the form of a disgusted scowl.

"A date? Ew!"

You laughed as you looked back at the road, lifting your foot off the brake and onto the gas pedal to start accelerating as the light turned green, appreciating your nephew being in this stage where boys and girls still viewed each other as gross.

"Oh, come on!" you pleaded. "I think you'd like him…"

He scoffed and looked out the window as you peeked at him again briefly.

"Better be a West Ham supporter…" he muttered.

You bit your lip. "Oh, he is, don't worry!"

You debated telling him that his beloved teacher was your date, not wanting him to feel awkward or have it change his opinions on him, but sensing how well things were going between you, Jack was going to find out eventually anyway.

Opening your mouth to admit your little secret, your words were cut off as a car slammed into the side of yours, a gasp being forced out instead as all the wind was knocked out of your lungs, the sound dying in the deafening noise of metal crashing together and tires screeching on asphalt.

Your body was jostled violently, your head smacking hard against the window and then into the deployed airbag that felt like hitting a rock, hearing yourself desperately scream Jack's name before everything was dark and silent.

Consciousness returned to you briefly, your body overcome with pain as it slowly registered in your brain that struggled to comprehend what was happening, your head throbbing and feeling like it had been split in two.

All you could hear through the sound of a consistent, blaring horn was Jack crying, his sobs ringing in your ears in a piercing and terrified way that had you trying with all you had to turn around in your seat to get to him.

Sharp pain shot through your entire right side, making you black out again, the sound of your name being screamed in the petrified and pained howls of your nephew the last thing you could comprehend.

A nauseating grogginess filled you as you slowly opened your eyes, hearing the low hum of a machine and a soft, but incessant beeping that seemed to come from everywhere around you at once, the recollection of the accident barrelling to the forefront of your delayed mind as panic and worry threatened to make you ill.

"Hey, hey, you're alright," Pete's soothing voice greeted you, the worry in his blue eyes as he stood beside your bed outshining the look of comfort he was attempting to give you.

"Jack?" you croaked, looking at him desperately, immediately needing the answer to the question you couldn't even form.

"He's fine," he assured, his long fingers wrapping over your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Just a bit banged up and scared, but he's good as."

Pete smiled gingerly at you as your body sank back into the bed, hot tears rolling down your cheeks uncontrollably, the relief you felt battling against the guilt and fault that filled you at having put your nephew in danger.

"'S alright…" he cooed, a pain filling his eyes at seeing you hurt and upset, his thumbs carefully moving up to your face to wipe away your tears that ran through the dry blood speckling your skin.

Your head tilted into his palm, embracing the closeness and warmth of him, feeling yourself calm slightly as he brought his forehead down to rest against yours, his exhale blowing on your lips that were wet from the stream of tears making you let out your own steadying breath.

Pete could barely stand it, the worry and heartache that grew to be ruthlessly persistent tearing through his entire body from the moment he found out about your accident, and even though he knew you were okay, it lingered with as much intensity that it had started out with.

All he could think about was how close he had come to getting everything he had dreamt of, only to have it almost be ripped away from him in a matter of seconds.

The lump in his throat threatened to give way as he sat there with you, hoping to convey everything he felt for you without actually saying it, reminding himself that you hadn't even officially established any sort of relationship.

"I'll go get Jack for you then, yeah?" he whispered, peeling himself away from you reluctantly. "He's been gunning to get in to see you."

You nodded and used your own hands to clear your tears this time, hoping you looked somewhat presentable given the circumstances and not banged up enough to scare him even more.

"Don't worry," he said with a smile, "he's already seen you through the window, refused to rest until he saw for himself that you were alright."

Pete stood from the chair that he had scooted to be as close to the bed as possible, that familiar, cheeky look appearing on his face as he added, "You're still gorgeous as ever. Plus, I think the cuts and bruises are sexy."

He winked at you before he turned and exited the room, leaving you alone for a moment that had you instantly wishing for him to be back with you.

A smile broke out on your face as you listened to them approach your room, their banter making you laugh despite it hurting to do so.

"Mate…you're mental if you think for a second that your bruises look harder than mine," Pete teased Jack.

"Nuh uh! Look at this one! And this cut needed ten stitches!" Jack bragged as he pointed to various wounds on his arms and face, his pridefulness in his injuries telling you he was truly okay.

"Yeah, yeah, tough guy," Pete jokingly waved off, opening the door to your room to let Jack burst through it at a run. He slowed when he reached you, reining in his excitement so he didn't hurt you, giving you a once-over as he tried to decide whether or not it was okay to hug you.

"Come here," you softly ordered, opening your arms to welcome his small frame.

He carefully brought his body against yours, his arms wrapping around your neck rather than your torso, burying his head into your neck where you kissed his hair and then ruffled it with your fingers, the gratitude you felt to be able to hold your sweet nephew making you choke up again.

Jack was crying too, his body moving with each sob, him answering every repeated apology that spilled out of your mouth with a squeaky 'it's okay'.

When he eventually pulled himself away from you, you looked at him with a smile, fixing his hair by brushing through it with your fingers.

"How cross is your mum with me?"

Jack laughed and shook his head, "She's not. She's been crying the whole time being so worried about you."

You nodded, knowing if you spoke that your words would come out shaky and weak, needing a moment to take in the battered face of the boy who had stolen your heart from the second he was born.

“You look like you've been scrapping with the GSE,” you complimented, watching him light up at the thought of it.

Exhaustion took over you quickly, the visit with Jack soon followed by your sister sucking what little energy you had right out of you, and once the doctor had been in to explain your injuries and their severity to you, you were completely drained.

A concussion and three cracked ribs were the worst of your wounds, the rest consisting of bumps and bruises amongst cuts that had appeared in your skin from shards of glass slicing through it, all adding up to result in you having to stay for at least another day for monitoring.

Pete came back into the room after the doctor had left, wanting to see you one more time before the last minutes of visiting hours had run up.

“How d’you feel?” he asked, taking his seat again in the chair beside you and leaning close, automatically reaching out to hold your hand.

“Tired. Sore. Overwhelmed,” you paused and looked at him seriously, “Like I was hit by a car.” You said it with a strained laugh, but it quickly died out into a sigh, the pain caused from it reminding you of what else was causing you grief. “Mostly disappointed…”

“Disappointed?” Pete echoed, his brows knitting together.

“Our date…”

He hummed, bringing your entwined hands up to his lips where he ran them over your knuckles back and forth.

“I was really looking forward to it,” you murmured, an overall sinking feeling coming over you.

“Me too,” he admitted. “But I promise you that I will make up for it a million times over once we’re able to.”

“I'll hold you to that, Mr. Dunham.”

He grinned at you confidently, shifting in his seat to sit back in it a little straighter.

“Speaking of…Jack had a lot of questions as to why I was here.”

You nodded, tucking your lip in your teeth as you looked down at your hand still being held in his. “He asked me, too.”

“So, Mr. Dunham is your boyfriend?” Jack asked with a twisted face.

“Not my boyfriend…but who I was going on the date with. We've been hanging out a bit.”

He was quiet for a minute, clearly processing the news.

"Look, Jack, if that makes you uncomfortable I don't have to see him, he's your teacher-"

“Are you gonna get married or summat?” he blurted, cutting you off.

You didn't know how to respond, your head pulsing with every thought that passed through it, the pain medication not helping you articulate things easily.

"I- no?"

Jack smiled, the awkward mix of baby and adult teeth on full display always making you love to see it more.

"I'd be okay with it."

Pete caught your smile as you recalled your earlier conversation, his own grin spreading out to crease his cheeks despite not knowing the reason behind yours.

“What's got you smiling like that?”

“Nothing,” you fibbed. “Just something Jack said. He's quite pleased about this.” You motioned between you and Pete with your finger, the morphine in your veins nearly making you bold enough to tell him exactly what was said.

Giving you a suspicious look, Pete was about to open his mouth and respond with what you knew would be something cheeky, only to be interrupted by a nurse knocking on the door and striding into the room on a mission.

“Visiting hours are up,” she announced, glaring at him before turning her attention back down to your chart.

Pete raised his eyebrows at her, but chose not to make any remarks, standing up with a sigh. “Right. I'll be back tomorrow then, yeah? Bust you out of here.”

He winked when the nurse shot her head up, clearly unimpressed by his intentions even if it was a joke.

“You don't have to-”

“Bollocks. Anything you need you just ring me, yeah?”

He dipped down close to you, his brilliantly coloured eyes searching your features with the same seriousness that showed in them earlier. “You sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” you said, although with little surety. “Thank you, Pete.”

The look you gave him made him want to fight in order to be able to stay with you, the memories of his own experience of being stuck and alone and in pain in this same hospital striking a nerve in him, but he knew there was nothing he could do to get his way and accepted the defeat.

“‘Course, darling,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead where he let them linger. “Get some rest, eh. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Pete stepped into the hallway and rested his back against the door after it closed behind him, shutting his eyes and exhaling a deep breath. As much as he hated being back here, having to relive every horrible moment spent confined in the small walls of the room that had been his home for many excruciating months, he would return day after day for you until you were able to be released.

He zipped his jacket up to his chin and pushed off the door, preparing himself to brace the brisk, night air when he got outside, praying you would be well enough to go home tomorrow.

It terrified him a bit to feel as strongly for you as he already did, an anxiety he hadn't ever felt so intensely settling in his chest like a knot since he got the call from Fiona that you had been in an accident, but Pete knew that he would take this worry any day as a consequence of caring for someone this much.

Steve and even the lads would probably tell him he was rushing into things, to take it slow, but after today he refused to waste another minute of the second chance he was given not letting his heart have the things it had missed out on up until now.

The sliding doors opened and he passed through them into the fresh temperature, taking a deep breath to try to rid his lungs of that medicinal, stale hospital air, instantly feeling revived despite there being various people standing outside the entrance smoking.

His body felt achy and stiff, his limp ever-present as he began walking in the direction of his flat, becoming aware of how tense he had been all day, his stress coming to show with each step.

He had to smile though, thinking of how good it was going to be when he could finally take you on that date, a million ideas of how he could spoil you rushing through his mind.

His phone rang in his pocket, making him pause in his uneven steps to pull it out to quiet the chimey ringtone, answering a call from Swill.

"Aye, aye," he answered solemnly, his usual upbeat tone absent in his greeting.

"You coming for a pint?"

Pete winced, hesitating in his answer, contemplating how he felt.

"Nah, mate, I don't think so."

"Come on! It's Friday night, you wanker. You could use a beer after today."

Pete chuckled lightly, "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just knackered, mate. Gonna call it a night and try to get back to the hospital at a decent time tomorrow."

"Yeah, alright. Fi said she's going first thing and hopes to bring her home."

"I bloody hope so," Pete said quietly and mostly to himself.

"You alright, Peg Leg?" Swill asked, a rare seriousness sounding in his voice.

"Brilliant…" he huffed. "Just a bit worried, yeah?" he admitted, kicking a stone with his pristinely white trainers before he continued walking.

"Rightly so, mate. We all see how you feel 'bout 'er, clear as day."

Pete smiled despite feeling on the verge of cracking, the pressure building behind his eyes becoming too much too suddenly that he rubbed them aggressively with his finger and thumb to try to wane it away.

"She'll be alright, Pete…" Swill filled the silence, having sensed the reason behind him being so quiet.

"Yeah, she will be."

"You know where we'll all be if you change your mind, eh?"

"Yeah, mate, thanks."

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, cheers."

Pete let his phone snap closed and tucked it back in his pocket, the heaviness of how precious and fleeting life was weighing on him, each uneven step reminding him of the near miss he'd had to never experiencing something like this and solidifying that he wasn't about to let a good thing slip through his fingers.

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Part 3

Taglist:

@stealfromthedevil @theesirenteller @inbar-thomas1980 @lilac13

[bookworm-with-coffee]

TAG GAME - Get to know me! (79's / Star Wars Edition)

Thank you so much for tagging me in this magnificent game, @ladysaturnsdust !! I absolutely loved reading your responses and making my own. Enjoy!! 😘💋💖🫂

//Rules// copy this post and answer the questions below + tag people you would like to see at 79’s!

So, imagine that all of us are living on Coruscant during the Clone Wars. Obviously we would all be going to 79’s, right? Now I’m wondering what everyone is gonna wear the first time you’re going? What kind of drinks do you order? What will you be doing? Who will you be flirting with?

_______________________________________

What to wear: Okay, so outfit-wise, I'm a pretty simple gal. I dress for the weather and atmosphere, but I'm a sucker for casual clothes 😭💕 For me, I'd choose a basic fitted singlet, maybe something nice, like one of my embroidered cardigans and a pair of wide-leg jeans (possibly also embroidered). Yes, I'm a sucker for that cute cottagecore shit. I'm a softie, so - flower-power, bitches! 💐💐 My white sneakers, if we're doing a lot of walking/dancing! I'm also like my Nésa, Lya - I'm the mom friend of the group, so a first-aid kit in my blue leather satchel bag is a must!! Bandaids, alchohol wipes and being able to carry any personal essentials for my fellow friendsies is ALWAYS necessary. Curly hair in a messy bun or down. No in-between, besties. 🤣💖

What drinks will I order?: *slams table* LEMON-LIME BITTERS 🍋🍹. Non-alcoholic drinks for me, guys. I'm literally one of the worst people to take clubbing. But, non-alchoholic drinks literally taste better. You take me to a pub? It's gonna be pink lemonade or nothing. I need to be in control and have the coherence to make sure each person I'm with doesn't get too hammered and always has company to places like the bar or bathrooms. I also would be the perfect person to watch drinks. Can never be too careful, besties. I might just break out my cringe moves, if you're lucky 🤣💖

What I'll be doing: If you can't already tell, a club really isn't my kind of thing. Parties aren't really comfortable places for me, I'm often just fretting over drunk friends, making sure they don't hurt themselves. I love the company of friends though, so I have no doubts that I'd go just for the presence of the people I trust and care about. So I'm a chaperone and your dinner and drinks buddy. Like I mentioned before - I might bust out my cringe moves if I have enough encouragement from my beloveds 😭😂💕

Who will I be flirting with: Flirting? Me?? Same sentence??? I'm terrible at it. I can't fathom wooing a bloke, in all honesty. BUT. That being said!!! Rex, Cody and Fives my beloveds?? Who knows, I might just shoot my shot, even if it is just to make the first two go red in the face 😂💞 I love them so much, but they're duty first, play later peoples. I can respect it, but a girl can have fun, right?? 😅😂💞 It looks like Fives may catch the brunt of my shit, though 😂💖

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Tagging the beloveds I would totally go partying with on Coruscant:

@deadlymistletoe @evenstaredits @horsewithaface @fizzyxcustard @6lostgirl6 @silversword7000 @sangheilihoes @demigoddessqueens @wyyvernn @thewitchkingiscool-ace @local-pirate-king @lostinthecityofangelsanddreams

Anybody else? Feel free to consider yourselves tagged too. See you there! 💖

[pennyblossom-meta]

Upcoming epistolary, The Ides of April on AO3

I was working on chapter 04 today and, when drafting Millicent's letter to Anna, I remembered just how isolated she currently is from the magical community.

This small exchange was a way to expand how the wizarding community feels about Kira and, most importantly, what they're NOT willing to do. Millicent is an excellent conveyer of complicated news that, otherwise, Anna wouldn't have access to.

Unfortunately, Justin Finch-Fletchley is also introduced as a special foil to both Millicent and Anna, for reasons we'll look at in the finished chapter. The poor guy. For now, I'll leave the draft to Millicen't letter.

--

--

Dear Anna, This will be a relatively short letter. I appreciate your thoughts, but there's a more pressing matter we need to discuss. You cannot possibly have failed to hear the latest developments on this murderer of Muggles, this Kira. Opinions differ as to how great of a threat he (or she) really is. Although many at the Ministry remain unconvinced, there are whispers — gradually growing into a ruckus as the weeks go by — that this might pose a significant threat to our communities across the world. Some say this is the work of a rogue, Muggle-hating wizard bent on following Grindelwald’s footsteps by getting rid of the disposable scum in non-magical society, before moving onto more complex plans (such as obliterating the Statute of Secrecy once the path is cleared). Others remain adamant that this is just a Muggle, and thus a Muggle problem it should stay without our interference.  That this individual was singled out in Japan seems to point towards revenge for what the Muggles did during their second world war. Or indeed it’s just a Muggle who found an industrious way of committing mass murder. Merlin knows what their technogy might do in the wrong hands. The Prophet hasn’t been kind; it says anonymous sources revealed a second murderer recently popped into existence. That the Japanese Ministry keeps burying its head in the sand, hoping this will blow off. Who knows, it all might sort itself out; in particular given that their kind seems to be handling the whole thing just fine on their own. Our beloved Minister is tight-lipped about the whole brouhaha to keep diplomatic ties with the Land of the Rising Sun, though it’s obvious to anyone with half a brain that his requests to send missives of Aurors have been denied time and time again. They don’t seem to want to be exposed to scrutiny out of fear to be seen as incompetent, is my guess. By the time this letter reaches you, the borders should be closed to the international wizarding community indefinitely. Whatever you do, keep your head down. I doubt they’ll ask you to leave the country after all the trouble everyone went through to sort out your application, but you should be vigilant. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Whatever happens to the Muggles, it’s on them. Don’t be a hero. I'm not sure what else I can say other than that I wish you well. Finch-Fletchley has been asking about you. Bloke had —”

Anna tore her eyes off the letter for a long moment, staring into the progressively clear blue sky outside. She puffed up her cheeks and then exhaled, slowly, very slowly, blinking as she took in the chilly air of the dawn. Once she felt her thumping heart quieten, she forced herself to return to the letter’s contents.

“— Bloke had the stones to jog up to me at the Ministry lobby and ask directly for your whereabouts, that he still thinks about you. He said a bunch of other things which I won’t bother repeating. Anyhow, I told him to piss off and that was that. Reckoned you should know and take your own conclusions.  Be on your guard. Assume all of your correspondence is now under surveillance. I’ve charmed Percival to become invisible and untraceable for about two weeks, the spell should be broken by the time he arrives at your place. Destroy this letter after you read it, just to be safe. Your friend, Millicent Bulstrode

[melancholymirth]

@astarab1aze | kiss roulette | 1 of 3 2. A kiss on the nose

It seemed that no matter how well he thought he knew Garrett, he had to be in for a surprise. A small surprise, but...

V's bare feet were silent on the floor, carrying him from the kitchen to the bedroom as if a specter floating along. In his hand was a glass of cool iced tea, in his heart, a call to serve as is bred by domesticity. Garrett was always doting on him, tending to V's every need, every whim, working tirelessly as a good, dedicated, serviceable spouse—and just as tirelessly, as, really, the spearhead of Red Grave's Devil May Cry. It went without saying that the bar saw so much more traffic as just that, as opposed to what it was really meant to offer, but there was no crime in that, maybe just an ounce of a shame. Little beats the hunt—but to see Garrett having properly dozed on the bed, eyes closed and arms about his chest, V could not dare to wish for a change in circumstances.

He worked hard, after all, and so much, and this week alone had been a busy one. But to see that it had caught up with him! A demon with energy to burn?! Rarely did a warlock lay eyes on the sight!

As silently as ever, the glass was rested atop the nightstand. Garrett rarely had a proper sleep, but he could catnap, and he'd been demonstrating that perfectly well right now, in the middle of the day. How suddenly he'd fallen: just moments ago, V offered to fetch him a refreshing drink. Was he more tired than he let on, then? Was it exhaustion? A pang of guilt was never too slow to find its way through V's heart. Few would have heard of sympathy for the devil until this bloke came along. But what's a married man to do?

In lush green eyes, how sweet the sleeping countenance: as if a babe, tender and innocent; as if knowing nothing of the terrors of the waking world, forgetting all that bound him to his lot; slumbering in the comfort of his bed, safe in these walls he called home, under the protective gaze of a man who wanted for him only his peaceful rest, good health, and safe return when the whispers of sleep ebbed away. V watched him for a time, seconds, and felt his lips were softly upturned. Oh, how he often struggled to convince that man to help him sleep! How he insisted that Garrett try and try, only for that fool to power through his sleepless nights and everything else thrown at him. It wasn't fair, it simply wasn't, and the few times Garrett did finally afford himself a nap, V did everything in his power to leave him undisturbed for as long as possible. It was really the only way V could cheat his insomnia.

No, no, he wouldn't disturb his beloved for the world. The drink could wait.

But V was a different story, punctuated by a fearsome fondness and a frailty of fortitude. He bent over, careful not to touch the bed, and left a cutesy peck on the tip of Garrett's nose. He suspected this alone would rouse him. And, indeed, blue eyes fluttered open a second later. Aw, dreadful. But V was upright again, smiling more clearly though he apologized with sincerity in his foolish, though amused, little heart. "I'm sorry, I should have let you sleep. Please, go back to napping. I've brought you something nice to drink, but later. Don't mind me. You are tired, my love." Ah, but he felt so badly now, most certainly having stolen Garrett's will to doze any longer. An encouraging hand went to pet the demon's face, his half-lidded attention wrenching V in the softest of places. What a right capricious fool he was— I couldn't resist. Never can.

But V couldn't bear all the blame! Garrett shouldn't have looked so adorable!

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 10 DAVOS I (pages 132-148)

Davos watches gods burn on the beach, then has an ale and gets a lore drop from Salladhor Saan before Stannis calls Davos to show off his attempt at a (100% true) smear campaign.

-

"Lord of Light, we offer you these false gods, these seven who are one, and him the enemy. Take them and cast your light upon us, for the night is dark and full of terrors." ... "For the night is dark and full of terrors,"Selyse and her queen's men replied. Should I speak the words as well? Davos wondered. Do I owe Stannis that much? Is this fiery god truly his own?

TNiDaFoT = 🥛🥛

... There's a heat wave here okay? I need all the hydration I can get. Water is just so quenchy. The quenchiest.

The burning gods cast a pretty light, wreathed in their robes of shifting flames, red and orange and yellow. Septon Barre had once told Davos how they'd been carved from the masts of the ships that had carried the first Targaryens from Valyria. Over the centuries they'd been painted and repainted, gilded, silvered, jeweled.

Why does this feel like some kind of ominous hint towards Dany and the followers of R'hllor? (And not in a "you like fire, I like fire, did we just become best friends?" kind of way. Even though there's the theory she's Azor Ahai, "beloved of R'hllor")

The Maiden lay athwart the Warrior, her arms widespread as if to embrace him. The Mother seemed almost to shudder as the flames came licking up her face. A longsword had been thrust through her heart, and its leather grip was alive with flame. The Father was on the bottom, the first to fall. Davos watched the hand of the Stranger writhe and curl as the fingers blackened and fell away one by one, reduced to so much glowing charcoal.

*Knowing Ned died first, Catelyn's fate, and that Jon's hand was burned pretty badly, combined with remembering once seeing a video essay on the Stark fam representing the Seven in some capacity:* I'm sure it's fiiiine. Not at all foreshadowing. *laughs nervously*

"Under the sea, smoke rises in bubbles, and flames burn green and blue and black," Patchface sang somewhere.

Still kinda sounds like an underwater volcanic region...

"As to that father," Dale said, "I mislike these water casks they've given me for Wraith. Green pine. The water will spoil on a voyage of any length." "I got the same for Lady Marya," said Allard. "The queen's men have laid claim to all the seasoned wood."

You'd think folks living on an island, would take better care of their sailors, but no. Classist snobs everywhere.

"Pirate," said Davos. "You have no wives, only concubines, and you have been well paid for every day and every ship." "Only in promises," said Salladhor Saan mournfully. "Good ser, it is gold I crave, not words on papers." He popped a grape into his mouth. "You'll have your gold when we take the treasury in King's Landing. No man in the Seven Kingdom's is more honorable than Stannis Baratheon. He will keep his word."

... so who wants to tell them about the 6 million gold debt the Crown (Littlefinger and Bobby B) accrued?

Also: it's not quite how i pronounce the name, but as I was reading, I just called Salladhor Saan 'Salad Whore' by accident.

... all this talk of Azor Ahai has given me the crackspiracies. At first I was like Burning blade + sword of light > Obi-wan Kenobi's lightsaber > Obi is Azor Ah... waaaait. AA killed his wife for power OH MY GOSH > Anakin Skywalker is Azor Ahai Confirmed!

🔍I've solved it, everyone else go home. (Joking)

When he thought of Nissa Nissa, it was his own Marya he pictured, a good-natured plump woman with sagging breasts and a kindly smile, the best woman in the world. He tried to picture himself driving a sword through her, and shuddered. I am not made of the stuff of heroes, he decided. If that was the price of a magic sword, it was more than he cared to pay.

Davos is just, such a good bloke. Good Husband, good father, good friend. At this point, I think he's got the best chance for Westeros' Best Father Ever award.

"- It seemed to me as I watched the fire this morning that I was looking at a dozen beautiful dancers, maidens garbed in yellow silk spinning and swirling before a great king. -"

*thinking of the tv show* Gasp! The Sandsnakes? That'd be a fun twist, it was a real vision, but an assassination and not a homage, or just not Stannis.

"When I was a lad I found an injured goshawk an nursed her back to health. Proudwing, I named her. (...) Time and again I would take her hawking, but she never flew higher than the treetops. -"

Awww, Proudwing has separation anxiety and a trauma induced fear of heights. Look at Stannis having a humanising moment... and then ruining it with his plotting.

[kill0mtr]

new ocverse just dropped. read more cuz its not At All coherent. also very. very long. its just fake tumblr posts sorry

-

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

sooo was anyone gonna tell me, #1 redscapes fan, that hes literally doing a face reveal later tonight. like hello?? the number one thing he DOESNT do??? hes been telling us (fellow redscapers) that he literally will never show his face?? idk just. seems sketchy. literally last week he said he would never, and now he is?

💋 redmeansily Follow

WHAT where are you hearing this oli?? oliredscapesmybeloved please answer. redscapes is dping WHAT

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

I KNOWWW. its so weird!! this entire situation is so ooc for him. heres the link to the article btw: [link]

💋 redmeansily Follow

literally just read that entire article. def an impersonator trying to get some fame. but its so odd cuz like. an online influencer, i get. but a motorcyclist??? a famous motorcyclist whos claim to fame is literally the One Move no one else can do?? (or at least very few) like dude,,, be fr right nowww

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

cant believe our boy is being impersonated :( the audacity :((... .... . do you think hell respond to the impersonator??

🍩 doughofnut Follow

What if... Hear me out.. Redscapes changed his mind?

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

insane take tbh

#oli rambles #redscapes

-

🐟 bluutrait78 Follow

lmao i bet that redscapes bloke is ugly. god knows he deserves it

#anti redscapes #yes i am a redscapes hater. i will never like him #stfu about redscapes hes not as great as u think he is

-

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

looks around. did anyone else see that anti redscapes post. like. tumblrs fucked bcuz putting "anti redscapes" puts it in the redscapes tag. we know this. guards. arrest that man

#oli rambles #redscapes #sorry for putting this in the redscapes tag. i just. yeahg

-

🐟 bluutrait78 Follow

WHY THE HELL AM I GETTING RUCK ROLLED IN MY INBOX go to hell. all of you. redscapes is and will always be at BEST a mediocre motorcyclist. "ohhh but he can do this one trick" blah blah blah. you dont even know him. you dont even know his face. but well all find out tonight.

#anti redscapes #idc about the redscapes tag. u complain? good. fuels me even more

-

🏍️ redscapesnewsofficial Follow

Hello everybody! Today, we have... a bit of a doozy! Earlier this week, an article and advertisement was put up for Redscapes face reveal! Here's the link: [Link]

However... As we all know, the entire thing turned out to be a lie! :( Yesterday, around 7pm EST, a crowd of around 50 people were gathered near a stage, in which the famous motorcyclist Redscapes would appear. However, as he arrived on stage... There were whispers of him being... different.

That's right, folks! We had an all out imposter among us! (Sorry, couldn't resist! AHEM-) Now, for the Redscapes freaks out there, we all know that Redscaoes is 5'7" (or 170cm), however, the man that stepped up was at the very least 6'0"! Also, waaay too beefy, and not at all like our beloved Redscapes!

Ah, but we should really get to the interesting parts... Ahem! The Redscapes impersonator, now dubbed "Redsonator", or "Wrongscapes", was shown up by the real, in-the-flesh Redscapes! Our inside man who actually showed up has a video and a few photos here: [Link]

Redscapes revved up his engine, then carefully but majestically sauntered over to Wrongscapes. The tension was high, with many confused. It was clear, THIS was our Redscapes! From what I saw in the video, it seemed as though Redscapes challenged Wrongscapes to a race (however, no footage nor photos of the alleged race have surfaced)

All 50 members of the crowd were disappointed at the scam, but many were relieved, as well! Wrongscapes had a cocky aura to him, and I, personally, would've decked him for messing with our beloved Redscapes' reputation.

That's all, folks! Geez, what an exciting day!

- Mod Blue

#redscapes news #redscapes #mod blue

-

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

well,, that was anticlimatic lol. im glad red's sticking to him guns, tho, id hate to see him lose himself to peer pressure. the guys only, what? in his early twenties? :(

📱 redscapesgirlfriend57 Follow

Please dont call him "Red". only i get to call him that :/

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

girl what. are you delusional. lirerally everyone calls him "red". would you rather i call him my babygirl ???

📱 redscapesgirlfriend57 Follow

NO. thats so much worse! he is NOT your "baby girl". :/

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

and hes not your boyfriend. he literally told us like, a month ago that he wasbt dating anyone. lmao. get a load of this guy amirite chat

📱 redscapesgirlfriend57 Follow

I WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE HELL!!!

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

yaaaawn. get better threats sweetie your comebacks are lacking.

💋 redmeansily Follow

oli do you need me to kill this guy for you.

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

awww thank you but no <3

📱 redscapesgirlfriend57 Follow

Im a girl!! Red isnt gay!!!

💋 redmeansily Follow

literally who said he was gay. what are we even TALKING about

📱 redscapesgirlfriend57 Follow

GO FUCK URSELF

⛔ redscapesmybeloved Follow

turning off reblogs cuz i forgot that was an option but redscapesgirlfriend57 u need therapy. <3

#oli rambles #most sane redscapes fan /j #but no if anyone actually is delusional enough to think that ur redscapes partner #just. reevaluate. u dont know him dude

-

-

-

more to come but. yeah :D consider this part 1!! if you read the entire thing lemme know what you thought.... "redscapes" is basically this famous motorcyclist guy and yknow how like. hockey tumblr exists. yeah.

[littlemissnoname13]

i could request a post-war smut where draco and the reader have talked about having babys and are ready, then they just fuck with breeding kink. only if you feel comfortable and have a good day / night 💘

Hi Anon, I hope your day/night was been good.

Although I write a lot of smut, this is my very first venture into writing about breeding kink. This is soooo bad but I tried. I’m sorry anon. 😭

Lots of love x.

Sonnets, Summer & Sandcastles (D.M.) -NSFW, 18+

A/n: omg what have I written….I feel this need to go take a cold shower and pray. Also sorry for my constant spam today. Lol bye—

Word count: 1709

Warnings: smut, mature language, mature themes, nsfw, 18+, penetrative sex, filth, breeding kink, reader discretion is advised. 

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

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

   So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.” 

You read the final rhyming couplet from Sonnet 18 to your husband who was lying next to you. 

Long lazy summer afternoons were usually spent lying beneath the shade of tall limbering trees on a picnic blanket at the manor garden. Some days you’d read to him, and some days you’d both stare up at the denim blue sky and just talk—past, present, future. 

“So essentially, this Shakespeare bloke is saying that his beloved’s beauty will live on?” Draco tilted to his side to look at you. Tiny flickering specks of sunlight that managed to seep through the canopy of leaves created golden freckles on his otherwise alabaster skin.

"Yes Draco, his beloved’s beauty will live on in this poem." You elaborated before closing the book shut and turning to face him. You had your head supported with your hand and your hair tumbled and cascaded down your head and pooled around the blanket. 

He kept taking a few short moments to take this in. He wanted to remember this moment. He wanted to memorise this feeling by heart.

He didn’t think he’d make it out of the war. He never even dared to picture his life beyond the war—he thought he’d be giving himself false hope if he did. 

But the war was over and He’d made it. He’d make it with you by his side. 

Just looking at his beautiful wife beaming at him made him feel like he’d stirred a spoonful of sugar into his tea. 

It was like someone had replaced the denim blue colour of the sky with a rosy pink shade and the atmosphere was suddenly saturated with a sickly sweet smell—laced with fairy floss or burnt sugar. 

The simple and free flowing white dress you were wearing wasn’t helping much either. The gauzy and see through fabric gave a clear view of your breasts and your nipples. 

He began to wonder how your breasts would look when you’d be carrying his babies. He found himself getting hard just by the thought of your body changing, your belly swelling up with his seed. 

"Draco?" 

“Hm?” He said quickly as he tried not to drift into his daydream again. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

Draco slowly looked up and met your eyes. 

You had the kind of eyes that reeled a person in without even trying. You had the kind of eyes that would make you fall in love if you looked long enough. 

He found himself wondering if your kids would have your eyes—filled with warmth, kindness and all things good. 

He wouldn’t turn out to be a father like Lucius was he?—and what if he did? What if he was just the same? 

“Nothing.” Draco finally murmured, laying flat on his back and closing his eyes. “Just wondering if we should continue living in the manor.” 

“Why what’s wrong?” You asked. His lips were curved upwards in a small smile but you could feel like he was hiding his melancholia in his closed eyes. 

“There’s just too much history you know.” He said quietly with his eyes still closed. “Too much has happened over here” 

“Then let’s go, disappear anywhere in this world. It’ll just be us.” You said as you lay down next to him. 

With one swift movement he got up on his feet and offered you his hand. “Let’s do it then. We can make it if we leave now.” 

“Are you serious?” You looked at him all wide eyed before reaching for his hand. 

“Yes. Of course.” He chuckled, lifting you up in his arms just the way he did when he carried you across the threshold the night of your wedding a few months ago. “We could live anywhere y/n..we could start all over again.” 

“Yeah.” You smiled wistfully as Draco swayed you in his sturdy arms, his hair falling to his eyes, the summer breeze and the distant noise of cicadas—the moment was nothing short of being perfect. “We could live by the beach or near a lake.” 

“The kids could go swimming at the lake.” He blurted, turning his porcelain cheeks a peachy shade. 

You always knew how much Draco wanted a family of his own. You also knew how much he feared becoming another version of Lucius Malfoy.

“You want kids?” You asked softly as gently put you down.

“Don’t you y/n?” Draco tried to sound as laid back and casual as he could. He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe he was afraid you wouldn’t want kids with an ex death eater. 

“I want two.” You said taking a step towards him. You used your hands to caress his cheeks. “Maybe a boy and a girl.” 

“You do? With me?” Draco asked, blinking continuously as if he couldn’t believe those very words were leaving your lips. 

“Of course I do, you absolute idiot.” You leaned in as you closed your eyes, and stretched all the way to the tip of your toes. 

His eyes still remained open as you began kissing his lips. He was still processing what you’d just said, so naturally, almost carelessly. As if you’d thought about it too. 

And then it hit him. 

When it did,  he let his natural instincts guide him. 

At first, he moved his lips gently against yours as he took you in his arms again, carrying you towards the picnic blanket. 

And then, he laid you down and claimed your lips. You kissed him back eagerly, weaving your fingertips into his hair and pulling his face closer. 

He pushed his tongue inside of your mouth and started to explore hungrily as you slowly began writhing underneath him.

 Your lips kept moving in perfectly synchronised and timed movements as if your tongues had been doing this celestial and cosmic tango since the very beginning of time. 

Every movement, every sigh, every breathy whisper and the way his erection felt pressing up against your clothed core when you spread your legs and wrapped it around his torso felt like it was meant to be. 

After getting rid of all your clothes, he dipped his head low and started to suckle your left nipple while his hand kneaded your right. 

Your breasts always felt so supple and soft in his hands and he couldn’t help but think about your breasts growing and becoming heavier and fuller after he got you pregnant. 

At this thought, his cock was desperate to come out of his trousers. He desperately wanted to line himself up against your entrance and fuck you till you were spilling with his come. 

You tugged on his shirt indicating you wanted it off and you fiddled with his belt till his trousers were finally off. 

He groaned when he felt you wrap your hands around his stiff cock. You began stroking him, pumping up and down to the point where you could feel your own wetness along your inner thighs. 

Propped up on his elbows with your legs still wrapped securely around his torso, Draco lined himself up against your slick pussy lips. He pushed himself inside you with a single push and you cried out at the feeling of being full and whole again. 

Once you got comfortable with the sensation, Draco began to thrust. 

Each thrust accompanied by his fingers playing with your needy and aching clit. 

Each thrust accompanied by him groaning and telling you how good your pussy felt, whispering how much he desired to fill you up with his seed. 

“Harder Draco…” you whined arching, wrapping your legs tighter around him, securing him inside of you. “Please..fuck me harder..I need it..” 

Just hearing your desperate pleas made him feel like he was going to come. 

“You want me to fill you up darling?” He grunted as he increased his pace—forehead glistening with sweat, hair sticking to his face. 

“Please…” you moaned, his words pushing you closer and closer to your climax . “I want it so bad..”

“Fuck y/n..” He murmured breathlessly into your ears. “You are going to look so fucking sexy.. heavy with my seed—Just thinking about doing that to you makes me wanna fucking come…” 

“Draco..” you sighed as you felt your high wash all over you and he soon followed—releasing himself deep inside of you. 

As you both came down from your highs, Draco stayed inside of you wanting to ensure that you stayed full. 

“I love you y/n.” He whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. 

~~~~~~~flash forward~~~~~~

You had woken up mid-day and walked bare feet towards the shore—the waves tickling your toes ever so gently. 

You could hear the seagulls, the waves colliding with rocks and the distant laughter of children running at the beach with their little shovels and buckets. 

“I knew I’d find you here.” Draco said softly as he walked up behind you with scorpius holding his index finger.  

“It’s a beautiful afternoon.” You sighed as you sank down and got comfortable next to your husband while your son ran off a little further and started to build his own little sand castle. 

Draco placed a protective hand on your stomach and watched the ocean with you—Both of you were dead sure it was a baby girl this time. 

“Mommy look!” Baby Scorp called out, clapping his little hands in glee. “I made a sand castle.” 

Scorpius was a spitting image of his Draco, but the little gestures he did, the brightness inside of his eyes resembled you and this made Draco’s heart swell with happiness. 

As he watched you build sandcastles with your son, he thought about that summer’s day in the garden. He thought about Sonnet 18 and he knew. 

He knew your beauty would live on in the way scorpius smiled. 

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

  So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.” - Sonnet 18, William Shakespeare

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

Draco Taglist: 

(Forgive me is I missed anyone. My brain has turned into mulch)

@maybesandohnos @justfangirlthingies @desiredmalfoy @badslytherin @dlmmdl @trainintersection @lilsubbyx @fa-me @dracoswhore007 @paulina1998 @wh0re4blaise @marrymetheonott @quacksonsssandtea @letoof @rvaldez7569 @loloo22 @emma67 @berriemalfoy @thegaudess @itchywitch33 @louweasleymalfoy @badslytherin @lunar0se10 @savagelysarcasticslytherin @fleursbabe @teawineaddict @thebitchybeatle @malfoyxxdraco23 @fantasyfairysworld @trashyvicks @h0ggyw0ggyh0gwarts @l0vely-lupin @linasylveon @axdxis @justreadingficsdontmindme @amwitherspoon @thetipsysaquatch @haroldpotterson @laceycallisto @lolo2bougie @riddleswh0r3crux @belladaises @supermisunderstoodoceans @lalunemoonstone @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyisindahouse @dracomalfoys-wh0re

Join my tag list here . Alternatively, you can message me if you’d like to be added or removed from my list.

Read my other stories here.

Lots of love as always,

V.

[buttercupsfrocks]

I used to think people who had their clothes tailored were rolling in it. Somehow the word always suggested Saville Row rather than that-nice-little-bloke-in-the-dry-cleaners-up-the-road-from-the-tube. However, in recent years I've come to rely on the latter as my sewing skills are risible. I have to say he's a diamond and so is his good lady wife, who managed to source a matching set of covered leather buttons on eBay when I lost a couple off my coat.

Being a shortarse, as maxis and midaxis have become more commonplace, I'm in and out the tailor's on the regs. While I'm used to wearing my dresses long, there's long and there's "falling arse over tit on the pavement" long if you know what I'm saying. This ASOS Edition frock was no exception but that's not the half of it.

I spend a lot of time cruising ASOS, home of beloved label, Collusion, because there is just so much stuff in their Curve section it's easy to miss something. And so it was with this ASOS Edition frock, which had been reduced by the time I made its aquaintance. The reviews, which are incredibly helpful for the most part, were mixed. Oddly enough it was a bad one that tipped the balance in its favour. The author was displeased with the print which she'd thought would be more subtle and pronounced "cartoony". All the reviews warned it came up big but I wasn't expecting it to be quite as vast as it was. Never mind batwing, the sleeves were batshit. They came down to my elbows and were a mile wide, as was the bodice. By the time my tailor had remodelled it, it had cost me the same as it would have done full price but I'm positively made up with it.

When it came to accessories, it had to be my trusty Les Néréides flower earrings, which as well as incorporating blue, pink and yellow, have the same scribbly kid's drawing feel as the print. Plus they're flowers.

Can you believe I scored those fiiiiine irridescent sneakers for thirty quid? It would have been so rude to leave them in the shop.

[conversationsofyou]

Thank you Lauren @kingsofeverything for tagging me multiple times and reminding me that I have over 70k of fic sitting in docs (and that's just one wip) Maybe one day I'll have enough time to finish it 🤞🏻

"Steer clear of the dip, mate. Tastes a bit off." 

When Harry turns around he's met with a very handsome man standing before him. His brunette hair and dirty blond highlights are layered into a meticulously styled high quiff. Internally, Harry blames Zayn when he takes note of his impeccable wardrobe. He's wearing blue and green Glen plaid trousers with a tapered leg. Black Gucci penny loafers and a vintage Fleetwood Mac ringer completes the whole look.

Harry nods once, "Thanks…" and resumes his solo snack table mission.

"Niall," he introduces himself with an outstretched hand. 

Harry holds his hand out to shake, "Harry."

"I know," Niall smirks.

Harry furrows his brow, "Oh."

"Louis told me the bloke who's phone he found on the train was English. I know everyone else here," he waves his hand around the room.

"Nice to meet you." 

Niall ignores the greeting and points a carrot stick at him as he narrows his eyes, "You were a bit snarky with Louis just now," he takes a bite.

Harry widens his eyes, "Oh-" 

Niall abandons his crudites to light up a joint. He takes a long pull and hands it to Harry, "Sounds like you need this," he blows the smoke out the side of his mouth and smirks.

"Cheers," Harry says absentmindedly and accepts the spliff. He takes a nice big toke from it and coughs, "Shit," he whispers as he clutches his chest.

Niall beams with pride, "Good?"

Harry tilts his head from side to side. His sour mood has shifted dramatically. "Brilliant," he smiles with his eyes closed.

Niall nods and observes him for a minute, "Not sure what your beef is Harry, but Louis' me best mate," he takes a pull off his own joint, "They broke the mould with that one, so ease up. Especially seeing what he's done for you. That's only a slight glimpse into what Louis' about. Selfless, that one." 

Harry looks down at the table, "Understood."

The corner of Niall's mouth quirks up, "That's sorted, then. Enjoying the Skunk?"

Harry exhales a puff, "Quite." 

Niall sighs, "She's my baby. Took an extra two months for her to cure," he declares with admiration, as if talking about a beloved family member.

"Right…" 

Niall grins, "This one's called Jade Dream. Louis named her. Same day he met you, actually."

"Nialler!" Louis walks up to him and throws his arms around Niall's neck. He smacks a loud kiss to his cheek, "Almost showtime."

Niall plucks another joint out of his mouth which Harry hadn't even noticed and places it between Louis' lips. Niall throws his arms out and shouts, "Rock'n'Roll!"

Louis giggles with the spliff hanging off of his lower lip.

They begin to walk away with their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. Louis turns his head back to Harry, "Hold on tight to that phone, Harold. It's going to be a bumpy ride," and then he winks.

They're gone before Harry can respond. He's left a little awestruck standing in his spot due to the extremely potent weed and his encounter with Niall.

Zayn and Liam clear their throats simultaneously.

"I'll take that," Zayn grabs the forgotten spliff out of Harry's hand and takes a pull, "Fuck…" he says in stupefication. He points the joint at him, "He called you, Harold," and snuffles out a laugh as he exhales his hit.

Harry rolls his eyes.

"Pass the Dutchie to the left hand side please," Liam, the nerd, sings. He takes a pull and coughs, "Yup, that's Niall," he wheezes.

Harry furrows his brow, "You know Niall?" 

"Of course," Liam crinkles his eyes, "Everyone knows Niall."

"I don't," Harry tells him, "He sells pot, right?"

Liam laughs, "Not quite. He creates the seeds for medicinal, all types of strains for different diseases…" he looks at Harry incredulously, "He's a Geneticist, Harry," Liam says it like it should be so obvious.

Harry turns his head to the door even though they're long gone and drops his jaw, "Of course he is," he shakes his head in amusement.

Zayn snaps his fingers, "Come, Louis got us a prime spot in front of the stage," he orders them both.

Harry trails behind them, "Yes, your Highness."

Tagging @kingsofeverything as well as @crinkle-eyed-boo @maleksrami @becomeawendybird @beelou @femstyles @fallinglikethis @hiccoops @louandhazaf @twopoppies @alarrylarrie @toomanydreamers @youareimportantevan @lookslikefairytale and anyone else with writing/art to share

[sopxhiea]

Mischief

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Alfie hears that his deceased friend’s sister is gone wild so he decides to pay her a visit after years of not seeing the young woman but he has no idea what he’s in for.

“Not all men are annoying. Some are dead.”

The music loudly boomed through the long corridors of the house. It was a three story place with freshly painted window frames. The exterior wooden part that coated the glass inside was blue, something that clearly stood out in the crummy streets of Camden. It almost seemed like an intentional move to make this particular house stand out.

The color had been chosen by you.

Exactly two weeks ago, you found it hard to identify the very house you lived in. It might’ve been because you were slightly drunk every time you came home but either way, you needed something that would make the apartment easier to identify. So you had purchased some paint and did it on your own while the neighbouring residents were reminded of their distaste regarding the group of young women who happen to live right next door.

Although, the distaste mostly concerns you.

Your body moves inside the large room. It has canvases and your paints in it, things that you treasure that reminded you of the young girl you once were, when things were easier and you didn’t carry a lump on your throat.

The long street you live on knows you for mostly being up to no good. Sometimes with a young lad on your arm and other times, you on your own while you dance your way through the night with a bottle of whiskey on one hand. They certainly do not like you.

The music fills the concrete walls, the sound waves apparent on the mug you had placed on the floor while your feet tap against the hard surface. Your body moves, almost a little too seductively and particularly for no one. There is nobody else in the room, just you and your cherished albums while your body gently sways to the music.

You don’t hear him knock.

There’s a little part of you that manages to hold on to the past you so badly wish to forget, so you dance. You don’t want to remember the reassuring touches and the feeling of getting caught in the possibly of something happening with the one person your brother had warned you about.

He was six feet under, anyway.

Your housemates are out to have look at a new dress shop. You had no interest to stare at cheap dresses, only to come home empty handed so you’d stayed home where you knew there was endless comfort.

All he can hear is the sound of loud music filling the tall apartment and the soft thuds of your feet against the floor as you dance your way through the empty evening. 

He knocks once more, almost breaking the metal door.

Your movements halt then, fully stopping once you hear someone’s rather loud shouts. The voice is vaguely familiar but it happens to be in a box you’d pushed to the very back of your mind. From a time where you knew no happiness.

The high bun you had now rests against the soft skin of your neck, a few pieces falling around your small face as they frame your curious eyes. Your face is flushed and it looks like you’d been making out with someone, not dancing around on your own. Your dress swishes around your knees as you walk, ready to show the soft skin of your upper thighs at any moment you wish.

You lick your lips before walking towards the door and opening it in one swift motion, the music track no longer plays.

A fraction taller than you’d last seen him, there Alfie stands.

His hair is in its usual place, little pieces sticking out after he’s taken his hat off. He’s still broad, seemingly a little more built than the last time you’d seen the bloke but his face is the same. His scruff is neater now, he doesn’t seem to have aged if you decide to ignore the little creases around his blue orbs.

A scoff leaves your lips.

Your dead brother’s best friend, the bloke he had gone to war with and the one that came back alone with his captain’s hat on his hand, apologising to you because your beloved brother had been shot one too many times stands on your doorstep.

Your heaving chest is not what he expects to see. You look like you were in the middle of a good fuck when you open the door, dress still in place although your eyes a little more wider than the last time he’d seen you. You were grown now and even prettier than the image of you in his mind, he thinks. You look like a proper young lady, except for the way you greet him.

With a scoff.

Your lips curve into a playful smirk and you let your body lean against the doorframe. Your eyes are challenging him to speak, to let you know why he’s there but he’s too focused on the way you look. He doesn’t remember you being this dreamy.

Three years.

Three years since your brother had died. Three years since the bloke before you had kissed you under the dim light of the vanilla scented candle. Three years since you’d moved from your old apartment and started a life on your own, where no one knew of you or your family. Three years since you’d promised yourself that things would be better.

And they had been, up until now.

Your definition of better didn’t match its commonly used meaning. Better meant safe, calm and the bearer of good things at the time but it was different now. You went out whenever you wanted, slept with whoever you wanted and made your own money, enough to spoil yourself with some goodies every now and then.

But apparently, that didn’t match the definition of a better life for most people.

He had checked up on you, sometimes by using his men and other times, it was him driving past your house in the middle of the night to make sure you’d returned. You received two bouquets from the bloke, one on your brother’s death anniversary and the other on your birthday.

You spoke before you could register your own thoughts, a habit you’d picked up from your time around the local bars. “Solomons.”

The taste of his name was sweet on your lips, he listened to the breathy sound of the woman he often saw in his dreams.

But your reputation had preceded you already.

You were known for the late nights you spent around the pubs in Camden. Most men liked the show, the way you danced with a trusted partner of your own who you’d met just a week ago. You had a fire within you, a fire most men were fascinated with but only a few got to play with. Only the ones you chose.

He had been the one you wanted to choose many moons ago but the time wasn’t right then.

“Y/N.” he said, waiting for you to let him in but you stood there as he towered above you. You were still considerably smaller than him.

“What the hell are you doing on my doorstep?” you asked, your foul mouth getting the best of you while you stared at him with curious eyes. He didn’t like to hear you swear, which was exactly why you had done it.

“Came to check on you, dove.” he speaks, the pet name he had given you when you were fourteen still stung.

“That sounds like a lie.” you speak, eyes stern while they do not shy away from him. He wants to speak, to reassure you of things he’s long forgotten about but you’re fast to cut him off. He had no business being there. “Why are you really here, captain?” you ask, knowing the nickname riles him up in the worst way possible.

Before your brother had died, you had been a dear friend to Alfie. He had seen you grow up as he sprouted into a beautiful young boy himself. He was so fond of the lovely little girl you used to be, before Harry had died in the war. He had played games with you and chased the little boy who had tried to kiss you after the school dance.

But something had changed then, when he’d returned with no Harry on his side.

The anger that you’d spent many years managing was now the only face you wore. It was why you drank, it was why you slept with strangers even though they had been perfectly fine with just dating for a while, it was the fuel that kept you going. The anger you felt for your brother’s absence.

“I heard things, right..” he spoke, catching your eyes once again while you stood right before him, head held up high. “..made me fuckin’ worried about ya’.” he spoke, he hated how easy it was for you to get the truth out of him.

All you had to was to stare up at him and he was already a goner.

You nodded, unimpressed while you walked inside the apartment and he followed you like a lost puppy. This was how things used to be, he thought. You lead him through the long corridor into the living room. It was decorated in a minimal manner, a flower vase here and a frame there.

He still remembered, he thought while looking at your familiar features.

How you’d come back with rosy cheeks and glistening orbs that one summer. You’d grown up then, became a young lady that had just about anyone’s heart if you were to flash your sickening smile. He remembered how shy you were then, finding it hard to act like kids around Alfie even though you were both young in age still.

“Say...” you spoke, almost a soft order while he tried to get the vivid images of you from his clouded mind. “What have you heard?” you smirked at your own words, he was already weak at heart.

“Just a couple kids, yeah, sayin’ something about you and a bloke from Sabini’s men..” he said, tugging at his beard while he watched you. You remembered the Italian, he had been quite pleasant.

“And?” you spoke, walking from the living room to the room you had been previously dancing in. 

He was sure you had been fucking someone earlier and the air was dense inside the room due to the small ritual of dancing you had been doing. He wasted no time and asked what was in his mind. He didn’t beat around the bush.

“Do you have a fuckin’ lad in ‘ere?” he spoke, voice booming through all the stories of the apartment while you clicked your tongue, ears ringing with his loud voice.

“Why do you care?” you ask, eyes searching his while he tries his best to be subtle. A shrug is all he gets while you start speaking again. He had missed this, he thinks.

He cares, you see it in his eyes but a small nod is all you give him before you speak.

“What about the Italian bloke?” you ask, moving around the room to gather a few things in your hand while he watches you. You don’t bother covering up, your reputation as the girl who’ll open her legs is already out there anyway and you’re not the one to shy away from someone who’s known you since you were twelve.

“You can’t see him no more, dove.” he spoke, your eyebrows furrowing in an instant. He was giving you no rational reason.

So the game began.

You swayed your hips while walking towards him, using your natural charisma while he watched you. You were the predator walking to get ahold of its prey, although it was the opposite when it came to most people who dealt with Alfie. He was the predator but no, not with you.

He watched, almost hypnotised while your seductive voice filled his ears. Your soft fingers brushed through his beard, lips ghosting over his while his eyes fluttered slowly. He was lost in your voice, the addictive smell of your scent and the way you caressed his face to realise that you were just toying with him.

“Why, dear?” you spoke into his ear, hands still on his beard while he found it almost impossible to keep his eyes open. “You want me all to yourself?” there was a hint of mockery in your tone but laced with layers of pure filth. He sensed it still.

Yes, he wanted to say.

He had wanted you to himself for a long time now. Long before the war and the damage it had done on the both of you. That summer was the first time he’d seen you look so beautiful, you had become the owner of his heart then, no longer his best mate’s sister. 

He hadn’t done anything in the years that followed. He had a couple opportunities, here and there when he could’ve just kissed you and fuck the consequences but there was too much at risk. Harry was his best mate and even though he knew Harry would be more than willing to have his sister be with someone he trusted than a stranger, Alfie didn’t have the heart to do it.

He wished he had.

He growled quietly which manages to earn a light chuckle from your lips. You retreated from his embrace then, walking to the far end of the room while Alfie looked at you with dark eyes. It was the kind of eyes you were used to seeing in man you toyed around with, but not Alfie.

You had become reckless.

You were careless of what people called you, they called women whatever they wanted anyway so it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You were truly doing whatever it was that you wanted and living your own life with the rules you had set for yourself and if society was to shame you for it, that was just too bad but you couldn’t find it in yourself to give a damn.

“Is he dangerous, then?” you asked, like you weren’t just about to kiss Alfie a second ago. He took a minute to gather himself after you’d seduced him with one move but you were quick on your feet, too used to the game of push and pull.

“He might harm ya’. Can’t have that happening.” he spoke, clearly worried and for a second, he saw something shift between your orbs but it was too fast for anyone to catch on other than Alfie. 

“Shame.” you spoke, still gathering a couple brushes here and there to clean them later and he watched. You had been painting since you were small and it made him feel somewhat comforted that you still stuck to it. “He was kind of annoying anyway.” you spoke with a light hearted chuckle while Alfie looked at you.

There was the little girl he knew, and the captor of his old heart.

He chuckled at your sudden lively state. He knew your anger was always kept at bay so he cherished your happy moments, the kind of moments where he’d see your smile reach your eyes. They were rare but he’d make do. 

His voice was hoarse, thick even when he talked from the doorstep of the room. “Ya’ call every man that, dove.” he spoke, years of memories biting back while he looked at him with a devilish smirk, hands on your hips while you batted your eyelashes at him. Your voice was soft, totally the opposite of what he sounded like as you spoke.

“Not all men are annoying. Some are dead.”

He chuckled at first but saw the hint of sorrow in your eyes long after your words stopped hanging around in the cold air around you. He gulped while you walked past him and made your way into the kitchen through the corridor and the worried bloke he was, he followed.

While you filled some cups with hot water and tried to find some tea bags for your beloved guest to drink, he saw the frantic side of you take over. Your movements were still calculated and you put up a good front but he knew you too well. He still didn’t say anything.

“Any sweet lady you’re seeing?” you asked, knowing damn well he wasn’t seeing anyone.

For one, he was too busy to seek someone out since he didn’t get out of his damn office. He was a charmer for sure and even though there had been many ladies in the past, he always ended up with them curled around his side while he wished they were you.

He shook his head and spoke, his voice was low.

“Nah.” he took the cup and a small sip from the tea not too long after. “Too fuckin’ busy.”

He was keen on asking you, he knew you sometimes saw more than one lad at a time and even though it was unusual, he wasn’t the one to judge you. But the word got around either way, he hated that it did.

He thought that you were trying every bloke in the city but it was a matter of you finding the right one, if that existed.

“You owe me a new bloke.” you spoke after taking a small sip from the cup, lips plump while he watched the pink flesh move with your words. “You took away the Italian.”

He chuckled then, smiled at your adorable state with a warm look thrown your way and you returned the gentle gesture. You let him put his hand on the small of your back while you walked him out. This was the usual interaction anyway, it didn’t get far from this.

He wanted to take you out, to show you a proper time and have you in his arm for as long as you wanted to be wrapped in his embrace. He had wanted that for a long time, since he had become a young man but he knew it came with too much baggage.

He wasn’t that reckless, but he needed to be.

“How ‘bout I take the pretty lil’ lass out?” he asked, in one swift breath while you watched lights flicker against his features. His words earned a chuckle from you.

You gulped once, not out of anxiety but anticipation. He watched you under the late night and all its wonders and saw the wheels in your head turn. He needed you to say yes.

And so you nodded. You smiled and nodded while he returned to his original position, where he was standing on your doorstep and towering above you. Your hand reached to grab the collar of his white shirt and toyed with it while you spoke, the seductive voice coming in handy again.

“Don’t toy with me, Solomons.” you spoke and this time, unlike all the previous times your sweet voice had reached his ears, you were dead serious.

It was a forbidden fruit situation.

It didn’t matter that your brother was dead, this had been the game that you were playing with the jewish bloke. He’d tease and you’d tease harder, your pushes were angry but needy, it was a thin line in which he was walking on right now.

“I ain’t love, it’s about time, innit?” he spoke , finally acknowledging years of built up tension.

You sized him up with your eyes then. You didn’t know if he’d be able to take the teasing you usually did with the other men you went out with, they couldn’t either and they’d be spent up by the end of the night but it was different when it was someone you knew, someone who deeply knew you as well.

“It seems as though you haven’t heard all the things they have been saying about me.” you spoke, voice low as you stared at his blue orbs. You knew all the emotions that swam in there.

He had heard all of it, he just pretended that he hadn’t.

Bitch, whore, careless, grieving little thing, poor kid......They called you many names and some of them were true. Alfie didn’t care. He was a killer, a figure of forced authority in most people’s eyes so he saw you as his equal if anything.

“I have, yeah, don’t make a fuckin’ difference to me, dove.” he said, head shaking at his own words while he watched your eyes shift.

Your shining orbs met his, then. Not as the careless young woman you’d become but as the little girl he once knew. There was still innocence in you but there was too much hurt that laced it so no one was able to reach it. But he saw it, the way your eyes shifted from guarded to light hearted.

“Fine.” you gulped, you’d close the door on him when you were done talking and he’s just stand there for a second. 

“Give me a call.”

---------

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog

[greenshirtimagines]

I'll gove the fluster ask game a try, my beloved~ 🤭

Let's go back to the~Cowboy AU~ now, shall we? How about Fukuzawa as a cowboy. He's the senior of the bunch, always a few meters behind the young lads, who holler at the sight of every pretty maid on the street and tell each other dirty jokes. But he's well respected either way because he's good at his job and always knos what to do when there's trouble. Whenever they grace the saloon you work in with their rowdy presence, he's the only one to greet you with a nod and tipping his head once when you bring the beer. And whenever he's around, you feel a little bit safer because the last time a bloke dared to lay hands on you without your consent, Fukuzawa had fired a shot at said lad's feet before you could even scream.

Imagine your surprise now if one fine sunday morning, there's a knock at your door. You wondee who it could be and open the door the way you are, with loose hair and in your cooking attire. Just imagine the surprise you'll feel when you look up to meet Fukuzawa's gaze, and notice how proper and clean his attire looks; it would seem he had even brushed his hair and cleaned his normally dirt-caked boots for the occasion. You also see a rather unusal look of subtle nervousness in his otherwise steen, blue eyes as he looks back. It's only then you lower your gaze and see the flowers he's holding, freshly bought it seems.

He clears his throat. But you don't have to hear him ask the question to let him in.

(Kill them with kindness they say, or rather, sweetness. Did I succeed? 🤭)

Please this was so cute! This got me between 50 and 60% I'd say :D

Try to fluster me in the asks and I'll rate your attempt

[lu-undy]

Request #6

" sniper and spy or Lucien and Mundy going record shopping" 

Here it is!

“May I turn the radio off?”

“Don’t like a bit of music?”

Spy blew his cigarette smoke away. He extended his hand through the window such that he could shake the ashes off outside of the van. They flew down and landed on the asphalt before the gush of air trailing behind the van made them spiral and dispersed them into the desert.

“Sniper, this might be the hundredth time that we hear this preposterous noise that you dare call music.”

Sniper chuckled. 

“Such a posh snob, you are.” They exchanged a gaze and a conniving smile. “I love you, you bastard.”

“Well, I shall take the ‘I love you’ and give you back the ‘bastard’ if you don’t mind.” He answered with a smug grin.

“Right, y’know what?”

“Pray tell.”

“I’m drivin’ us to the city, right?”

“Unless you changed your mind, and I would rather not as my stock of cigarettes is depleting at great speed - I wonder why…”

“Are you sayin’ it’s my fault?”

“Well, who else is helping themselves to my cigarette case, hm?”

“Don’t know, you tell me!” Sniper answered. “Whoever that is, he’s gettin’ a bit too close to you for my taste, eh.”

“Is he?” Spy raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, he bloody is.” Sniper slid a hand away from the steering wheel and on his lover’s thigh. “Gotta let him know that no one else but me can get a cig’ from you like that, eh? Who the hell does he think he is?”

“Well, I think you have come to a conclusion by yourself, mon loup.”

[my wolf]

“Did I?”

“You said it yourself, no one else but you can take a cigarette from me, no one else but you can slide a hand to my breast pocket without losing a wrist. So it is indeed, you.” 

“You got proof?”

“Better than that.” Spy answered and Sniper turned to look him in the eye. “I have you.” 

He put his gloved hand on top of the Aussie’s, on his thigh and their eyes lingered on each other for a second.

“But please, pray tell me what your idea was.” Spy asked.

“We could go and buy some tunes.” Sniper said Spy’s eyebrows jumped. “You can buy your classical music or whatever a fancy arse like you likes, and I’ll get some proper nice music.”

Spy’s smug grin grew.

“Fine, I shall take up the challenge, on one condition.” He raised his index finger and turned to look Sniper in the eye. The Aussie moved his eyes from the road to his lover’s. “You admit that you like my ‘fancy arse’.”

Sniper smiled and chuckled.

“Spook…”

“Come on, don’t cower away.”

“Me? A coward? Nah.” Sniper chuckled.

“Then say it.” Spy insisted. “How hard can it be, hm?”

“Fuck you, Spook.”

“Do it yourself.”

“You askin’?”

“You heard me, and you won’t make me repeat it.” The Frenchman smiled.

Both chuckled.

“Right, let’s get yer cigs and then, off to a record shop, yeah?”

“D’accord.”

[Alright.]

When they reached the city, Sniper parked. 

“Go ahead, I’ll wait for you here.”

“Fine.”

The van’s door opened, passenger's side, and a black, varnished, Italian shoe landed on the grey, concrete sidewalk with a soft click of the heel. Spy exited and turned to Sniper as he fluidly closed the button of his jacket. He winked at the Aussie who shook his head, while rolling his eyes. Spy nonetheless noticed the blush on his lover’s cheeks through the window. He turned his back and let his hips sway. He knew Sniper was watching...

Spy entered the nearby shop and bought more of his beloved menthol cigarettes - imported straight from France, mind you - before returning to the van.

“Got your stuff?”

“I thought that we clearly established and proved that it was yours as much as it was mine.” Spy said and put the cardboard bag on the floor next to his crossed legs.

“Yeah, well… Also, it should be illegal to walk the way you do when you are like you are…”

“Stalker.” Spy answered.

“It’s part of my job to follow my targets, eh?”

“Am I a target?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“How high is the bounty over my head, then, chasseur sauvage?”

[wild hunter]

“Not high enough, should be definitely higher. Bloke like you? Hard to find, and even harder to catch.” Sniper answered and Spy turned to him with pink upper cheeks.

“Merci.”

“Welcome, gorgeous. Now, where’s that record shop… I swear it’s somewhere in this street… Ah! There it is.”

Sniper parked again.

“Right, so what do we say, one disc each?”

“That sounds reasonable. But let us make it a bit more interesting than that, shall we?” The devil with the malicious smirk suggested.

“Alright, I’m listenin’.”

“You will have to find a song that you think I will appreciate and I will do the same for you.”

“How the hell am I supposed to guess your taste?” Sniper asked.

“Use this…” Spy poked his lover’s forehead. “And this.” He poked his chest, where his heart was. “And with a bit of luck, you should find something.”

“Spook, I-I don’t know, I mean…”

“Come on, you know me better than anyone else for thousands of miles around. I am sure you will find something.” Spy winked at his lover and exited the van. Sniper followed him and both entered the shop.

Both headed in different directions. Sniper’s first guess was classical music. He took disc after disc, but the German, Italian and French names didn’t mean anything to him. And what was that habit of putting numbers on the pieces couldn’t they give them proper names…? He sighed and decided to walk around instead, until something would catch his eye. 

Sniper put his hands in his pockets and took step after step, travelling through countries and centuries, styles and genres, while only crossing the aisles of that record shop. Suddenly, a familiar smell tickled his nostrils. He blinked repeatedly and looked around him.

“Spook, quit followin’ me while bein’ invisible. That’s cheatin’.” He gently said at the air in front of him and out of a cloud of thin smoke, the man in the mask and suit appeared. 

“What gave me away?”

“Your awfully expensive perfume.”

“Ah, I will thus have to blame the man who complimented me for it a few weeks ago. It completely ruined this tailing operation.” He smiled and raised his arctic blue eyes to the Aussie. “I see you haven’t found your happiness yet.” He said looking at his empty hands.

“I have, ‘m lookin’ at it.” Sniper answered with a smile on his lips. Spy chuckled and lowered his head before brushing his eyebrow with his thumb to ease the blush away.

“You know that was not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know. But still.”

“Merci. I shall go and pay for the disc I have found for you. Take your time, I will be waiting for you in the van.”

“Here, the keys.”

“As if I needed them.” Spy headed away and Sniper rolled his eyes. Those damn slim hips...

Later that day, Sniper convinced Spy to spend the evening in his van and after some negotiation, both were sitting on the bench, Spy leaning on Sniper, feeling the weight of the Aussie's arm on his shoulders. They had the lights off, apart from Sniper's night lamp.

"You wanna hear what I got for you?"

"Please." Spy asked and raised his irresistible eyes to Sniper. 

"Look at you, gorgeous you are, absolutely gorgeous." He kissed his lover's brow. "Right, let me put this record player on the table… Plug it in and... pop the disc on. Right, you ready?" 

"Please." Spy nodded. 

"Here we go for the song I've found for you." Sniper pressed a button and sat next to his lover. It took a few seconds before the music resounded. 

"Oh…" Spy raised his head to Sniper. He had recognised the intro with the trumpets, the wind instruments and the typical ballad rhythm. "La Vie en Rose?" He asked. 

"Yeah." 

Edith Piaf started singing and Spy bit his lip, snuggling closer to his lover and curling up against his chest. 

"Y'like that song?" 

Spy nodded his head and Sniper pulled him closer, gently rocking him in rhythm. 

"It is… one of my favourite songs, if not my favourite, I…" 

Sniper looked down. Spy had his face flat against his chest. 

"Hey, tell me." The Aussie cupped his cheek.

"Why did you pick this one?" A muffled voice asked. 

"Cause it's about the only French song I know, and it's bloody beautiful, just like you." 

"Do you know what the lyrics mean?" 

"Nah. Somethin' about love I guess." 

Spy raised his head and his gloved hand to Sniper's cheek. He cupped it and gently whispered. 

"When he holds me in his arms, when he whispers to me, I see life in pink… And as soon as I catch a glimpse of him, then I feel in me my heart is starting to beat." 

"Well, it's not wrong." 

Spy smiled as the song ended.

"Your turn now, love. Put on your song for me." 

Spy didn't move. 

"Spook…? C'mere, I know what you need." Sniper cupped his lover's face with both hands and pulled him into a deep kiss. It washed Spy to his guts and he felt like a new man when Sniper withdrew. "You alright?"

Spy's eyebrows were arched high up and he was giving a look Sniper had never seen yet. 

"Oui." He slightly nodded. "I shall show you the song I found for you now… Merci."

Sniper gave him a peck on the brow before letting him proceed. The Frenchman put the disc on and resumed his seat. 

The masterful jingle of the piano keys rose from the record player and soon a voice. A voice? No, the voice. The maestro himself, Sinatra.

"How do you keep the music playing?

How do you make it last?

How do you keep the song from fading too fast?"

The rest of the orchestra slowly woke up behind the elegant singer. 

"How do you lose yourself to someone?

And never lose your way?

How do you not run out of new things to say?"

Sniper looked for Spy's hand in the dark and when he found it, he laced his fingers through the Frenchman's. But soon Spy removed it and cupped Sniper's face. 

Gosh, he had removed his gloves, Sniper felt the naked touch of Spy's hands on his cheeks, his temples and through his hair above his ears. He pulled Sniper's face down, at his eye-level and their foreheads now touched. Spy frowned and shut his eyes as the drums woke up and powerfully pushed the rest of the orchestra to play more confidently. Sinatra's voice boomed.

"And oh! The way I feel for you is now or never!

The more I love, the more that I'm afraid,

That in your eyes I may not see forever!"

Sniper blushed to his ears that he felt were burning. He gulped down his dry throat and his lips parted to call for more air. His breath was short, fast, and sharp and he felt Spy's fingers claw on his head, through his hair. 

So that was the choice of Spy? A song named "How do you keep the music playing?", was it a question that he was really asking his lover? Was there more than just a song in this? 

When Sinatra finished and the orchestra waved goodbye, silence fell in the van and Sniper suddenly realised how loud Spy and him were breathing. 

"Je t'aime." 

[I love you.]

Sniper's eyebrows jumped. He looked down and saw Spy's eyes shining, glistening even… 

"Love you too, c'mere." 

The hug they shared lasted until they became tired of their posture on the bench and moved to the bed. They fell asleep as they usually did, a mess of intertwined limbs. 

[writeblrfantasy]

as promised, here is some snowbaz fanfic (k words) this was a birthday gift for my best friend last year, who has a ferret which i became intimately familiar with over phone calls. this actually holds up, or so I think? anyway, enjoy!

snow's new ferret

This was all Baz’s bloody fault.

“Let’s go walking round London,” Baz had said, because it was Saturday, and neither of them had homework, and he was trying to be romantic and spend some quality time with Snow for once. “We might even find a place with sour cherry scones."

“None as good as Watford's,” Snow had said, but grinned and hurried to pull his shoes on, tripping over his own feet.

Look where romance got him, because now Baz was hovering behind Simon in a pet store of all places while he excitedly chatted on the phone to Bunce. Both of them were squeaking and squealing over the small brown ferret in Snow’s hand. Bunce sounded like she’d have given anything to see it.

“Ooh, Penny, can we keep him?” Snow asked for the millionth time. Baz rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, of course! I’ll…” Bunce’s voice faded out as Baz stared the ferret down. Its beady little black eyes, eyes of a demon. It was creepy, but also strangely cute.

Baz glared at it, but its gaze never wavered.

Before he knew it, Snow was off the phone and smiling at him. “We’re getting it,” he said stupidly.

“Yes, I have ears, Snow,” Baz retorted, but Snow was already wandering off to the pet shop owner.

***

“Cherry Scone?” Baz demanded. “You named it Cherry Scone?”

“She, not it, Baz,” Snow said instinctually. He was too distracted by the ferret cradled in his hands. It already had a full cage set up in Simon’s room, decorated with stickers and beads. It was gaudy, in Baz’s opinion, and entirely unnecessary.

But Simon grinned and lit up looking at it, so Baz was okay with it, he supposed.

That was until the fateful Wednesday evening.

Baz had just gotten through a tiring day of classes, and all he wanted was a drink, some food, and to kiss his boyfriend.

A blood bag and leftover pizza was guaranteed to be in Simon’s fridge, but he didn’t get his usual hello kiss by the door. Instead, the Simon opening the door was distracted and fretting.

He was moving away before Baz could even lean in. “What’s wrong?” Baz asked, setting his bag down on the couch.

“Cherry Scone’s disappeared,” Snow said, looking under the blanket on the couch, carelessly moving Baz’s bag away to look there. “Can’t find her anywhere.”

“Don’t you and Bunce have schedules for watching it?”

“Her, not it, Baz,” Simon muttered, shaking his curls out of his eyes to search under the couch. “And yes, but Penny’s out tonight.”

“Out? Where?”

“New bloke she met on flinder.” Snow checked under the tv stand, behind the tv itself, then disappeared into Bunce’s room.

“I sincerely hope you mean Tinder.” Baz went into the kitchen to get said blood bag and pizza. After a drink and a bite, Snow still wasn’t out, so Baz followed to check. He found Simon on her bed, head in his hands.

“Snow? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find her anywhere.” Snow’s voice wavered, like he was actually crying. Baz’s heart ached. “She was just running around in my room, and me and Penny let her run round the flat after always checking the doors and windows are closed… I don’t know where she’s gone, Baz, she’s supposed to be in her cage by now, what if she-”

“Hey, hey, don’t go there. We’ll find her. We will. Come here.” Baz went to hold Simon close, and though he felt shame at feeling this way, there was nothing quite like the warmth of holding Simon in his arms.

Simon relaxed for a moment before tensing up again. “Can you help look? I know you’re not the most fond of her, but…” With the way Simon was looking at him, blue eyes wide and sad, how could Baz ever say no?

“Of course, Simon, of course.” Baz reluctantly let go and got up, leading the way into Simon’s room. He made a beeline for the cage, where, just like he’d guessed, Cherry Scone was safely sitting, the door still open. She stared up at him with those beady black eyes. Baz stared back, hesitantly lifting her out, at a distance in case she’d bite. She didn’t, but she did stare at him while he carried her to Simon.

“Was in her cage,” Baz said, handing her to him. Simon’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas.

“Oh, Baz, thank you!” He leaned forward and gave Baz the heated but chaste kiss he’d first wanted. Baz’s lips tingled, and he hoped for another one, he hoped Snow would put the ferret back in her cage and leave her there. Baz allowed himself to dream about a good snogging session on the couch, maybe with the pizza box open on the coffee table and the tv playing something insignificant in the background…

But Snow was already taking the damn thing to the living room, talking sweetly to her, promising some treats.

Over Snow’s shoulder, she watched Baz until Snow disappeared around the corner.

***

Normally, walks to the park were just that. Walks to the park.

They were often romantic. Baz and Snow had had more than one picnic date there, even with all the ants and bees. To see Snow, disaster that he was, get biscuit crumbs all over himself and still grin about it was more than enough.

Besides, there were a fair amount of plump birds in the park for Baz.

But of course, Baz should’ve known better than to think this park date would be like every other.

“I still can’t believe they make bloody leashes for those things.” Baz shook his head. Snow grinned, eyes sparkling as he looked down at the ferret, scuttling along on the ground.

You used to look at me that way, Baz thought, then berated himself for being so pathetic. At least Snow was still holding his hand and brushing shoulders with him, walking slowly and leisurely like they used to, and maybe if Baz turned his head he could steal a-

“Hey!” The warmth of Snow’s hand left his, and Baz opened his eyes from his daydream to watch Snow running after the ferret. She’d escaped his hold on the leash. Of course. It was bound to happen.

“Baz, c’mon, help!”

With a sigh of resignation, Baz jogged after him.

***

Baz should’ve known the words, “Love, could you watch Cherry Scone for the day? Penny’s visiting family and I have class, and you don’t, so…” would never end well.

But Simon had called him love, and he’d been looking at Baz with love in his eyes as he said it, and however could Baz resist that?

Now, he realized he probably should’ve tried much, much harder. He should’ve floundered up an excuse or something, “Oh, I need to go get kidnapped by numpties again, be back tomorrow, don’t forget to tell Fiona,” because this was utterly ridiculous.

How could Snow ever love something so determined to make life miserable? Baz’s mind helpfully placed himself in that spot, but he shoved the thought away, because Simon’s beloved ferret was currently terrorizing the kitchen.

“If you wind up in the actual cherry scones, I don’t think even Snow would forgive you,” Baz told it, reaching out and unsuccessfully grabbing it. It scrambled along the kitchen counter, jumping, looking like it was trying to climb the fridge. Baz cupped his hands and tried again, but it jumped, scratching him in the process. Baz swore.

“You really are a devil, aren’t you?” Baz snapped, running his finger under the tap. Where had the bloody thing gone?

A mighty clatter rang through the kitchen. Baz slowly turned around, dreading what he’d find.

The ferret had gotten into the jam jar. No, more like it had knocked the jam jar off the top of the fridge and landed next to the remains.

Baz swore again and bent to check it. It was fine, just covered in red, and the broken glass was far away. Thank god Simon wasn’t here; Baz shuddered at the thought of all that worrying. Though if it meant pulling Simon into his arms to console him…

“I have half a mind to just leave you here,” Baz said to it, grumbling as he picked it up. He took it to the bathroom, because Simon had told him it needed a bath sometime that day, so he wouldn’t question it. “But I love him too much for that.” He placed it in the bath, turning on the water. “If you make him happy, so be it. I can live with you.”

***

Yeah, that wasn’t going to last.

Baz was simply sick of it. The bloody ferret had all of Simon’s attention, and nearly all of his heart. At least, Baz hoped there was still space there reserved for him.

Either way, she was putting Baz out of a job. Whenever Simon got anxious or sad now, he’d hug the ferret instead of reaching out to Baz. She was always in his lap, always being fed treats while he stroked her fur, always looking up at Baz with those evil eyes.

Baz was tired of it all. He was practically invisible to Simon now, and Simon would just nod and make noises whenever Baz talked, told him about his day. As if he didn’t think Baz would notice.

Bunce found it all hilarious. Simon was oblivious as usual.

As annoying and humorous as it was that Simon had chosen a bloody ferret over Baz, in some ways it did genuinely hurt. He hated to feel that way, but he hated more that the only kisses he got from Simon these days were when he did something for the ferret.

It was all building up to one fateful evening at Snow’s flat. Penny was on another date with that bloke from Tinder--Baz couldn’t even remember his name, but Bunce seemed to like him well enough, and Simon apparently approved. Baz would still need to meet him, give him an effective talk, before he had his approval as well. Bunce deserved only the best.

It was the same old situation. Baz had memorized this dance they did. Knock, Snow opens the door, distractedly says hi, because the ferret is in his arms, wriggling to get away. He puts it over his shoulder with one hand on its back, Baz comes in, Snow shuts the door. Snow walks over to the couch with the ferret, Baz goes to the kitchen--except tonight he doesn’t.

Baz instead followed Snow to the couch, ignoring the surprised eyebrow raise Simon gives him. They were going to have this conversation like mature, civilized adults. Baz would explain what was bothering him, hope Simon would make a change, and that would be that.

“Baz? What’s wrong?” Simon asked, and it hurt that that was more attention than Simon usually paid him these days.

“Nothing, I--”

Damn his default deflections. “Actually, something. I- ever since you got the- the ferret, I can’t but feel like, I, uh…”

After a pause that was definitely too long, Simon gently prodded, “What?”

It didn’t help that he was still absently stroking its back. “That you pay more attention to it than me,” Baz blurted. His cheeks immediately bloomed red. “I--just--you don’t smile at me as much as you used to, you’re always tending to it--her, you only kiss me when I feed it or watch it for you or find it when it gets lost--”

“Baz--”

“You know what, it’s fine, forget I said anything, Snow, I--”

“Baz--”

“Really, I’m good--”

“Baz!”

Baz finally dared to look up. Simon's face was pinched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Penny did warn me, but I didn’t think it would…I don’t want to choose between the two of you,” Simon said softly, his eyes gentle and caring when he looked at Baz and goddammit Baz do not cry--

“Well you have been,” Baz snapped, because if he can’t cry, he’ll be angry. He felt himself go red, angry and defensive and hurt, and he cursed himself for drinking before this.

“I’m sorry,” Simon said again, shifting the ferret on his lap, and even that hurt Baz a little bit. “What would you like me to do?”

Baz floundered. He hadn’t honestly, expected to get this far. “Uh, make some time, like when I’m over, where you put the ferret away? It has to sleep sometime, surely.”

“Yeah, at night.”

“Well…can you put it in its cage when I’m here?”

After a breathless second, Simon smiled- at him this time, not the ferret- and said, “Yes.” He looked down at his lap one more time, smiling, and this time it didn’t hurt at all. Simon loved them both, and Baz knew that now for sure, even if he had always known it.

“Would you like to pet her before I put her away?” Simon asked, and Baz realized that he’d never really felt it. Yes, he’d picked it up to give it a bath and help it out of the jam mess--something he had still not told Simon about--but he hadn’t taken notice of the texture of its fur. He was usually too annoyed at it for that.

“Yeah, fine.” Baz scooted closer to Simon on the couch, feeling heat radiate off him, and as much as he wanted to just forget about the ferret and be close to his boyfriend, this would make Simon happy.

So he pet it. It looked up at him, quite distrusting, but slowly warming to him. At least tolerating him. “It’s--it’s quite soft.”

“She is.” Simon grinned, then finally, bless, got up to put her away.

The minute waiting for Simon to come back was the most agonizing of Baz’s life, like this was their first kiss and not their 1000th. Finally Simon sat back down, smiling, and leaned over, taking Baz’s hot cheeks in his hands to give him a long, sweet kiss. It left Baz’s insides warm, his lips burning, and all he wanted was more, more, more--

And Simon let him have more, he gave as good as he got, pushing closer to Baz, letting Baz lick into his mouth, giving one last long kiss before pulling away.

Baz was breathless. Simon was golden.

“Thank you,” Baz said, surprised to hear his own voice so low, panting the way he was. Simon smiled, his sun, his golden boy, and kissed Baz again.

Forget about bloody ferrets for now.

[maybedancanwrite]

Here’s my first fic for the Harry Potter fandom. Hinny Fic.

A one-shot behind my art. For more, visit my Instagram art page: @dan.artchive

Read here: FFnet or AO3

It was a warm and sunny Friday that shone through the streets of Diagon Alley. Two Aurors wearing their dark red Auror robes were casually walking through the crowd of shoppers. The first Auror appeared to be average in height that had brown hair, tanned skin, and bright grey eyes. The second one was a tall, stocky, strawberry blonde bloke with pale skin and piercing blue eyes. One would think that the pair were normal wizards walking through the famous Wizarding shop in London but the two of them were under a charm to look different. If Alastor “Mad-eye” Moody was alive, he would have seen right through the charm with his eerie magical eye, hence, the moniker, “Mad-eye”.

 Apparently, the second Auror was on the verge of nervousness the entire day playing out the worst scenarios possible in his head that could happen on what he was about to do that afternoon. The first Auror found it amusing that the man, who saved the Wizarding World, was worrying over a huge question that could be answered by a yes or no. They strode to the lone jewelry shop in magical London to obtain the thing.

 “Okay, here we go,” huffed Harry Potter, the second Auror in disguise. He opened the door and the bell above it rang, signaling the store keeper that someone has arrived.

 “Relax, mate, I’m sure she would say yes. You’ve been dating for almost four years now,” said Ron Weasley, the first Auror in disguise for the nth time, assuring him again and again that nothing would go wrong. They had this conversation over a month ago when Harry asked for Ginny’s hand from all the Weasley family members, in secret, of course. If Ginny knew, she would have thrown a fit stating that no one gets to decide to who she marries. 

Harry only nodded to the words of comfort coming from Ron. He greeted the store keeper a good day and asked for the ring that he requested to be made a week ago. The store keeper, named Jane, asked for his magical signature (a receipt in the Muggle world) for security and clarity purposes. Upon seeing the signature, Jane’s eye widened in shock and confusion. Who wouldn’t be confused if the magical signature (designed to be forge-proof) of Harry Potter were to appear but the man before her was completely different from the famous Harry Potter? Nevertheless, she kept her confused thoughts to herself and headed to the back of the shop to obtain said requested ring.

It took about two to three minutes before Jane arrived bringing the velvet box. Harry gingerly grabbed and opened it to see a beautiful engagement ring perfect for his beloved girlfriend. The ring was a beautiful silver band encrusted with diamonds around it with the peridot gemstone, her birthstone, on top of it all. It was perfect. Perfect ring for his perfect love of his life. Harry thanked her and requested to keep it a secret for now, because Harry realized that sooner or later, the press will know and would have published it in numerous papers with exaggerated headlines.

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

It was now four in the afternoon when Harry realized that Ginny will be off from practice in an hour. Somehow excited yet nervous, Harry fumbled the velvet box silently praying to the heavens that she would say yes. Harry, who took half a day off with Ron, was lounging in the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place after they went to retrieve the ring from the shop. Ron, who stayed with Harry after, was still snoring on the couch sometimes murmuring Hermione’s name.

 Harry aroused Ron from his sleep telling him that they need to go to Holyhead in ten minutes to finally ask the question. Ron, internalizing Harry’s word, was now fully awake and as excited as Harry. The pair then groomed themselves decently, especially Harry.

Ten minutes and a crack of noise later, the pair of Aurors, now not disguised, were sauntering along the grounds of the Holyhead Harpies’ stadium after some security checks and asking their purpose of visit. Harry told Ron to wear his invisibility cloak only to remove it until after the proposal, after she says yes, that is if she says yes, and snap a surprise photo.

The pair strode down to the stadium’s Quidditch pitch stands just in time to see the Harpies in the middle of their cool down routines. Harry roamed his eyes to a sea of women in green robes to locate where his girlfriend was. After a moment or so, he located her. There she was, looking so hot and sexy even in her current state; hair a mess, flushed cheeks and sweaty. 

 Thirty minutes later, the captain-slash-coach, Gwenog Jones, was now giving post-practice announcement, one of them was a two-day break much to the delight of the Harpies. Afterwards, the Harpies, who were now heading to their locker rooms, saw Harry approaching the team fumbling something under his robes. The ladies greeted Harry with a wave of hand, some nods, some saying “Wotcher, Potter”, and some pointing to their lead chaser, Ginny Weasley. 

 Harry returned their greetings and then walked to the center of the pitch with Ron behind, still under the invisibility cloak. He saw Ginny starting to remove her protective gears on her legs. He walked to her and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek only to be swatted by her small adorable hands pointing out that she was sweaty as hell. The two of them giggling while a hidden Ron was fake gagging. She was about to remove her protective arm gears when Harry took hand and donned his serious, loving and passionate face.

 “Gin, I-I don’t know how to start this but…,” started Harry, rubbing his thumb along her hand. Ginny, who knows her boyfriend really well, noticed how rubbing his thumb along any surface, this time her hand, is a sign of him being nervous of some sort.

 Ginny was about to speak out her thoughts when Harry gently asked her to let him finish.

 “Gin, the past years has been my absolute happiest moments. Living like a normal person, no mad dark wizard after me every year, no life threatening activities ever since – well, except for the raids and field missions,” he said, chuckling at the last part.

 “What I’m trying to say is…,” continued Harry, hoping the next words that will come out of his mouth would be not be too much for her. “I don’t want you to be my girlfriend anymore.”

 Ginny’s jaw drop every slightly with tears now starting to roll down her flushed cheeks. She was too frozen to remove her hand from his. The thing she was scared the most was now slowly happening. The thought of Harry leaving her for someone better than her was always at the back of her mind. 

 Unbeknownst to Ginny and Harry, Ron was fuming. This was not what Harry told him. This was not the scene he pictured out when Harry told Ron that he was asking his only sister to be his wife. Ron was about to pull the invisibility cloak when Harry went down on one knee, his other hand trembling as he held the velvet box. The box opened itself knowing that Harry had probably cast a non-verbal spell. The box, to Ron and Ginny’s surprise, was not the ring but a golden snitch.

 “Ginevra Molly Weasley, my love, my dear Gin, I’m sorry for shocking you like that. I love you and I don’t think that I can go on in this life without you in it. I may be a prat, a git, or whatever do you call me sometimes when you’re annoyed, but this prat loves you with all my heart,” he said, professing his love for her. Tears were still rolling down her cheeks, all flustered. “Would you let me be the happiest man and be my wife? Will you marry me?” asked Harry, gently taking the snitch from the box and caressing it softly along her hand revealing the peridot ring. 

 “Y-yes! Of course I will marry you, you prat,” said Ginny, hitting Harry square in the chest. “That’s for scaring me like that, Potter.”

 Harry slid the ring to her ring finger and kissed her. “I love you so much, soon-to-be Mrs Potter,” confessed Harry, hugging her so tightly.

“I love you, too,” replied Ginny, inhaling his fiancé’s lovely scent that she loves so much. When the couple pulled apart, Ginny asked about the snitch in question.          

 “The snitch…It’s the snitch I caught from my fifth year, isn’t it?” 

 Harry nods. “I got it from Madam Hooch. It seems that she has been keeping all snitches that won every House finals. Took me a lot of time convincing her but at the end she caved in,” he chuckled.  

Suddenly, a bright flash interrupted the couple’s sweet moment. Ron had finally removed the cloak and took a photo of the newly engaged couple, much to Ginny’s chagrin. Ginny was supposed to be mad at him for interrupting their moment but she noticed that his eyes were slightly puffed so instead of being mad at him, she hugged her brother. 

 “Alright, you,” said Ron, slowly pulling himself from his sister, trying to discreetly sniff and not to sound hoarse. “Go to your future husband and I’ll snap a photo of you.”

Ginny obliged and went to Harry for their first proper photo of their engagement. Harry, in his Auror robes, held her by her waist while pressing a kiss on her head and inhaling her flowery smell despite the sweat. Ginny leaned against Harry, her puffed eyes showing nothing but love and happiness with her bright and wide smile. She showed her ring to the camera while pointing at it. The snitch hovering close by. 

Harry was over the moon, the girl he pined for most of his sixth year, who then became his girlfriend for almost four years, was now about to become his wife. At the prime age of twenty two, he was at his happiest.

[twistedwit-arch]

@piraticalwit

Teeth chew at a rough bottom lip as he contemplates the door of their flat, uncertainty flittering through normally confident thoughts. What if the things he carries aren’t enough? What if, by expressing his worry, he’s destroyed the foundation of the very thing that has brought both purpose and meaning to an otherwise bland life?

The idea brings a wave of nausea to Killian’s throat, a breath catching fear that in the next few moments his fate will be decided in a way that leaves his flat cold and empty - nothing but a ghost of the man he loves remaining inside. He can’t stand in the hall forever, however, so the detective pushes through the door, reminding himself to breathe. Keys are tossed upon the counter with a second glance, along with a bag full to the brim as blue eyes meet ones so familiar to his own. Fingers rise between them as if to halt any argument before it begins, gloved hand holding out the stuffed dog in its grasp.

“A husky, yeah? I was going to go for bigger or maybe even the real thing but our flat isn’t large enough for the monster they had at the shop and do you know how difficult it is to track down a puppy last minute?” The words are rushed, falling over one another in a huff of breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and the Irishman wavers between walking closer in order to hand the animal over and not wanting to invade the older man’s space. He settles on placing it gently atop their table, fingers digging through his jacket pocket for another offering.

“And this - you shake it and stuff falls around in it. A snow globe of sorts , yeah? Except it’s like... sequins. Or something. I think. ” He gives it a shake for effect, lips twitching in a hopeful grin as the way different colors fall around the figure inside - a dog with a red scarf, bounding along with a stick held safely in its jaws. “Wait - not yet. I have something else.” He tries to evade any argument Guy might make, any declaration that their relationship is at its end, continuing along with a thunderous rhythm in his chest. Momentarily faltering Killian holds the other man’s gaze, forget-me-nots full of despair and regret - a hopeless feeling that pools in the pit of his stomach. “I also brought takeout from the Thai place you like, yeah? Except I couldn’t bloody think and asking the poor bloke behind the counter ‘what’s the best dish to say I’m an idiot, love, with’ didn’t seem like the best idea, you know? So I got everything I’ve ever heard you mention. And a few others because they looked like you could mention them. At some point.”

His expression falls for a moment, cheeks flushing the palest shade of pink and the Irishman’s voice cracks with worry - worry that he’s too late, worry that it’s not enough. “I love you, Guy. Please... forgive me.” 

Don’t go.

He’s been lost in thought since their conversation earlier in the day, the hours slipping past while worry gnaws at him like a hunger he can’t ignore, the unsettled feeling leaving him jumpy and on edge despite the calm and quiet of the flat where he paces relentlessly from room to room. Did he say the wrong thing? Was he making too much of a situation that really wasn’t as bad as his gut was telling him it was? Does he want to risk losing Killian regardless, this time to his own stubborn nature rather than to death as he feared?

There are no easy answers. And so he paces.

The sound of the key in the lock startles him back to reality, unaware that so much time had elapsed since their quarrel, and still he had no answers to the questions that plagued his mind. He stands as Killian enters, a silent sentry guarding their domain even as the other man comes in bearing a multitude of gifts that Guy can’t help but smile at, albeit a bit sadly. 

Killian begins to list the items he’s brought home with him, and with each new addition a feeling of hope begins to kindle within his chest - surely the younger man would not feel the need to drown him in tokens and treasures if he were simply going to walk away, would he? If his intentions were to abandon all that they had built together, would the detective be compelled to lavish such gifts upon his lover, almost as if trying to make up for their quarrel earlier?

“Killian, I...” His voice breaks when he hears the other man’s pleading confession, his request for forgiveness and the fear in his tone more than Guy can bear, and the older man finds himself blinking away the sting of tears from stormy blue eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive - if anything, I should be begging for your forgiveness.”

It takes him a few moments to gather himself, to force unruly thoughts into something he might be able to explain to Killian without rambling like an idiot, swallowing past the lump that has formed in his throat at the realization that he may not have lost the only thing that ever mattered to him in this life. It’s not a given, though, and they still have many things to work through, but at least there is hope now where only desolation and despair had lived just a few moments before.

“I had no right to force my will on you, to push you into doing something that you felt was wrong, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t bear the thought that I might lose you, and it made me...” His words trail off for a moment, gaze settling upon Killian’s beloved features, tracing the lines of the Irishman’s face with his eyes while he searches for the words to explain himself, taking a hesitant step toward the man he loved as he gave voice to his fears in a tone shattered by grief.

“I would rather die with you than live without you.”