#curly hair expert

[taylortaylorlondon]

Look who has joined our team ...Sian Wood

Hairdressing since she was 15, Sian brings her magnetic energy to the salon and along with it comes the unique pairing of her incredible hairdressing skill alongside her natural warmth and humour.

From the moment she began to cut both her sisters (and her Barbie’s hair) Sian knew what direction her career would go and we are honoured that she has chosen Taylor Taylor London as her salon home. With a wealth of experience and a loyal clientele Sian is talented in all aspects of cutting but she also has a natural skill and intuition with curly, textured hair which brings confidence back to clients who may have struggled to find a stylist who truly understands curls. 

In Sian’s own words “My love of curls runs deep - my curl mastery and ongoing learning brings real pride. I find beauty in subtle sun-kissed colour that enhances the shape of my cuts and works harmoniously with face shape and features - my favourite is the smile."

Sian can be booked in our Shoreditch salon on Commercial Street , just a short walk from Liverpool Street , Aldgate East or Shoreditch High Street.

[cozmozone]

Glamorous Holiday Hairstyles from Your Favorite Hairdressing Salon

Try these glitzy hairstyles from your go-to hairdressing salon to enter the holiday season in style and flare! We bring these hairstyles just to improve your appearance and make you feel like belle. Now let's explore the world of stylish hairstyles that are sure to turn heads and make hearts skip a beat.

[fisheito]

this is what i was cookin up while on nu:vacation [avoiding event spoilers] my dream.....my hopes....... EVERYONE PUT ON THE PRINCESS GOWN🗡

[fist-amidst-the-hands]

hi hi okay imagine. stede wants to brush out ed's hair the way izzy always does. maybe izzy is busy on deck taking note of damages after a raid. maybe they had an infestation and he's going over ration spoilage and inventory with roach. ed is tired and cranky and absentmindedly separating sections of curls and tugging them apart at the bottom where they get stuck together in knots. stede offers to help with the tangles, says he would love to give it a go and help ed relax

izzy walks in a few minutes later and immediately comes up and tells stede he's doing it all wrong but also gently takes the brush from him and shows him the right way - where to hold the hair, how to start at the bottom with little sections and work his way up, when to start with his fingers instead of the brush. neither of them can see it but ed is smiling so much his face might actually burst

[lokigodofaces]

"you should NOT wash your hair every day"

if any of you can explain to me, a person with curly/wavy hair (sometimes it's curlier than other times), how to not wash my hair every day without my hair being either frizzy, looking like there isn't even a bit of curvature, or both, i will stop washing my hair every day.

[mangopit]

am i tripping or am i seeing more youtubers change their thumbnails and video titles a few hours after uploading?

like it's not uncommon to see ppl use more clickbaity fake-drama video titles for algorithmic reasons, but lately and more specifically i've been seeing these L.A. youtubers upload videos with titles that are more... abrasive and somewhat problematic lol? and then some hours later it'll be updated to have more PC language. like either these major channels are suddenly forgetting how to not offend people or they're employing the "get clicks by being a certain acceptable amount of incorrect and reasonably mistaken" and it's leaving a bad taste in my mouth

[floralovebot]

I'd really like to talk about how non-black artists often draw Aisha with straight or vaguely wavy hair. I know a lot of these artists genuinely just.. don't know, so please understand, that 100% is whitewashing. Whitewashing isn't just about skin - there are a lot of different ways to whitewash real people and fictional characters.

I get that winx club came out in the early 2000s and was originally hand drawn so there were limitations with how well they were able to communicate her hair, however, it's not straight.

"There are four basic curl types of texture types ranging from 1 to 4," shares Yates. "Type 2 denotes wavy hair with no discernible curl, and types 3 and 4 plus additional classifications define both the curl type and shape. If your curls are defined ringlets, think like the shape of a slinky or corkscrew, then you have class 3 curls. If your curls follow more of a 'z' pattern, then you have class 4 types of curls." -source

For reference, here's another chart.

Now here are some pics of Aisha's hair in various hairstyles.

It'd be easy to assume that Aisha's hair is in that loose wavy pattern that takes up Type 2, but I really don't think that's the case. It's hard to place her in an exact category since we can't see the individual strands and therefore can't see if she has waves or defined curls/coils. However! Please take note of the overall shape of her hair, the volume of her hair, how well it holds shape and stays up, and how it moves.

Aisha's hair is most likely in the Type 3 range (and possibly Type 4A)! Again, please look at her updos! Her hair holds shape in ways that Type 2 hair doesn't (not without a lot of product and styling).

Honestly, I think some of this confusion also comes from people having the belief that black women can't have naturally long hair. That's not the case... but it is still a pervasive stereotype.

Anyway, this isn't the most thought out post but it is me asking non-black artists to be aware of how they're depicting black characters. Natural hair is important! And while we may not know Aisha's exact type of hair, we do know that it's not in Type 1 or Type 2. Drawing her with straight hair or somewhat wavy hair is whitewashing and needs to be avoided. Aisha's hair is very stylized and it's not really meant to look Realistic, but portraying her with the hair type she most likely has is important.

Please remember that whitewashing doesn't just mean making someone's skin lighter. Depicting a black character who canonically has curly hair with straight hair instead is 100% whitewashing. Just... please be more conscious of how you depict black characters and how Sometimes you might do something racist without consciously realizing it because you're not black, you've grown up in a racist world, and you do have unconscious biases and stereotypes running around in your brain (everyone does ! you are not exempt !!).

[frankenruth]

Decisions decisions.. (do i want short hair or no)

[bookwyrminspiration]

kind of a dumb question but: do you think curly and frizzy hair could be lumped into the same category? i have hair that could certainly be described as frizzy, but i’ve heard people call it curly as well (and even occasionally wavy).

like i might be wrong, but stina’s hair is described as frizzy, right? but i think some people in this fandom also refer to it as curly. so like. is it because people see curly as being synonymous with frizzy or because they see stina’s hair as frizzy and curly?

sorry if this is stupid, but i’m completely clueless about hair texture thingies and i need to know.

No need to apologize! Frizzy and curly aren't the same and can't be lumped together; curly is a shape and frizz is just hair that doesn't line up with the rest, but there's definitely connections between the two. Curly hair gets frizzier easier because of its shape--and curly hair that is being cared for like straight hair can be especially frizzy. but straight hair can get frizzy too, if less often, so it's not unique to curls

Stina's hair is specifically described as "frizzy curls" at multiple points throughout the series--including its first description on page 164! which is why we talk about it being both curly and frizzy; it's not a connection we made between the two ourselves, it's from the text.

While it's impossible to eliminate all frizz in curls (strands curling in different ways next to each other means there's inevitable going to be stray strands), excess frizz is generally unwanted (at least in current trends) and a sign it needs to be taken care of--if I go a few days without showering, my hair gets super frizzy. And since this is how a negative character is portrayed and there's so few curls in the series, it creates a negative association with curls. Especially when Shannon gave Stina a mini makeover that involved "taming" them by smoothing them back to make her look better.

Which wasn't what you were asking, but either way! There is an association between frizz and curls because curls are more prone to frizz, but in this instance it came from shannon :)

[smile-files]

Hello! I hope this isn't too much of a weird question but, How can I make a good Jewish character without being offensive?

well there are many things to consider. firstly, there are many types of jews. some are orthodox, meaning they really strictly follow the word of the torah (and rabbis. lol). some are conservative, meaning they stick to the torah within reason (for example, conservative jews think it's fine to drive on shabbat if that's the only way you can get to shul). some are reform, meaning they are the loosest with the torah's laws. a lot are in-between, and some don't really practice at all. there are a lot of different customs and rules and sub-groups within each of these categories, and i don't really know the half of it. there's also the matter of where you come from (whether you're an ashkenazi, sephardi, or mizrachi for example) which can also affect your practices. i myself am an ashkenazi conservative jew, which for me means celebrating all of the holidays, keeping shabbat, fasting on fast days (if possible), and keeping kosher. some of my family members go to shul every saturday; i personally do not, as i am very tired at the end of the week. we all know some hebrew, but not fluently, and the majority of us have gone to judaic school from pre-k to 8th grade. we wear kippot at shabbat meals and when doing torah study, but aside from that we don't.

that's the main thing, in what way your character is jewish. the majority of jews, i should mention, have a bar/bat mitzvah around the age of 13, so you might want to incorporate that into your character.

i'm not an expert of jewish stereotypes and caricatures, but i know of a lot of harmful ones. antisemitism has led to myriad (frankly absurd) conspiracies about jewish people, such as us being goblins (especially with a large nose) or lizard people or having tails and horns or controlling all of the banks or controlling hollywood or causing the black death or having space lasers or using babies' blood in our matzah. just avoid those all together. please and thank you.

aside from that, most of the jewish stereotypes i know mainly apply to ashkenazi jews: the "typical" ashkenazi jew is white, has dark curly hair, dark eyes, a big nose, perhaps a slightly nasal voice, and is usually a nerd/smart/socially inept. none of these things are inherently negative; in fact i know a large amount of jews who fit this exact description, and it's fine if you have a jewish character who's like this. however, if you automatically go for these traits when making a jewish character, you should try to examine why. is that just what jews look like to you? if so, why? in any event, not all jews look/act like this. there are so many jews of color!!!!!!!!!!! i'm not an expert on the diversity of jewry, so i recommend you look into it yourself, but just know that not all jews are white!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i do appreciate your sensitivity to the matter!!! i think as long as you avoid all the blatantly antisemitic stuff you'll be okay, but it's always best to put some more thought into it beyond that. being jewish is fun! i love it!! very happy to get some recognition B)

thank you! i hope i could help <33

[dykecrawler]

Why shouldn't people own doodles? I'm ambivalent toward them but just wondering

theyre a mix so its not necessarily that all doodles are like this and if you have a doodle they can still be good dogs yada yada yada,

but generally because theyre a fad dog theyre being backyard bred with dogs that may have genetic/behavioral issues or they will be sick from a young age. usually certified dog breeders will have to get their dogs tested to make sure they dont have genetic diseases or behavior issues that will be passed onto the pups but most doodle breeders arent certified in any way and dont do this testing. some even dont take the pups to a vet to confirm their health before selling them. also backyard breeders often (not always) keep the puppies in poor conditions because they simply dont know any better or dont care

A lot of people dont know doodles are a mix and will pay extra for a "purebred doodle" which is not a real thing. doodle is not a recognized breed by any major kennel club and people will be tricked into paying extra for a purebred dog that simply isnt a pure bred

theyre also supposed to be hypoallergenic but because of the backyard breeding they often are not. because they usually have a ton of stuff mixed into them they will often not be hypoallergenic despite that being a huge part of why they got popular. if you want a hypoallergenic dog you need to get a purebred because otherwise there is no real guarantee it will actually be hypoallergenic unless you get it tested yourself.

a doodle is a majority poodle mix and poodles are very very smart active dogs and people usually arent ready for how much energy their doodle has which leads to behavior issues. they need lots of stimulation and to be walked/played with regularly. for some reason people seem to think they are apartment dogs when they very much are not.

generally i say dont get a doodle because theyre unethically bred 9 times out of 10, its not gonna be hypoallergenic if thats why youre looking for one, and they are a lot of work people arent prepared for. ive met some great doodles but they just have everything going against them.

[cozmozone]

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[lacollectionneuse1967]

remembering you

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.

nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: office romance. smut with plot.

warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.

author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.

1916, Northern France

How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.

Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.

The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.

The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.

Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.

Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.

You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.

Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.

The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.

The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"

Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.

So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...

"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."

"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.

He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.

"What do you want?" you ask warily.

The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.

"Ungrateful little-"

"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."

Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.

Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.

"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.

He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.

"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"

"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"

The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.

"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.

"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."

The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.

"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"

"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."

If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....

Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.

For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.

When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.

"Take my siblings," you say.

[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.

"No! Y/N, you can't-"

"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."

The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.

When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.

"I'm not going, sir."

You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.

The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.

The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."

"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.

"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."

You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.

"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."

He makes a noise of gentle surprise.

"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"

"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.

He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.

"You want to stay so badly. Why?"

"I told you, I'm a nurse."

"You're a child."

"I'm sixteen," you bite back.

"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."

"I'm no Muggle."

"No, you're... You're something else."

You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.

"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.

"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.

'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'

Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.

"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.

The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.

You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.

But you can't imagine he'll deny you.

You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.

"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."

He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.

"Why?"

"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."

You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.

You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.

You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.

When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.

He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.

You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.

The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.

His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.

But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.

You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.

You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.

You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.

"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."

He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.

The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.

"What is your name?" he says.

"What's yours?"

"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"

"It won't matter soon enough..."

"Do you so badly not want to live?"

"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."

The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.

"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."

Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.

----

1925, London, Nine Years Later

'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'

It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.

A memo already?

You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.

A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.

In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.

This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...

Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.

No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.

Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.

You lift it from your desk in annoyance.

You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.

"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."

You scoff.

It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.

It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.

It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.

For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.

"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."

It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.

"Who is this?" Comes the message.

It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.

But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.

"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."

His reply comes quickly this time.

"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."

You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.

"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."

"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."

"So, no after-work pint for me then?"

"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."

"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."

"How very patriotic."

There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.

You like it.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.

As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.

Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.

"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."

----

London hadn't been kind to you.

It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.

During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.

They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.

Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.

Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.

Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.

"Morning, sunshine!"

You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.

"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.

It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.

However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.

"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."

He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.

You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.

"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."

"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."

"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"

"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"

"It gets old."

"You're a liar. You love me."

"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."

You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"

Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.

It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.

You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.

You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.

It makes you shudder, the thought.

You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.

Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.

"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.

For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.

"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"

His words fade in and your heart swells.

"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."

You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.

"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."

----

You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.

"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.

"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.

But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.

You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.

You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.

It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.

You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.

"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"

But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.

He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.

"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.

A half-glance is all you need.

The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!

You go stiff, your face wan.

It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.

"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"

"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.

Theseus is grinning bashfully.

"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"

"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"

It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.

Mr. Byrne.

War hero.

Auror.

Initials T.S.

God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.

The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.

When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.

You don't know why you feel so shaken.

'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'

But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.

You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.

And he'd promised to remember you.

It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.

Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.

After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.

"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."

You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.

Then:

"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."

It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.

"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"

You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.

"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."

"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."

You throw yourself into your work with rigor.

Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.

The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"

Your heart aches weakly.

But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.

Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.

It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.

The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.

The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.

You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.

No. Fucking. Way.

Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.

He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.

The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.

He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.

His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.

Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.

"Mr. Scamander!"

Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.

She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.

"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"

You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.

"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.

-----

The next day you see him at a far distance.

You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.

Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.

Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.

You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.

He saw you.

His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.

Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.

You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.

The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.

"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."

You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.

The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.

"Oh, thank God," you think.

He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.

He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.

You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.

"Are you flirting with me, sir?"

It's a comfort to be writing to him again.

"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."

You laugh aloud at his candor.

"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."

You huff at that.

"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."

"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."

"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.

"Are you not?"

Fuck. Well, you've already met.

"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."

The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.

You wish he'd remember you on his own.

"Hmm..." he writes back.

Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.

"You're beautiful."

Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.

He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.

"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."

You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.

It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.

Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.

"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."

You worry you sound cruel so you add.

"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."

He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."

You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:

"Can I come see you?"

There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.

"What, you mean at lunch?"

You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.

Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.

"I mean now. In your office." You write back.

'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'

It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:

"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."

You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.

The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.

You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.

He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.

For a moment the two of you just stare.

'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'

It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.

Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.

He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.

"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."

You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.

"I could say the same about you, actually."

He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.

"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."

You frown.

"Why would anything change that?"

He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.

"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."

That hurts your feelings. "Why?"

He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.

"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."

He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.

"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.

You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.

"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.

"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.

Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.

"I can't," he says, pitifully.

But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.

"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.

You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.

You would not ask him a third time.

Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.

You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.

Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.

"Get off!" you shout gleefully.

"You get off," he retorts jokingly.

Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.

At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.

Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.

"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.

But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.

He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.

You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.

"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."

He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.

You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.

A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.

You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.

"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.

He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.

"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."

It's almost a whine.

You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.

His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.

"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.

It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.

His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.

"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."

And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.

With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.

"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.

You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.

It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.

His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.

You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.

"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.

You nod, quickly.

"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.

"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."

"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.

It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.

Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.

"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.

You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.

"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.

The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.

Theseus doesn't seem to mind.

"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.

You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.

Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.

"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.

He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.

He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.

He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.

"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.

He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.

"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.

Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.

'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.

He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.

"You like my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."

He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.

He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.

You gasp at the applied pressure.

He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.

"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.

"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.

"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.

"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.

He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.

You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.

It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.

'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.

You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.

It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.

He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.

He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.

"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."

You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.

"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.

Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.

"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."

"I promise."

-----

part two here

author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)

comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @msauthor

[dean-a-mean-tae]

Stray Kids as Hybrids

WARNINGS: Minho and Felix are "defect" hybrids. There's cussing in this. I got the information from research, so if you're an animal "expert" respectfully correct me.

Master list | Not requested, but I don't care.

Chan (Grey Wolf)

He has a grey tail with grey ears that have a black rim.

His fur is extremely fluffy, and he sheds a lot.

In his human form, he has curly hair that's so grey it almost looks white.

Though he has a ton of fur, he doesn't feel the heat.

He needs a lot of nutrients.

He'll eat over 13 pounds of meat at least once a week.

A "healthy" amount of meat for a human is 23 to 33 ounces per week. There are 16 ounces in a pound.

You can do the math yourself.

He's never gone over 12 days without consistent meat intake.

You gotta feed him.

Good luck. 13 pounds = 208 ounces

He won't tell you he's hungry, but you can hear his tummy from across the planet.

In his wolf form, his ears stand up and point forward.

In his human form, his ears just do what they want.

Contrary to popular belief, wolves barely bark.

Whines can be a sign of affection or distress.

You need to pay attention to the signs and what's going on to know the difference.

His growls are warnings, and his loud ones are when he feels threatened.

His quiet growls are playful.

Chan has and will go over to Minho or Seungmin and put his paw on them. IYKYK

the pictures of those 2 wolves are hilarious

Minho (Tiger)

Unfortunately, Minho is considered a defect.

He looks like your stereotypical tiger.

It's just the tip of his tail is white instead of black

In his human form, he has brown eyes that turn yellow when he's in a bad mood

His "defect" is his hair. It's dark brown which makes the orange in his ears stand out.

Believe it or not, he prefers to come out at night.

He doesn't mind the day as long as it isn't hot.

Occasionally, he'll sunbathe, but it's seemingly random.

He, unlike most tigers, doesn't like water. He can take showers and baths, but big bodies of water are a no.

He can't see the bottom. He isn't getting in the water.

He still likes the knowledge of having access to a lake. Preferably a private lake.

His animal form is almost 9 feet at a weight of 650 something pounds. The weight is healthy for his tiger form.

If you thought Chan needed a lot of meat, then Minho is a nightmare. ;-;

Tigers require 88 lbs per week. :)

Since he's a hybrid, he can eat at least 75 lbs. Which is 1200 ounces...

His weight is perfect for snuggling, but his weight is painful if he lays on you.

He doesn't like roaring because it's loud. He grunts and uses chuffs to communicate.

If you are ever cold, just lay on him.

Tiger fur can get so hot that steam might come off their fur when in the snow.

He isn't very sociable and prefers his own space. He doesn't mind you or the boys, but it's obvious if he doesn't like someone.

You know that thing cats do with their tail when they feel mischievous?

The tip of the tail starts flicking but everything else is still?

That's Minho.

You always know when he's done some stupid shit or is about to

Changbin (Hare/Jack Rabbit)

He has brown fur with a white tummy

He gives off Thackery the hare from Alice In Wonderland 2010 vibes

He thumps, in both human and animal form, when he feels endangered or if he wants something

Usually, it's because he wants something

As an animal, he does the binky thing where rabbits jump high in the air

He only does it when he's extremely happy

Sometimes, his legs kick off too high, and he falls forward, like in the picture on the right.

When he's angry, he'll sit on his hind legs with his paws up like he's about to start boxing

When he's annoyed, he'll flick his feet and walk away

Sometimes, he'll kick whatever or whoever is irritating him (like in the first picture)

If he starts nibbling on you while in animal form, it's a sign of affection

Speaking of nibbling, rabbits eat 2-3% of their weight in vegetables.

He's a big boy, so... yeah... have fun. :)

Side note, he's very cuddly.

He rivals Jisung in his attachment to you

He will change into his animal form so it's easier for him to be close to you

Sometimes he'll go flying around the room

Kind of like the zoomies but for bunnies

He is a little dramatic

When he's really relaxed and feels safe, he'll flop over

If he's in animal form, he just does it. Doesn't matter where he is

If he's in human form, he'll flop on the nearest soft object or on the nearest person

Hyunjin (Ferret)

His fur is mostly brown, but he has 2 white rings of fur on his face with a brown spot under one of his eyes.

In human form, his hair is brown, and his animal ears have a white rim.

He's so hyper.

If he isn't running or jumping around the room, he's asleep in a dark space.

Probably under the covers or in a drawer somewhere

Ferrets eat 5-7% of their weight a day.

As a hybrid, he can eat 4% of his weight a day and still be considered healthy.

I recommend just feeding him 5% to be on the safer side.

Ferrets have poor vision. Unfortunately, Hyunjin has poor vision in both his forms.

He wears contacts in human form.

He will snuggle under your clothes and against your skin

If you have a bigger chest, he'll lay between your tits/pecks

If your chest his flatter, then he'll curl up on the left side so he can hear your heart better

When he wants to play, he'll run at people and then quickly run off

He'll keep repeating this until they get the message

When he's angry, he glares and hisses at whatever is causing his anger

He makes cute chitter noses and sniffs when he's curious

Just like other ferrets, he squints when he's sick

Don't get scared if you try to wake him and he doesn't move.

When he sleeps, he's GONE!

He won't wake up until his body is ready.

I like the idea that he scrunches his nose when he's confused

Like genuinely confused. Not "What are you doing?" Confused

I'm talking "What the hell is this thing?" confused

Shit you not! If you have salty skin or a hybrid safe lotion on, he'll lick you. Both in animal form and in human form

He has to be near sleep to start licking you as a human, though

Ferrets kiss, by the way

It's how they show affection

So don't be surprised if you get grabbed and you feel thick lips smack your cheek

He's just giving you a little appreciation, that's all :)

Sometimes, Hyunjin likes to be difficult in his human form

So, like a ferret, if he wants something, he will stare at you.

When you acknowledge him, and you will, he'll repeated glance at what he wants

He refuses to verbalize it until you either get it correct or he's tired of you guess incorrectly.

All just depends on his mood and how generous he's feeling that moment

Ferrets with splay out and sigh when they're sad

It's so fucking cute

Hyunjin does the same thing but on top of you

If you're working on something, like a laptop or iPad, then he'll flop onto that.

Or he'll flop onto your book or something

When you're wearing a hoodie, he'll hide away from the others in your pocket

So make sure it has the one pocket thing and not 2

He can still fit in the smaller ones but he wants the space

Jisung (Squirrel)

He is a ground-dwelling squirrel.

He is usually found sitting on Tiger Minho's head.

Like other squirrels, he is terrified of owls

"Why would someone need to look that scary?! Or turn its head that much?!"

Squirrels do this thing called caching. It's where they find and hide food.

I shit you not! He hides so much food around the house.

He doesn't need a lot of food, but he will gladly stuff his face full.

If you have to travel, then take him with you. He loves to travel and hates being left by himself.

Doesn't matter if you're leaving him with the others. He wants to go with you.

Sometimes he'll sit directly on top of you or pressed against you.

You have no personal space.

If you don't like physical affection, let him down gently please.

He doesn't want to be the cause of your discomfort, so tell him in the most fragile way possible

With that being said, he will use his face to get out of trouble

Quickly turning into his animal form and acting cute so you won't be angry

If that doesn't work, then he's dipping

I'm talking hightailing it out the room and into the backyard

You won't see him until dinner or it's bedtime

Speaking of bedtime, he wants you to tuck him in

So please do it. Give him a kiss on each cheek and then one on his forehead and he'll be good to go.

DON'T TUCK THE BLANKET IN

It makes him feel trapped and like he's in a cage.

Makes him more likely to have nightmares, too.

Felix (Ginger Cat)

Felix is also, unfortunately, considered a defect.

His fur is a golden orange color with lighter stripes.

His eyes look green in the sun, but they're amber.

His "defect" is also from his human form.

His hair is blond like the strips, so his ears stick out. His freckles are also, unfortunately, considered a "flaw."

Most people think when a cat rubs its head against you, it's a sign of affection, which it is, but it's also them marking their territory.

They're scenting you and showing ownership over you.

It's how cats show pride in their belongings :)

If you let him out of the house to hunt, he will return with "food" for you.

He doesn't really think much of it. It's just his cat's side telling you you're family.

I guarantee you'll walk in on Felix either biting the shit out of a toy or him chasing Hyunjin around the room.

Did you know that cats knead because of their early days of nursing?

Kittens would knead at their mothers to encourage milk production. Adult cats knead to show content or to calm down.

Think of it as Felix feeling safe with you.

Felix is the definition of "If I fits, I sits"

If you're curled up on the couch, then he's curled up in the space behind your knees and thighs.

Small spaces make cats feel safe, so be sure to give Felix spots to hide in.

It helps with his natural instinct to ambush.

If Felix stares at you with thin pupils, try not to stare back.

It's his inner cat on high alert, and it could take that as you threatening him.

Meanwhile, slow blinks are kitty kisses.

If you slowly blink back at Felix, he'll do it repeatedly if he's in cat form. If he's in human form, he'll latch onto you and give you cuddles.

If Felix's nightly zoomies irritate you, feed him before you go to bed, make sure he tires himself out before bed, or get him a food puzzle.

Nightly zoomies are leftover energy mixed with their instinct to hunt during the night.

Airplane ears!

If Felix's ears are just sitting up, then he's listening to his surroundings. If his ears are flicking around, then he's agitated or dealing with anxiety.

Either peacefully help him or leave him alone. If he's in cat form, then leave him alone. He'll come to you if he wants to.

Felix knocks things over only when he is bored, as other cats do. It fascinates him to see things topple over. If you want Felix to stop, find a way to entertain him.

When he flops onto your things, it's him scenting your stuff to show you're his and a sign he wants attention.

When the tip of Felix's tail twitches it can mean he's curious or he's hunting. It'll go away when he calms down.

Seungmin (Golden Retriever)

Golden Retriever

A sassy, playful ball of golden fur. He needs frequent exercise and sheds a lot.

Unlike your stereotypical golden retriever, Seungmin's fur is more soft wheat than golden yellow.

His floppy ears blend with his hair when in human form.

Seungmin doesn't like to be left alone. He won't tell you to stay. He will follow you around.

Seungmin doesn't actively seek out strangers. If someone tries to pet him, then he'll move away.

He also doesn't jump on people and hates when others jump on him.

He's not as social as your average Golden Puppy.

I recommend having a big yard for him to run around if you don't have one for the bigger animals.

Please make sure you feed him the proper amounts. He won't hesitate to raid the fridge if he's hungry.

When he grabs things with his mouth, he's extremely careful.

Softly grabbing your arms or a book to move it out of the way.

He'll share his food with you if you beg enough. He won't actively go out of his way to feed you unless you're ill.

If he's being "Destructive" it's because he isn't stimulated enough.

He needs more mental and physical exercise.

He doesn't have separation anxiety unless you decide to give him a terrible backstory on how you found him.

Otherwise, he's pretty confident that you'll come back home.

If something comes up, you'll communicate the issue and a general idea of when you might be home.

If you don't, he'll be pissed.

It's like breaking a pinky promise. Don't do that.

He'll bop you in the face

Jeongin (Fennec Fox)

Fennec Fox

He's got big ass ears and they grow to accommodate his head in human form (Minho thinks it's hilarious)

He's got a cream color hair with white streaks in them

You can barely see the streaks, but the others tell you they're there

He's such a smart cookie until he gets in his animal form.

Then it's like he lost all brain cells except one. That 1 brain cell alternates between Hyunjin, Changbin, and Jeongin. Occasionally, Jisung will get it.

He kind of just rolls around

He's just there, chilling in the silence or the chaos

In animal form, he'll curl up on your lap or on the bed

If you're in an office, pull up a chair next to you and he'll lay in that instead

He may think you're mad at him, but just giving him rubs or head pats and he's good

He's kind of like a cat

You have to gage his moods

If he doesn't want to be touched, he'll look at you as you touch him like the picture on the left

Just "Mittens off, human" paws crossed and everything

Buy him clothes for his animal form. PLEASE

He loves them

Go to Pinterest or something and look up fennec fox in clothes or something and it's so flipping cute

You know that dolphin screech Jeongin does? That but in animal form...

The picture on the right for the header of this post?

That's him when he has too much energy, but no thoughts to put into action

As a human, he's like your average Jeongin, but with big ass fluffy ears and tail.

Sometimes he knocks stuff over with his tail and he's so sorry

After something crashed, you can hear him whine in the kitchen from your bedroom

The others don't tease him as much as they could because they know he's genuinely sad about it

Not insecure, but definitely annoyed with himself for messing something up again

Reassure him please.

Don't make it too obvious because then he'll shut down and tune you out

Not intentionally, it's just his brain's self defense.

It doesn't want to be reminded of his mistakes.

It's the main reason why he likes staying in his animal form.

This was fun

©️DEANAMEANTAE2024

[bugboysgf]

Me?

Summary: You transfer to KISS for the the semester to be closer to Kitty but somebody catches your  eye….

AN: I just finished xo kitty an hour ago and looked on tumblr for fanfics but i couldn't find any so i wrote one myself. (kinda rushed so don't judge)

��Okay we should share this room together” you look up from your phone to see Kitty sitting on the bed.

“Okay cool.” you huffed. You were so nervous you've  never been miles away from your home before.

“Be happy your parents let you go this semester, it's a big deal.”

“I know…. I just don't speak Korean and I'm here. You've been here for one Semester already and you basically know everybody I transfer in the middle of the year.”

“But you were sad that you couldn't come to korea with me and my family now you are here coming to school with me.'' Kitty tried to get you to look at the bright side.

“Okay fine, so when can I meet your friends?” you asked

“Right now actually I'm pretty sure Min Ho, Q and Dae are at the dorm. You already met Julianna and yuri.” she grabs your hand and leads you to the boys dorms.

Your heart was beating the whole time, you had trouble making friends at school. Last semester you were all alone. Kitty was in Korea and she was your only friend. You were happy that you could be together now.

Kitty opens the door of the dorm and you both walk in.Then three pairs of eyes were on you. You kept your head low avoiding eye contact.

“Kitty! Your back!” a guy with curly hair hugs her. When they stop hugging he looks at you.

“Q this is y/n.”

“Hi nice to meet you.”

“Hi” you gave him a small smile. You notice another guy hugging her and you could tell who it was straight away, it was Dae.

“Good to see you in person and not a photo.” he smiles.

“Good to see you too Dae.” you said

“Please tell me you're not annoying like kitty is.” you look at the guy talking, he must be Min Ho, he's the only one you haven't met.

“I- l- don't think i am?” you say more as a question. The first thing you noticed was how attractive he was, you knew you couldn’t like him, you promised not to focus on boys. You look at a Kitty and you can tell she's on it already. She knows, she always knows.

“One thing I can say for certain is that you're prettier than a Kitty.” he looks at the Kitty with a shit eating grin.

“Haha, so funny.” Kitty glared at him “and don't flirt with my friend.'' Kitty flicks him off as he walks back to his room.

“He wasn't flirting with me” you came to his defense.

“He definitely was.” Q said.

“Sadly she doesn't know what flirting is, the last guy that flirted with her she said he was being nice but he was checking her out and telling her how pretty she was!”

“He was just being nice!”

—-

It wasn't a secret that you knew nothing about guys or how to talk to them. The only thing you knew about love was reading Harry Styles fanfics in the 6th grade. But Kitty knew everything she was a love expert and she only had one boyfriend. She makes you believe that the right one could be anywhere you just have to believe.

“Okay i'm ready.” you came out of the room. Kitty looks at you and frowns.

“Yea no. You are not wearing that.”

“What's wrong with it?” you look down at your outfit. You thought it looks good for the welcome back party.

“Did you forget that Min ho is going to be there? You can't show up with that on. You need something that makes a statement.”

“I've only said like three words to him, he doesn't like me.”

“Oh trust me he does, i've never seen him look at somebody like he does with you. Now change into this.” she hands you one of her dresses. You hold it up in the air, you couldn't say no to kitty she doesn't take no for an answer anyways.

—

“I can't believe I'm wearing this and I look good.” you said fixing your dress.

“Told you. He's here…look!" Kitty pointed to Min ho. “I'm going to leave now” Kitty got up from her seat when Min ho started walking towards you.

“Kitty what, no.” you tried to stop her while she was already walking away. You started to panic how were you going to talk to this attractive guy, that is way out of your league.

“Is anybody sitting here?” Min Ho said.

“Here? Oh no. no one. Sit.” you said a little too quickly, you were shaking your leg to try to calm down.

“Are you okay?” he put his hand on your thigh, you didn't answer, you looked at his hand on your thigh then looked back up at him. Your eyes were wide, heart beating faster than it was before.

“Oh sorry” he took his hand off of your thigh “So why did you come to kiss?” He continue talking like nothing happened.

“To be closer to Kitty she's like my only friend and also she said it was nice here so…”

“I mean it is, if you ever want me to show you around i could.” he offered. You shook your head and laughed. “What is it?” you could tell he was sort of offended.

“Nothing Kitty just told me you were a pain in the ass, but you're actually nice.”

“Of course, nice to pretty girls like you.” he smiled. Kitty told you that he thought he was the hot shit, and you hated that in guys but for some reason you just found yourself attractive to him.

“Thanks, you're not too bad yourself.” you nudged him

—

2 weeks later

“First A+ of the semester.” you danced with kitty.

“And we did it together.” kitty said “hows you and Min ho by the way, you haven't been talking about him”

“Nothing, I think we are just friends but I don't really know when somebody likes me.”

“I see it he definitely does just go for it i mea-” kitty stops talking when she sees you looking  at a text on your phone “your smiling it's him!”

“I have to go tutor Min ho bye.” you grab your backpack and open the door.

“Remember what I said!” Kitty yells.

“I will!”

—

“Done” Min ho hands you a paper. You look at the paper and realize most of the answers are wrong.

“Min ho you forgot to subtract.” you told him, you've been telling him this for the last 3 days and he keeps forgetting.

“Sorry I keep getting distracted.”

“Is it your phone? Turned it off.” you reach for his phone but he grabs it before you can.

“No it's this girl.”

“A girl?” you look up at him not sure what to say next.

“Yes this girl, i want to ask her on a date but i'm not sure if she likes me. She gives me mixed signals. What should I do?” he asks.

“Oh um.” you know right now you need to not sound jealous. “Just ask her out, if she says no then she's missing out.”

“Alright… will you go out with me?” you look at him stunned.

“Me. why?” you say confused you're not sure what to say, nobody has ever asked you out before.

“Because I like you.” He says like its so obvious.

“Me?  You like me? Is this a prank?” you look around to see if people are looking at you but nobody is.

“No? Why would it be a prank? Do you not like me back?” “I do.. I've just never been on a date before.” you confessed.

“Then i'll be your first.” he smiles and holds your hand.

[finelinevogue]

so proud

summary - the morning after the final show

word count: ~1k

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

The next morning was peaceful.

You woke up first and after having forgotten to close the blinds, the light was already streaming inside your bedroom window.

Harry’s Italian house being bought in the countryside meant there was no noise surrounding you. It was just the clattering of guests downstairs making breakfast and morning coffees.

You and Harry were normally early risers, but after last night you both deserved the lay in. Harry more so than you, but Harry can’t sleep without you so it meant you had to stay with him.

“Harry, bub.” You moved your hands over his bare back.

Harry was laying on his front, face smushed into the pillow from such a great nights sleep. After the final show, you’d all gone out for drinks to celebrate and then come back to the house for more celebrations. However, those celebrations mainly included you and Harry having endless rounds of sex until the early hours of the morning.

It was now ten in the morning and you both needed to be up to see some guests off.

You and Harry were staying for another few weeks, but Anne and others had lives and jobs to get back to.

“Mm.” He mumbled, his lips slightly rolled due to his face being engulfed by the pillow.

His hair was very messy and curly this morning. You started picking some piece off of his face, watching as his eyelids fluttered from the disturbance.

The sunshine was glazing over his body so perfectly.

He looked like a summers dream.

“Wake up, m’love.” You moved the covers down over his body to expose him to the morning air, kissing his bare back as you did so.

You kissed all his tiny moles and freckles, before kissing the one part of him that had only been yours and his for so long; his birthmark.

He hummed again as he felt you kiss him on his lower back.

“Kiss me a bit lower.” He mumbled cheekily.

You responded by nipping at his skin with your teeth. You made your way back up his body and kissed his cheek finally, watching his eye open.

“Hey, handsome.” You smiled, cupping his cheek and leaning down to awkwardly kiss him on his lips. It was a difficult position to kiss him in, but you didn’t mind.

“Hey.” He smiled, the pillow creasing slightly from the movement.

“How’s my shining star feeling this morning?” You asked, tucking his hair behind his ear. You mentally reminded yourself to give him a haircut soon.

“Still shining.”

“So proud of you.” You nuzzled your nose against his.

“You might’ve mentioned that last night.” Harry rolled over and snaked an arm around your waist in the process, so he could have a feel of you in the morning.

“I definitely showed it.” You teasingly smiled.

“You did, baby.” Harry smiled as he reminisced the night in his mind. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes with his free hand, waking himself up.

You watched him for a few moments, just watching him soak in the morning sun like he was an expert at it. He glowed so bright.

Last night was so incredible.

He shone so bright last night.

Brighter than the moon he admired so much.

You twisted your body as sat up more, facing the wall on the opposite side to Harry.

You looked to the ceiling as you tried to conceal your tears. You wiped under your eyes as you tried to push the tears back into your eyes, but no matter because the wall became blurry within seconds.

No sounds had to be made for Harry to know you were upset.

He sat up instantly and wrapped one arm around your waist and the other softly cupped your chin to direct your face to his.

“Hey? What’s with the tears?” He asked, frowning because he hated seeing you upset.

“I’m so proud to the point where I can’t stop crying.” You laughed, thinking it was such a silly reason for crying now that you’d said it out loud.

“Baby…” Harry said softly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. No sorry’s needed. Cry all y’want, love. God knows I did all the crying last night.” Harry tried to lighten the atmosphere with a silly joke.

You laughed again. Harry used his fingers to wipe the tears below your eyes.

“I love you. So much.” You let him know.

“I know. I love you just as much.” He nodded.

“You’re so amazing. You’re so cool. You’re a star. What you did last night… Well done, baby. I’m just so proud.”