I’m A Trash Can Not A Trash Can’t
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Rey notices him the moment she walks into the Great Hall with the rest of the seventh years.
In her defense, he's hard to miss.
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A cynical inner voice told him that of course she was flirting; he was wearing an Italian suit and a watch that cost three hundred thousand dollars, give or take. But her profile was silhouetted against the Eiffel Tower and Jacques Brel was playing on the speakers, and so his heart skipped a beat.
Fucking Paris.
Or: One summer night in the City of Love, a drunken wager is turned on its head and Ben Solo makes the biggest mistake of his life.
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“He died when I was fourteen. I jerked off in the bathroom at his funeral.”
Peter is going to hell. He was probably headed there before this, but now? The demons are definitely designing Peter his own special circle.
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Raha takes matters into his own hands for the first time in three hundred years. Naturally, he’s terrible at keeping secrets. No plot, just smut/fluff, do not perceive me.The physical act was nothing to be ashamed of, Raha knew that much—but the fact he’d reverted to thinking of her, of all things…
He had lied about worse to her. It would be an easy thing, to conceal something so trivial from her.
So he thought.