#(its cut to three or four inches rn)

[callsign-rogueone]

Can you give us the director’s cut for Conscription Day with Aaric and Sunny? There’s not nearly enough content out there for our favorite little princeling, and I’d love to hear your thoughts!

-fw-gt

absolutely I can!! you know how obsessed I am with them rn. I’ve been working on their later chapters a lot, really getting into the drama… ugh they’re so healing to write. my future king and queen 💗

It persists through the handful of boring patriotic speeches about the commitment you’ve made to your country, which go in one ear and out the other. You know why you’re here. You don’t need to be given any other reasons.

with unmarked characters, I feel the need to give them motivation for joining up that isn’t just squarely patriotic, since Navarre is pretty corrupt lmao. Peach is here because she wants to help people by being a healer and because it’s a way to get a more stable comfortable life than being a farmer’s daughter — I imagine it similar to the US where you can get free medical school if you work as a military doctor for X amount of years. and then Sunny… she’s running away just as much as Aaric is, but she’s also looking for something here. that’s all you get for now.

Maybe you’re a little bit alike in that regard; not in your level of preparation — you’re definitely the least-armed person in the squad, and likely in the entire quadrant, with one knife at each hip and absolutely nothing else, as that was all you’d been able to afford before you left for Basgiath — but in the way you present yourselves to the rest of the world, focusing on figuring everyone else out and keeping quiet, not sharing much.

love me some comparing and contrasting! I’ve already told y’all that Sunny is going to be his complete opposite, not in terms of personality, but in status and upbringing. she was poor as a kid, and still is poor as a young adult, and therefore is basically completely disenfranchised and powerless. especially compared to a prince. BUT they’re both nervous little bbs on day one, Sunny because she’s not sure she’ll make it, and Aaric because he’s a trying to not be found out. and so is she… no I will not elaborate at this time.

One of the wingleaders, the only girl of the four, shouts something you can’t distinguish, and then there’s a chorus of screams as the orange unhinges its massive jaw, spewing red flame upon the formation. A girl across the courtyard springs into action, leaping in front of her wing with her palms outstretched, making some kind of invisible shield over herself and the group of students behind her that deflects the fire. and All of Second Wing seems intact, having been protected by the girl who had put up the air shield. She looks a little unsteady on her feet, but otherwise unharmed — it must have taken a lot of energy to do something like that.

some people already guessed, but this is darling and love btw!! wingleader Laurent and section leader Callwell. they’re going to be running second wing with efficiency and grace and a healthy amount of mom energy. and maybe expect a little moment between Dain and Love after this, him checking on her and being a protective little secret bf 🥺

The boy you’d been watching locks eyes with you, and then you’re on the ground underneath him in a matter of seconds, wrapped up in each other; chest to chest, his hands braced against the gravel on either side of your head, one leg between yours, your faces less than three inches apart.

in the book, bb prince uses himself as a human shield over some random girl. what a guy. ngl I kinda swooned when I read that. something about a prince putting others before himself… idk. anyway I kinda just replaced that girl with sunny hsjsb but this was also an opportunity to get them close. neither of them were making eye contact, until now, when they’re close enough to kiss. they won’t be kissing for quite a while, though. this is going to be my attempt at a slow-burn.

The intimacy, the implications of this position you’re in with a total stranger, a man you’ve never met, and an armed one, at that, should make your skin crawl, should make you want to kick and scratch to get him off of you, but you stay in place, under the safety of his armored shoulders, because it’s clear that he doesn’t want to hurt you, or to assert his power over you — but to protect you.

I guess this is your first warning (of several more to come) that Sunny’s backstory is going to be a little dark?? I’m not going to write her past out in detail, but there’s going to be some implications of bad things that are up for interpretation by each reader, but ultimately lead to her being wary of men and strangers in general. Aaric is going to have to prove his mettle, that he’s not a bad guy. like socializing a feral cat. and that slow process started today. she’s already getting a vibe that he’s a safe person, but all bets are off in this environment where it’s kill or be killed.

He reaches forward to brush the dirt from your hair, tucking a loosened strand behind your ear. Your heart has never beat this fast in your life. You’ve never been touched this gently, never seen such a deep look of concern in a man’s eyes, that gorgeous shade of green looking down at you…  You realize that he’s still holding your hand — rather, you’re still holding his. You let go quickly, your cheeks warming with embarrassment. 

see above. + there’s some magnetism there, some mutual attraction, and the beginning of Aaric realizing that he wants to protect this girl with his life. Sunny has never felt like this before, and probably isn’t even sure what this feeling is, but she knows deep down that it isn’t bad, that he isn’t bad — she doesn’t realize that she’s still holding him because it feels safe and natural, even if those feelings are new and unusual to her.

First Wing was far enough away to be unscathed, but Third Wing, and the squad beside yours… if you had been placed anywhere else, there would have been a reasonable chance that you’d have been burnt alive.

luck, fate, or divine intervention, whatever you want to call it, is going to play a considerable role in her life and her time at Basgiath. you might notice in later chapters, a certain other girlfriend’s prayers are always answered — but Sunny doesn’t even have to ask. that’s all I’ll say here.

You step back into place at the back of the block, between your hero and a blonde girl who looks like she regrets eating breakfast this morning. “Deep breaths,” you whisper to her. “In through your nose, out through your mouth, like you’re blowing bubbles. and The boy is right — the three of you should look out for each other, if you want to make it out of here alive.

if this wasn’t clear, this is Sloane!! her and Aaric (and kinda Visia too but she’s less important) are gonna be Sunny’s gang, much like Ridoc and Sawyer and Rhi are Violet’s. and she still doesn’t know Aaric’s name here, or Sloane’s, but she’s already starting to get the feeling that they’re safe (not going to turn on her) and that they need to stick together.

plus a sneaky peekie because I cannot resist:

You give him a warm smile, grabbing one yourself along with a short knife. “You’re digging in too hard, and taking the meat along with it. You need to hold it more flat, and scrape, to take off just the skin. Like that.”

the boy can fight, and he’s well-read and knows fancy etiquette and all that… but he’s missing several normal-people-life-skills. baby prince cannot peel a potato to save his life. Sunny won’t judge him for it though. and he won’t judge her for not knowing certain things either.

+ some hints in the form of emoji:

💙🧡👑🎶🍓🩹👻🍀

okay I need to stop now. I’m giving it all away. but more of them soon!! they’re gonna be my next gf chapter because I luv them. and because once I finish ch 2, ch 3-4 are basically ready to go already hehe

[tiedshoelace]

Happy pride month I’m transgender

[wreckofawriter]

Drunken Kisses

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Alochal use, swears like twice

Request: @justsomeficsyo hey my love, I hope you're doing well with lockdown! Could I request number 46 with Draco? If not use it for any other character (if you're sick of writing for him), I always love ur writing! ❤️❤️

46- you’re drunk at this festival and dancing on the table and when you eventually fell i caught you

A/n: not gonna cap, kinda feel like this is shit but oh well. Idek what to say, I'm pretty sure I'm in a slump rn, my last two fics have been actual garbage. I hope you guys like it better than I do.

    The quidditch world cup was something you had been wanting to go to for ages. You went to one when you were fourteen but it didn’t end well and since then all you had been wanting to do was go to one where you wouldn’t be almost burnt alive. You loved the sport, you played it for your own school and made a decent beater, since you graduated and stopped playing your thirst for the game grew. You finally decided after your second year of college you would go. You rounded up a bunch of your friends and apparated to the stadium. It had been built the year before, brand new everything, you were thrilled. 

    You and your friends all have the same intention when going to the game and that was to watch quidditch and get completely smashed. You were going into your third year of college the next year which meant you would have to buckle down and work so this was about it for the year. You were dressed in red and black clothes that showed too much, one of your favorite teams, the Buglrians was back in the cup thanks to their far too attractive seeker; Viktor Krum. You and four others piled into your tent where Gabby and Annabeth had already started drinking. You laughed at them claiming you weren’t going to start till five and they booed mixing up a margarita with too much vodka. 

    By the time the match started, you were two drinks in and Gabby was nearly blackout drunk. Annabeth had already passed out. You tried to wake her up before sighing and tucking the covers up to her chin. You made your way through the crowds of people, you and the three girls you were with all should have been wearing more than you were but none of you gave areally cared. Alex had the word ‘Krum’ painted across her stomach and you and Ruby both had black and red handprints covering your legs and arms. You were all covered in glitter and glow sticks which were enchanted to circle around your frame. 

Some Holyhead Harpie fans booed as you walked past and you flipped them off while Gabby shouted, “You’re just mad you're gonna lose!” 

You got to the stands pushing your way through a few people and climbing way too many stairs until you were in the center of the piled seats, You stood at the railing as Alex passed you a beer. You made small talk until the announcer came on introducing the teams. You all screamed like crazy when the Bulgarians flew into the field, Krum did a handstand on his broom whipping past and Ruby mumbled, “God he’s hot” Next to you. 

The game was amazing. You were getting progressively louder as it went on. 40 points Harpy’s, 20 Bulgaria, then 60 Harpy’s, 70 Bulgaria. Until finally, as the game progressed Krum came dive-bombing out of the sky streaking after a flash of gold. He caught it moments before pulling upwards holding it in his fist. You were elated. 

The four of you headed back towards your tent, Gabby was giggling about something you couldn’t make sense of as when suddenly a guy around your age popped out of his tent holding a pack of beers.

    “Blaise?” Ruby asked in disbelief. The name rung a distant bell.

    He turned towards you, “Holy shit Ruby?” 

    She laughed walking over to him, you followed a bit confused, your mind hazy with alcohol. 

    They talked for a second before she turned to introduce you. You smiled and shook his hand and suddenly it struck you, “Oh! You’re the guy she had a major crush on in high school.” 

    Your eyes widened as you slapped your hand over your mouth Alex burst out laughing. 

    “Sorry.” You mumbled, “Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

    The man brushed it off with a wave of his hand, “You guys should head over with me, a bunch of us have a bonfire going and I think someone brought a keg.” 

    “Then why are you carrying a six-pack of beer?” Alex asked.

    “Because their stuff probably tastes like shit.” He shrugged, “Are you guys coming?” 

    Ruby glanced back at you and you shrugged, “Why not?” 

   

    You followed Blaise about a quarter-mile from your tent to where a massive fire was raging. There must have been thirty college kids in the area, filling picnic tables and dancing on the grass. Someone had brought two kegs actually and it was apparent that a good chunk of them were hammered. It was dead silent until you stepped into a small glowing ring and suddenly the music was so loud you had to shout to hear anything.

    The smell of burning wood, weed, and beer was thick as yelling and laughter could be heard above the pop song which blared overhead. You laughed turning to see that Alex was already making her way towards one of the kegs. You followed her getting booed by a group of people sitting at a picnic table who were adorned in green and yellow. 

    “You’re the ones who lost!” Alex shouted from over your shoulder handing you a blue cup. Blaise was right, the beer tasted like shit.

    Draco watched as Blaise returned with four girls in tow. He sighed, rolling his eyes, not at all surprised by the new additions. All four were in black and red and were smiling widely. He snickered watching as one stumbled over nothing before finding her way to a picnic table. When his eyes landed on you they widened, your hair was messy and swiped back from your face, your cheeks flushed the shorts you were wearing left little to the imagination and the t-shirt was hugging your curves. You were stunning. His mouth went dry as his gaze followed you toward a keg, you laughed as one of your friends said something he couldn’t make out. Your smile was mesmerizing. 

    Draco was broken from his trance when Blaise coupled with one of the girls from before sat in front of him blocking his view.

    “Draco, you remember Ruby right?” he spoke gesturing towards the girl. 

    “Totally.” He lied, “Good to see you.” he craned his neck to the side attempting to catch a glimpse of you again. 

    Blaise raised an eyebrow, “Watcha looking for?” he asked, turning around too.

    “Nothing.” Draco shrugged, finding you sitting on the grass with the girl from before. 

    “See a hot girl?” Ruby joked, smirking following his gaze, “That’s y/n by the way.” 

    Draco felt his cheeks go hot, “I’m sorry who’s y/n?”

    “Who do you think?” She laughed, “The one you’re staring at, I’m not blind.” 

    “Which one is y/n again?” Blaise questioned, “Redhead or y/h/c?”

“Y/h/c.” Ruby responded, “She’s single you know.” she wiggled her eyebrows, “Very single.”

“Well, that’s convenient.” Baise mussed, “So is Draco” 

He rolled his eyes at their smirks and took a beer from the pack his friend had brought. His eyes wandered back to you as Ruby and Blaise’s conversation left without him. You were laying on your back now laughing hysterically as your friend tried to drink lying down, spilling beer down her front. You lifted out your wand to clean it before leaning over and whispering something into her ear. You waved it twice at the fire and suddenly it flickered deep black and red flames.  

“Bulgaria!” You and your friend shouted as Ruby turned around laughing. A few words from Harpy fans had the fire turned back to its original color. 

“Y/n! Alex!” Ruby called beckoning you towards them with a hand. 

You stumbled to your feet, white tennis shoes smudged with grass, “What’s up?” You giggled walking around the table and seating yourself next to Draco, Alex slumped on your other side.  

“Not much we were-” She was cut off when the song suddenly changed.

You squealed, leaping to your feet and hitting your bare knees on the hardwood, you didn’t seem to notice. You snatched Alex’s hand dragging her to her feet as well. You blurted out lyrics off-key as you climbed onto the table, glow sticks hovering around you as you swayed your hips to the music. You twirled on the tips of your shoes bringing your beer to your lips as a microphone 

Cheers and whistles from nearby people only encouraged you as you continued to drunkenly dance on the table “My loneliness is killing me, I must confess I still believe.” You drew out each word. Feet tapping along with the beat as Alex jumps up with you grabbing your hands. You sang together as Ruby howled with laughter beneath you. 

Your feet caught suddenly and you tumbled backward with scream you knocked directly into Draco’s’s chest knocking him from his seat and onto the grass with a thump. Draco groaned, opening his eyes and feeling his cheeks flush. You were laying on top of him, your hands holding you up as your face hovered just over his. 

Your eyes were wide as you traced the man’s features. His shimmering blond hair, deep red cheeks, sharp jawline, and icy blue eyes. Your heart sped in your chest as your gaze flicked down to his pink lips which were parted slightly. 

“You’re so pretty.” You mumbled and Draco felt his breath leave his lungs. 

“I should be saying that to you.” He countered shakily.

You giggled, staring for a moment too long, “I should probably stand up.” 

He nodded slowly, “Yeah.”

You got to your feet, Draco doing the same, both of you were bright red as you turned back to the group, Blaise winked at him and he rolled his eyes. 

The conversation continued and you slowly began to inch towards Draco craving his warmth, he smelt of expensive college and mint, it was intoxicating. The blonde almost jumped when he felt you lean onto him, your hand resting on his thigh. You laid your head onto his shoulder and Draco found himself resisting the urge to lean back into you. 

As the party began to dwindle Ruby decided that you should probably head back to your tent when Alex passed out on the table. 

“Where’s Gabby?” She asked glancing around to see her sitting with a group of girls you didn’t recognize. You pouted as she attempted to haul you to your feet.

“Y/n, we have to go.” She mumbled as you clung to Draco’s arm. He looked stunned.

“No!” You whined, “I don’t want to go!”

“God, you’re like a toddler when your drunk.” She huffed pinching the bridge of her nose. 

Finally, you got to your feet, stumbling and falling almost immediately. Draco stood to help you when he offered you a hand you took it but when he pulled you toward him you used that momentum to smash yourself onto his lips. 

You stood on your toes ramming your tongue into his mouth your eyes closed as you pulled him towards you. Draco kissed you back for just a second before pushing you away. 

Ruby stared at the scene her jaw dropped. 

“Why’d you pull away?” You pouted up at him, your hands fiddling with his shirt. 

“Because you are crazy drunk.” He responded hardly able to make out the sentence. 

“Fine. I'll kiss you when I’m not drunk.” You declared turning to Ruby, “Do you have a pen?” 

She shook her head.

You groaned snatching your wand from your pocket and shouting, “Accio pen!” about a dozen rushed at you. You snatched one turning to Draco and grabbing his hand, pulling up his shirt. You began to write on his forearm, the cap of the pen lodged between your lips. 

You pulled away, your phone number scrawled onto his skin, “You better call me.” You mumbled turning on your heels to follow your friends. 

Ruby snorted “You are going to regret so much of what just happened tomorrow morning.” 

Taglist:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

@sleepingalaska

@chloe-geoghegan1

Masterlist

[writings-of-hazel]

Forgotten Gospel: Smutt Scene

(i’m going through writer’s block rn, and it’s really bad lol. anywho here is this spicy asf smutt from the chapter. idek what warnings to put so- yeah)

“Wake up.”

“Mickey, Mallory, Rise n shine”

“Hey, hey wake up.”

Diane’s eyes flickered open and a small gasp escaped her lips. Catching her breath she looked around her blurred surroundings. She felt Sam’s heavy arm still wrapped around her, his rumbling chest pressed against her back. She made eye contact with the older Winchester, kneeling beside the bed, inches away from her face.

“Jesus Dean,” Diane whispered, reaching out and pushing her palm against Dean’s chest “Why the hell are you up in my face like that it’s creepy.”

Dean stumbled back a bit, narrowing his eyes at her.

The rumbling in Sam’s chest came to a pause, stirring in his sleep as a long yawn escaped his lips. Still asleep he buried his face into the dark mess of curls at the back of Diane’s head.

Dean reached over to the bedside table, turning on the table lamp and pulling himself up. Light flooded across the room causing Diane to squint and Sam to burrow his face deeper, shielding his eyes with her dark hair.

“I was checking dad’s police scanner.” Dean grunted, sitting down on the bed across from them.

This peaked Sam’s interest, his eyes fluttering open as he pulled his face out from its nest, watching his brother over Diane’s shoulder.

“And...it looks like there’s a case here.” Dean continued, his features hardening.

Sam pulled away from Diane, sitting up straight “How so?” He asked, running his hand along his face, rubbing the fatigue out of his eyes.

“They found two bodies near town, brains entirely cut out.” Dean continued, reaching underneath the motel bed and pulling out his steel toed boots, pulling them on his feet and lacing them.

Diane’s eyes widened as she sat up in the bed, her back falling against the headboard with a thud. The three had rarely, if ever, where caught in a case without John. Thinking of his absence made chills run up her spine, though she swallowed the new bubbling fear.

Sam pursed his lips, springing himself off the bed and onto his feet. He began to pace back and forth, running his hand through his shaggy hair “What are we gonna do?” Sam asked, glancing from Dean to Diane.

“Call dad, it’s what we should of done in the first place.” Dean muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cellphone.

“Yeah that’ll work,” Said Sam, his voice dripping with sarcasm “He’s miles away Dean-“

“He can get here in less than seventy hours Sam don’t fight me on this.” Dean snapped, sending his brother a glare. He flipped open his phone and began searching through his contacts. As he was about to press call, Sam’s large hand swiftly snatched the phone from his hands.

“Dude!” Dean barked, flinging to his feet. Sam took a step back, holding Dean’s phone high above his head.

“We are more than capable of handling this Dean,” Sam said through pursed lips, holding his arm out to keep space “Whatever this is we can deal with it, ourselves. Before more bodies drop.”

“Give me the phone Sammy, I’m not asking again.” Dean warned, his eyes narrowing dangerously at his brother.

Sam shook his head stubbornly, taking another step back as Dean began walking towards him. Dean’s hand shot upwards to grab the phone out of Sam’s hands; Sam having a height advantage, easily dodged him.

“Give me the phone Sam.” Dean warned again as his face grew bright red, his teeth clenching together as he tried again, and again. Sam cracked a small smile at his older brother and Dean’s eyes flared. Before Sam could react, Dean flung himself to his brothers torso, tackling him to the ground. The brothers began to scuffle over the phone like two children fighting over a toy.

Diane shot up from the bed, running over to the Winchester’s.

“You fucking idiots!” Diane snapped, flinging herself onto Dean and knocking him off of Sam. Dean tried to push her off of him but she pulled him up by his collar, slamming him down against the floor with a hard thud. Diane has sparred with those boys her whole life, this was nothing particularly new for her. She straddled his torso, fumbling with his hands as she pinned them under her knees. “Dean stop it goddamn it!” She barked into his face. If Dean really wanted, he could overpower her, but eventually he let the young girl overpower him.

Dean let out a defeated sigh, letting his head fall back. He gave Diane an annoyed look, sweat drops rolling down his face. Sam pulled himself quickly to his feet and fumbled to Diane’s side.

When Diane was satisfied with Dean’s defeat she rolled off of him, Sam grabbing her arm and helping her to her feet. Dean flung himself off of the ground, brushing off his clothes.

“Dean, I really think we can handle this one.” Diane said softly.

“No, you know what screw you two, alright? I’m not gonna call Dad, but if something happens it’s on the both of you.” Dean spat angrily, his voice booming. Before they could say anything in response Dean stomped his way towards the door, snatching his leather jacket with him.

“I’m going out, I’ll be back by morning.” Dean muttered without looking at them, flinging his jacket over his shoulders. “Can I have my phone?” He asked, holding his hand out. Sam paused in hesitation, looking down at the silver device in his hands. Diane rolled her eyes, snatching it out of his hands with an annoyed huff.

She walked over to the older Winchester carefully “Yeah, here-“ Diane said, cut off by Dean aggressively swiping it out of her hands. Without another word Dean opened the door, walking out and slamming it behind him in Diane’s face. Diane flinched at the noise and let out a small sigh.

“He’ll be fine.” Came Sam’s voice from behind her.

Diane let out a small chuckle, turning around and looking at him “Yeah no thanks to you. You know, I’m sick and goddamn tired of all this shit” Diane shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.

Sam’s face fell at her words, his lips pulling into a tight line as he crossed his arms over his chest “And what’s that?” He asked calmly.

“Why couldn’t we just call John?” Diane asked “He could deal with this quick and I know you hate this kinda shit.” She let out a harsh sigh, reaching her hand up and pinching the bridge of her brow.

“Yeah and have him drill my ass for the next two weeks?” Sam retorted, tilting his head to the side “No thanks.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna drill your ass already for not calling him when there’s a case?” Diane asked sarcastically, raising her eyebrows at him.

Sam let out a scoff, folding his arms in front of him “Not if we deal with it.” He replied. Diane responded with a critical look, resting her hands on her hips.

Sam blinked and his head fell back, “I mean damn Diane, there’s three of us.” He let out an empty chuckle, raising a hand to his face and brushing away a few strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“Yeah and we don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet Sam! It’s not like we have John’s journal or any real equipment to deal with anything bigger than a pissed off ghost or two!” Diane exclaimed, throwing her arms up in frustration, she took a step towards Sam “Oh and let’s not forget! What about the body honey? How are we supposed to get in the morgue anyway? FBI agents? You look a stone away from seventeen and I stopped looking fourteen like a year ago.”

“Break in?” Sam replied with a shrug, who’s frustration was anything but dwindling.

The corner’s of Diane’s lips twitched a moment, her nose and her ears turning scarlet pink as gaze on the Winchester hardened. A moment of silence fell between the two before Diane let out a cold laugh.

“Okay,” She said in a mock tone, clapping her hands together. “Perfect. Sounds like a plan.”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, looking down at the ground for a moment. Why couldn’t she support him on this? Trusting someone other than Dean or John for once. “Diane I’m-“

“Save it.” She interrupted, holding out her hand gesturing for him to shut up, “It’s four o’clock, if we’re gonna check out our vic’s tomorrow, I at least wanna have four hours in.” Diane didn’t make eye contact with the Winchester as she pulled past him towards the bed, yanking back the bed covers and easing herself back into the mattress .

Sam pursed his lips, he felt bad for causing a fight, despite the occasional brawl being anything but abnormal.

“I’m sorry baby.” Sam mumbled, shuffling over to his side of the bed. Carefully, as if not to reignite the anger that was bubbling within his girlfriend, he went under the covers, giving her a foot of space.

Diane responded by flicking off the light and pulling the blankets over her head. She felt so, enraged, so absolutely pissed off. It was like a white hot iron burning in her stomach. She clenched her teeth, bundling her blankets into her hands and squeezing. It felt unexplainable, unreasonable. Sam didn’t even do anything that bad, neither did Dean. Then why was she so angry.

Sam let out a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. He was just as pissed as she was. But some how he was better at covering it up.

Diane was sure sleep wouldn’t visit her tonight, her mind was racing. The boys being well, themselves, didn’t help either. Dean just needed to blow off some steam, she thought, curling her arms into her chest. She was pissed at Sam’s stubbornness, but deep down she understood what he was doing. John had been grilling him for everything short of brushing his teeth lately, and with what little they did see of him only made it more frustrating for Sam. Her anger began to softly simmer down from its high, the heavy heat leaving her core and dispersed along her body. Diane heaved out a tired sigh, feeling the dip in the bed behind her shift. Sam’s long arm appeared from behind her as it wrapped around her waist.

“If what just happened wasn’t enough of a cue, I’m not in the mood for cuddling tonight.” Diane muttered in a venomous tone.

Sam’s arm didn’t budge, she felt his face nuzzle into her hair, his hot breath fanning her ear “Do you know what you do to me Diane.” He growled. Diane felt chills run up long her spine at his voice. She dug her teeth in her cheek to stop from smiling.

“Yeah well too bad dude- try another night when I don’t want to rip your face offwoOA-“ Diane let out a quick yelp as Sam swiftly yanked her onto her back, ripping the blankets away from her face.

Diane looked up at Sam in the darkened room with wide eyes. Sam’s hair fell into his face as he glared down at the woman beneath him. Sam looked primal, animalistic, his eyes held no gentleness, only dark hunger and his lips quivered with every sharp intake of breath that flared through his nostrils.

“Sam,” Diane’s voice quivered “What-What are you doing?” She asked weakly all power leaving her voice.

When Sam said nothing Diane felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart thudding against her eardrums in the dead quiet. Her anger quickly went to the back burner as she watched this mammoth of a man completely towering over her. The red in her cheeks rose as the intensity of his eyes grew. Despite the fight or flight that was kicking into overdrive in her brain, she couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of arousal pooling inside her core. Silence, save for both their panting, remained amongst them a moment more.

“Sam?” Diane whispered finally, reaching her hand out to his face “Sam it’s me.” She coed softly, despite the obvious tremor in her voice. Gingerly she pressed her hand against the side of his face, feeling his hot skin against her fingertips. Sam’s lips twitched at the contact, parting open exposing his white teeth.

It was as if all form of logical thought and reasoning suddenly didn’t matter. The room disappeared and it was just Sam. He wasn’t looking at her with malice or aggression, it was pure lust. Her body reacted before her mind as she tangled her fingers into his hair, pulling him down. Sam immediately followed, crashing his mouth against hers with a frenzied passion. The kiss was all lips and teeth, open mouthed as Sam immediately yanked away the rest of the blankets off the bed. He slid his rough hands up along her arms and fastened them around her wrists, pulling them up and pinning them above her head. Diane’s lips parted against his mouth and a soft moan escaped her lips, allowing Sam to catch her lower lip between his teeth. He released his grip on her wrists and her hands immediately tangled within his hair, smashing her lips back against his with a passionate vigor. Sam let his hands wander down her body, greedily caressing every curve of her form. His hands locked around her hips with a vice grip, pinning her body completely to the bed. After a minute or so Sam pulled away, sitting on the back of his legs. He grabbed the sides of his shirt and swiftly pulled it off and over the top of his mess of brown locks. Diane sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she ran her eyes along his tan, sculpted torso, his giant chest heaving as he breathed. Her hungry gaze caught Sam’s primal stare, he looked at her as if he wanted to devour her whole and it honestly turned her on more than she could fathom. Without hesitation she shot her hand out, running her fingers down along his skin. His body practically began vibrating against her touch and she wasn’t sure Sam could take much longer. Diane felt a smile pull on the corners of her lips, she couldn’t fight the urge to push him to his limit. It was like it was calling to her. Softly, she ran her fingertips along his abs, trailing to his sharp v line causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. Sam clenched his teeth tightly as her soft touch slid towards the hem of his jeans. She eyed his rock hard bulge completely trapped beneath the blue denim and licked her lips. She reached and began to undo his belt buckle, sliding it out of its loops and discarding it on the floor. While she worked on his zipper, Diane felt Sam tug at the bottom of her undershirt, but before she could move for him to pull it off her, his strong hands yanked at the fabric and it gave away with a satisfying rip.

Diane gasped, the cool air hitting her newly exposed skin. Unable to suppress himself any longer, Sam lunged at her like an animal pouncing on its prey. Diane let out a squeal as his commanding hand wrapped around her jaw, pulling her torso upwards. His other hand swiftly shot behind her back, yanking off her now ruined yellow undershirt and quickly unhinging her bra. Diane helped him pull the useless clothing off of her before crashing back down onto the sheets. Sam’s hand roughly pulled her face to the side, exposing her throat as his warm lips crashed against the skin of her neck, leaving wet and sloppy kisses against the sensitive flesh. When he reached the nape of her neck he let out a deep growl, sinking his teeth into the soft skin. Diane let out a trembling moan. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but she knew there would be a mark there the next morning. Good thing she couldn’t care less. As Sam’s lips trailed from her neck towards her chest his hand shifted to around her neck, his fingers and his thumbs tightening against her pulse points. Diane felt her eyes roll into the back of her head as he cut the oxygen supply to her brain, a shallow breath escaping her lips instead of a moan. His lips left a messy trail of marks along her trembling skin until they reached the dip of her cleavage. Sam paused, lips parted, his hot breath fanning her body. Slowly his hand released her throat, sliding down to catch her right breast within his hand, the other hand trailing up her stomach to wrap around the other. Sam could feel her heart racing through her skin causing his lips to curl into a toothy grin. He slowly curled his fingers around the right breast, giving it a squeeze while his lips hungrily wrapped around the the other. Diane felt the electric like waves of pleasure run up her spine as Sam ran his teeth against her nipple, his eyes watching every expression on her face. Sam worked his mouth on the left breast for a moment before switching to the other, going at a painfully slow pace. Diane writhed under Sam’s body, soft mewls and cry’s escaping her plush lips. Sam dug his teeth into the side of her breast. Diane let out a whimper, looking down as Sam pulled away with a grin. Diane smiled, grabbing each side of his face and pulling him into another kiss. She could feel his pulsating member inside his jeans against her hip. She wondered how he could handle being trapped for so long. At the thought, Diane swung her legs up to Sam’s hips, using her feet to shuffle down the loose denim. Sam pulled his body back, springing off the bed. His pants where completely discarded within a matter of seconds and he was back. Sam wasted no time unbuttoning Diane’s jeans, sliding them off as she lifted her legs over her head. When her pants where off Sam fell back on the mattress, his boxers barley containing his hard member. Diane immediately sprung forward, her fingers hooking on the sides of his underpants. Sam lifted his hips as she slid the clothing down his legs, exposing his long, thick member. Diane licked her lips, eyeing his shaft. Slowly she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, making hard long strokes all the way to the top. Sam’s head flew back, a soft growl escaping his lips. Diane smiled at his reaction, slowly bringing her soft lips against his throbbing tip. Slowly she opened her lips, circling her tongue against his head, pumping her hand as she went.

“Fuck Diane.” Sam growled, his hand grabbing the back of her hair into a tight hold.

Diane moaned deliciously against his cock, opening her mouth more as she began to take him in. Sam brushed away all the hair out of her face, adding it to his handful. Sam was big, but she accommodated his size as much as she could. She met her stopping point more than halfway down his shaft before pulling back up. She began a rhythm, bobbing her head up and down as she took him down her throat. Sam began to set the pace as he yanked her hair, causing her to moan on his cock. His breathing became labored, his hips beginning to buck into her mouth as her pace grew faster and faster. Switching her hair into his other hand, his right trailed down her spine towards her ass. He took one of her cheeks into his hand, roughly curling his fingers into the skin. Diane knew she would find purple fingerprints there in the morning. Suddenly his hand crashed into the fleshy skin with a satisfying smack. The surface of her skin stung, sending waves of pleasure up Diane’s body. She pulled back from his cock, a breathy moan escaping her lips. Sam sent another smack to her ass, harder than the last time. Diane jolted on impact, a whimper escaping her lips which only edged him on. Diane laid across his stomach, her hand still working his shaft as Sam sent another merciless slap against her reddening skin. His rough fingers tenderly brushed against the now warm and swollen flesh, sending cool waves along Diane’s spine.

Sam pulled Diane up by her hips, digging his fingers into the skin. She straddled his pelvis, his cock rubbing against her drenched panties. Looking at the forgotten garment, Sam reached forward, hooking his fingers into the lace sides. In the same fashion as before, he tore the fabrics off with ease, discarding the scrap off the bed. Sam sat up, resting his back against the headboard and Diane immediately connected her lips to his, capturing him in yet another hungry kiss, devouring each other’s lips. Her dripping wet folds pressed along Sam’s shaft.

“Fuck me Sam.” Diane moaned against Sam’s frenzied lips, shifting her hips to get more friction.

Needing no more instruction he reached down and adjusted his tip against her entrance. She was already dripping against his cock. Diane braced herself, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. Slowly, Sam began to slide into her tight core with ease, giving her a couple seconds to adjust to his length. Diane whimpered against his skin, digging her nails into his back. Sam’s arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her as close as possible to him as he pushed himself the rest of the way into her, filling her to the brim.

“Fuck Sam.” Diane whimpered, her body squirming in his arms.

“Yeah you feel that baby?” Sam growled into her ear softly, beginning to set a slow and steady pace. As soon as she was fully adjusted, Sam began to go quicker and quicker, until he began slamming his hips into her pelvis with the same wildness that he had moments before. Diane jolted with each thrust, new waves of pain and ecstasy filling her body, bringing her closer and closer to pure euphoria. Time seemed to still, only Sam and their bodies working aggressively towards completion. She left sloppy kisses against Sam’s neck, polluting his perfect skin with little marks of her own. Sam shifted his hips from under her and began hitting a new spot, sending spasms up along her body. Diane and Sam had had sex plenty of times before, rough, soft, passionate, drunk, but never quite like this. How wound up he made her with every move, she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. This passion was unbreakable.

Diane felt her climax beginning to draw nearer, the spring in her stomach being wound so tight she thought she would burst.

“Sam I’m,” Diane panted against his neck “I’m about to cum.”

“Damnit me too” Sam growled in response, his voice alone almost sending her over.

Sam picked up the pace, his hips slapping against hers with an audible noise. Diane tightened her eyes, colors forming behind her lids as she drew nearer. A few more thrusts and she was sent over, a long loud moan escaped her lips as her body unraveled. Waves of pure euphoria flooded her body, like warm, molten gold flowing through her veins. Diane flung her head back with one last delicious moan. Sam secured her wiggling and writhing body within his arms, holding her to him as he caught up, her release triggering his own. Waves of warm seed flooded deep inside her, spilling out of her and down her thighs.

Diane rode out the rest of her orgasm, her triumphant high slowly crashing back down to earth. With labored breath, Diane collapsed into Sam’s strong arms, feeling his racing heart against her chest. Sam was panting heavily, his hands carefully pulling her hair up and out of her face to help her cool off as she did the same. Diane pressed her head against his shoulder, looking around the room in a blurred haze while Sam brushed the beads of sweat that began to run down his forehead.

When the two finally caught their breath, Diane pulled back, looking her boyfriend in the eye. Sam immediately read her expression, a smile lifting on his face.

“Round two?” He asked breathlessly

“Is that even a question?” Diane asked, crashing her lips to his before he could respond.

-

It had been a rough morning for Dean Winchester. Firstly, he had slept in the impala all night, which was beyond uncomfortable since he didn’t have anything to use for a pillow. Second, he was hungover as all actual hell. Third, he was still pissed at Sammy and Diane for their little team up last night.

Grumbling to himself, he walked up the stairs towards the motel room, fumbling through his pockets for the keycard. Pulling it out he slid it into the door till the light turned green then he opened the door. The entrance was dark as Dean took a few steps in. He would immediately regret that decision.

“Wow!” Dean exclaimed, slapping a hand over his eyes and looking away.

Diane peeked out from under Sam’s nude body at Dean, her face glowing beet red.

“Oh....hey Dean.” She said nervously, glancing up to Sam with a horrified expression.

“Yeah uhh...hey.” Dean replied, shaking his head as he kept his back turned.

Sam’s gawked at the scene a second, a nervous smile cracking on his lips “Hey uhh, would you mind giving us a minute-“

“Nope, no problem.” Dean interrupted, already walking out the door.

“Yeah, uh tha-“ Sam was cut off by the door slamming.

After a few minutes Sam came out from the motel room, his hands still fumbling with his belt buckle, his shirt still inside.

“Ah-jeez dude, what kinda freaky shit where you two doing?” Dean questioned, adverting his eyes away from his brother. Deep claw marks and lovebites where scattered across his chest and back, some reaching shades of deep purple.

Sam gave his brother a confused look before glancing down at his chest “Oh,” He said with a chuckle “These. Yeah, I honestly don’t know- they just kinda happened.” Sam said with a shrug.

Dean rose an eyebrow at his brother, this all felt so off to him.

“So you’re a morning sex kinda guy huh?” Dean said after a moment of silence “Figures.”

Sam paused, raising one eyebrow at Dean “Oh no, we were at it all night.” He corrected.

“You what?” Dean asked, giving his younger brother a baffled look.

Sam seemed unbothered, simply giving a shrug “It wasn’t that hard, we got in an argument after you left and just,” he paused, thinking about the right words “couldn’t stop.”

“Okay! Okay save me the details,” Dean grunted, giving his brother a grimace “So you mean to tell me you and Diane hate fucked each other till six in the morning?”

“Pretty much,” Sam replied simply “But I wouldn’t call it hate fucking, it was more like-“

“Don’t need to know Sam.” Dean interrupted, holding his hand out to stop him.

Sam looked at his brothers hand and then his face, letting out a sigh “Okay well, once Diane and I are ready we can head out and check out those vic’s.”

“Sounds super.” Dean replied, not looking him.

The brothers fell into an awkward silence for a moment. Dean looked out into the parking lot while Sam studied his shoes.

“Wow.” Dean said finally, shaking his head as he spoke.

“What?” Sam replied with a laugh, giving Dean a look.

“I just- I don’t know,” Dean began, his expression uncomfortable “I guess I didn’t expect- you know- something like that from someone like you.” He said, his eyes flickering over to his brother.

Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes “Really?” He asked, before turning back to the door and letting himself inside

“What? I’m just being honest!” Dean called behind him, the door slamming in response.

[alrightinbed-betterwithapen]

Blue — Part One — David Dobrik x Reader

A/N: Hey-yo to anyone reading! This is my first time posting my work ever and it’s about the king maker, D. Dobrik. I hope you all enjoy it, I’m open to all criticism. Lemme know if the posting is weird or off. Un-beta’d rn, but I try to heavily edit. This is the first part of prolly a few parts that are in the works. I almost have the second part done, so we’ll see how this goes. Anywho, Kisses!

Warnings: slight dub-con, dom/sub, lack of communication, roughness, language, slightly smutty.

Summary: You never did claim you were smart when it comes to David. He’s turning in his seat to look at you and, of course, you shudder slightly.

You won’t leave until he tells you to...

It really was a simple arrangement at first.

—- x —-

Blue.

You liked blue the best. Green was a close second though.

You could lose track of time while staring at the deep blue that the bruise on your upper thigh was changing into. The bruise that started as a murky, ink water looking black color, was now blossoming into a sickly navy around the edges, the center of it still dark and swampy.

The green would appear in the next half day, ease its way next to the bluish, blackish mess. The green would make itself a home where the blue began, right along the edge. Maybe they would mix and create a painful yellow, a yellow you’d push at.

Hard.

Deep.

Angry.

Yellow was pretty, but you couldn’t accept it. No. Because yellow meant almost healed. Yellow meant in recovery. And there was no way in hell you’d allow your bruises to heal.

No, not when the rest of you was so, so not ready to get better.

Not if this was what being hurt meant.

You loved blue.

—- x —-

The hands gripping your upper thighs is too much. Too painful. Too heavy.

You let out a whimper, even though your whole body is shaking as you try holding it back.

“Oh,” he says, emotionless, “Oh no,” then his hands are gone. Pushing back off your thighs, pushing so your balance sways from where you are seated on the edge of the black upholstered pool table. Your legs still spread from where he stood just moments before.

David stands in front of you, an arms reach or two away, still and unmoving. His eyes hold the same anger you’ve become use to with him, hands clenched at his sides. His lips are swollen, but probably not as red or obvious as the trail of biting, stinging kisses he was just leaving from your collarbone and up your neck.

“You made a sound. I thought we discussed this earlier”, he murmurs through almost closed lips. His eyes never waver, never blink. All you can do is try to lessen the squirm that makes its way out of you.

Disappointment radiates down his body as he tips his head to the left, cracking his neck, and bring his arms crossed on his chest.

“We- you did. I’m sor-“ and the words tumble out before you can stop them.

He hates apologies. He also hates when you disobey the very clear cut rules he has started laying out at the beginning of each of these visits.

“Eh!” He tuts, livid, successfully shushing whatever your half baked excuse was going to be. Then he’s moving forwards, faster than you can comprehend, to grip your jaw in his left hand. He uses enough force that his fingers slip up and make your lips purse, eyes going wide. You can’t stop them from tearing up.

You have a sinking feeling in your stomach.

“Your Uber will be here in a bit. Make sure you wait outside.”

His words hang in the air as he drops his hand from you, retracting sharply. Then there’s this sneer, slightly over drawn on his lips, but spitting venom nonetheless.

Then, there’s his back turned to you, walking across the living space and down his hallway.

Then there’s you, perched on the edge of a pool table, alone.

This is the first time he leaves bruises.

—- x —-

The only concealer that worked to cover the slight bruise on your jaw was expensive and you’re damn glad the worst of it was on your thighs. ‘Cause fuck, this is not something you wanted to add to your routine, financially or physical.

Your phone dings when a new message comes in. You finish wiping off the last of your days makeup, the deep yellow bruise appearing fully on the bottom half of your face.

Picking you up at 4am. Don’t make me wait.

It was fifteen past seven in the evening. You had a late lunch around four, and to be honest, your appetite hadn’t been right since you had been kicked out by him three nights ago. But, you weren’t ready for bed. You weren’t even that tired yet, but also, not nearly amped enough to stay up until the earliest of morning hours.

No. No way.

Fuck.

You’re already making your way to find pajamas to lay out, as you finished the internal struggle in your head. Why fight? It’s obvious which side wins.

Fuck him.

The octave skipping groan you let out into your bedroom does makes you feel a little bit better. It’s just slightly cathartic. It make you feel a little more in control of this evening.

Then, you’re walking briskly back to the bathroom to have a quick shower and jump into bed.

Fuck me.

Your desire to finish what was stopped so abruptly, is waaay out weighing your need to stand up for yourself. Not tonight.

Tonight, you’ll listen if it kills you.

—- x —-

The crisp air of the early morning makes your skin prickle. It charges every atom in your body for what you hope happens tonight... this morning. Whatever. It also helps wake your ass up.

It’s twenty til four. You had set your alarm for fifteen past three, because you’re pathetic and desperate. But you’ve never pretended to be anything less with David. Otherwise, this whole dynamic would never work.

Your hands itch for a cigarette, the menthol ones sitting in front of you on the sleek, white outdoor table on your balcony. They’re only a slight reach away, but that’s a fifty/fifty gamble, isn’t it?

David’s pulled a cigarette from between your lips and thrown it to the ground before. All while whispering obscenities about pretty girls who taste like tar in your ear. But later that night, he was licking into your mouth trying to chase the taste and then he fucked you stupid.

So, all bets are off.

You decide to not tempt fate as your phone starts beeping three shrill notes before pausing, getting ready to beep again. It’s sad how fast you answer, pathetic really.

“Are you up?”

It’s ten til four now. You breathe a sigh of relief and say, “Yeah, I’m waiting on my balcony. I’ve been up for half an hour.”

You literally cringe at yourself, so forthcoming with him, down to the most mundane details. You shrink in your seat and bring you legs up to your chest, and then back down, jittery with nerves. His deep, ringing laughter sounds through the phone and doesn’t help you relax at all.

“Good girl,” he purrs, amusement still thick in his low growling voice. “Now, get downstairs.”

The line dies before you can reply, thankfully. You would have betrayed yourself again, a sheepish Yes Sir bound to have come out of you weakly. And knowing your luck, he would be in a Yes Daddy mood and your night would start with a punishment that would get you off, but leave you empty.

You’re up, grabbing your phone and keys, bee lining for the door. With your old white Vans slipped on and black zip up hoodie pulled around your frame, you glance to the mirror just right of your front door. Your jaw bruise is more faded than a couple hours ago, but still noticeable. Your hair is tamed, but still a mess and there’s not a bit of makeup on your sleepy face. David doesn’t like make up on you. He hates the way the mascara and tears stain your cheeks.

The walk out your door and down to him feels equally like a short journey to salvation and a long crawl towards hell. You are always torn, it’s what you want, but not quite. He’s not enough and far too much, and you’re addicted.

As you make your way to the edges of the parking lot, you can see his blue light illuminated face tilted down towards his phone. His brow is furrowed and you have a feeling you’re in for it tonight. He doesn’t glance up as you wait for him to open the passenger side door of his white, shiny Tesla, but his fingers push the button. He doesn’t acknowledge you while you get seated and start to buckle up, except to prod at the same button to close the door. He pulls at neck of his red hoodie, and sits up to drive.

You could speak first, but the fear of setting him off stops you. He’s pulling out of the parking space, phone haphazardly being thrown into the center console. It’s when you’re pulling the seatbelt the final few inches around your body to secure, that he reaches over to grab your wrist, stopping you.

“You don’t trust my driving?”

What a loaded fucking question. It’s like he’s trying to get you to piss him off, and that’s a bad sign in itself. You’re stuck staring at his profile while he gazes out onto the road.

He means, you don’t trust me?

No. Not particularly. You barely trust him with your orgasms (and that has shown to be a bad idea lately), let alone your life.

But that’s not a wise answer. That’s a very stupid answer. Especially since his knuckles are slowly growing white as his grip tightens on the wheel. He’s growing impatient while waiting for a response.

You drop the seat belt from your hand, the hand David hadn’t dropped yet, and let it snap back to where it rests near the door. The beginnings of a smirk make his lips tilt up. He still doesn’t look at you as he pulls his hand back. You want the ground to swallow you whole.

The red imprint of his fingers around your wrist where his hand had held you moments ago was already fading away. Not a bruise this time. Why did that make you ache?

“Besides, you can’t blow me with your seat belt on,” he says so, so casually, you have to stop yourself from recoiling.

He still doesn’t fucking look at you. And you have to make your eyes stop being so god damn wide as his left hand goes to push down his black sweatpants, past his hips to settle on his upper thighs. He’s just slightly hard, and you salivate. You’re pushing your self up on the seat and across the console in two long blinks (and far too quickly to be called anything other than needy). Your eyes look down to his growing member and then up to his face, over and over. You’re licking your lips before pooling the saliva in your mouth to the front, getting ready to sloppily and messy take him in.

His right hand sharply stops you, quickly tangling itself in the back of your hair and pulling you to a stop. There might have been a beep from the car signaling self drive mode was activated while you made your way over the console, but you can’t be sure. What you are aware of is the hand still gripped in your hair and the other reaching to your jaw, fitting nicely onto the bruise still lingering, to pull your face level with his.

He looks right through you.

“I didn’t say you could start,” he says with an adoring tilt to his voice that is counter active to the way he pulls at your hair harder and grips your jaw tighter. You’re being pushed forcefully back into the passenger seat like a rag doll and then he’s back to his natural position at the wheel. Staring straight ahead as goes to enable control of the vehicle and swiftly pull up the waistband of his pants. His amused, smitten voice unchanging when he says, “So eager that you don’t wait for my orders. Should I turn around, drop you back off?”

His left index and middle finger tap the wheel pointedly, staggered. The sound looms in your silence. You shake your head and murmur the quietest No you can muster. You back is flat against the passenger door where he tossed you. You can only stare ahead at him. Frozen.

“Tonight, you do not take initiative, you do what I tell you. You don’t speak or make noises unless I allow you to. You don’t think for yourself, at all. Starting now.”

You think his words should be a question. You think there should be a negotiation and an open line of communication. You think, this is the moment where you should be able to say “no,” and “please, not tonight,” and “I just want to make you feel good, I want to be good for you but I can’t under those terms.”

But that’s not how this works. That’s not how this had ever worked.

He watches you, from the corner of his eye, nod twice in your seat. His tilted smirk lights his face up with mischief. He doesn’t look at you for the rest of the ride to his house.

—- x —-

This whole arrangement had been perfect for the both of you, and casual as hell. It was the ideal way to compartmentalize the hectic schedules you both survived every day. You each had your own busy lives that neither of you felt the need to mix and complicate with a full functioning relationship. Not when it was really only the lack of sex that put you both on edge and unable to focus on your own lives and careers. The two of you were similar in this aspect, workaholics with control and self care issues.

This though, the pain and dominance or whatever, this was newer.

He had started this several weeks ago, with a simple request to not move a fucking muscle after he changed positions. He repositioned you on your knees, elbows bracing your weight under you and ass pulled up high. Even after his brutal thrusts had returned, you didn’t tremble or shake. You didn’t shift your weight or adjust your elbows. You were still. And David came embarrassingly fast.

But you’re one to talk, you came twice before he did, sweating profusely with the exertion of not moving.

From then, it was in everything you did. The requests became bolder and started appearing earlier in the nights you spent together. His requests quickly turned to orders over the course of three and a half weeks to the point you’re at now.

Just waiting, silently, in his car for the instructions to get out and follow him as he kills the engine.

You can’t remember the last time you were able to ask him how his day was. Even if it was an empty pleasantry, you did kind of miss it. You missed feeling like every thing you did around him wasn’t a fuck up.

You’re not sure if he’s gotten angrier or just accepted himself more, but the sudden changes in him has given you emotional whiplash along side the marks he physically left. You hated this as much as you loved it.

And if you were smart, you’d cut this shit off right now. You’d get out, call your own Uber and fucking wait for it at the curb outside the gates to his property, like you did last night. You’d cut your losses and high tail it before you broke completely under his will.

Well, you never did claim you were smart when it comes to David.

He’s turning in his seat to look at you and, of course, you shudder slightly. You won’t leave until he tells you to.

It really was a simple arrangement at first.

—- x —-

Part Two — Part Three — Part Four — Part Five

[in-madhouses]

drink up your movements (still i can’t get enough)

Niall Horan to Aahna Deakins: just a heads up

Aahna Deakins: ??

Niall Horan: i think caroline wants to have sex with you

Aahna Deakins: i mean i already knew that

Niall Horan: …

Niall Horan: what?

Aahna Deakins: seen

Niall Horan: ‘m gonna kill harry

Aahna Deakins walks onto the set that first day of filming and Niall just knows he’s fucked. Like, proper, up the arse, without lube, fucked.

And he doesn’t think that very often. Not since he was twenty and earning minimum wage as an english lit teaching assistant who auditioned for a small role in a tv show but ends up being cast as Remus Lupin.

Three and a half critically acclaimed seasons later, he’s one of the more successful actors in the British young adult genre, earns more than the average person’s annual income in a month, and oh, right, is on first name basis with JK Rowling. A feat he’s sure he’ll never top considering that he was an avid Potterhead growing up. (He still has his first copies of the books, creased, weathered, and now, signed by the author herself, sitting on his shelf along with every script that he’s ever received.)

Life is, more or less, good. But after weeks of whispers proclaiming everything from new characters being added to the cast to the producers planning a genderswap episode, things take a sudden nosedive.

Their red stamped ‘Confidential’ scripts made clear that some of the rumours were true; they were adding a character to the show but said character is only there for a backdoor pilot that spills over multiple crossover episodes within the latter season of Marauders: Mischief & Mayhem. If it were any other show, it would be easy to assume that the writers were getting lazy; a whole six episode arc to introduce characters and a plot that will depart for its own show? Seems ridiculous, but the idea is solid and the script is tight, so tight, that apparently Rowling herself greenlit the crossover slash spin off.

Now, by all intents and purposes, Niall and Aahna should have gotten along fine. She’s a model turned actress with a strong work ethic while he’s a seasoned veteran by now, having worked with a lot of people in his time being on Marauders. Being one of the four titular characters kind of guarantees that he’s a given amidst the revolving faces of extras and guest stars. But for some reason unknown to man, Aahna Deakins completely just… gets the better of him.  

He recognises her from pictures and billboards when they have their first table read, tall and tan, all lean muscle and sharp edges, her face as mysterious as it is expressive.

When he looks her up, he finds her tweets sharp and witty, her instagram lined with humour, and her presence in the tabloids a staple. And for that alone, he realises that they would mix about as well as oil and water. The fact that they share about 50% of their screen time together doesn’t help. Every scene, every table read, every small discussion turns, at some point or another, into a ridiculous debate and often time (more than a little) raised voices.

He’s not sure how, or who, starts it, but they have full on shouting matches about inflection and intention and everything in between. And it’s not like he’s the oddity who doesn’t play well with his cast members, he gets along with the cast members like a house on fire. She gets along great with everyone too, moving into Harry’s guest room because they go way back and she’s not about to make any property commitments in London until she knows for sure that her show is getting a full season order.

And that’s where things go from bad to worse for him because it means that they live in the same apartment complex and he’s practically a permanent fixture over at Harry’s.

Harry Styles to marauders doing marauder-y things (plus liam): nialler why’d u call 12 times

Niall Horan: slight emergency, am out of beer

Harry Styles: just come over u never had a problem with that b4

Niall Horan: deakins there?

Harry Styles: look do u have any idea how big a deal this is for her

Harry Styles: she did two pilots that got axed before they aired in the states

Harry Styles: and that one movie that basically made a loss in the box office

Liam Payne: didn’t she win a bafta for that?

Louis Tomlinson: nah

Louis Tomlinson: she won the baftas by going on the red carpet with her girlfriend

Harry Styles: *ex gf

Harry Styles: they broke up at the after party

Harry Styles: it was a mess™

Zayn Malik: i still got pictures from that night… that i don’t… understnd what’s going on

Harry Styles: lol yeah u were pretty fucked mate

Louis Tomlinson: i maintain i had nothing to do with that

Liam Payne: wow that girl’s not having a good year is she?

Harry Styles: yeah so maybe u guys should like go easy on her

Zayn Malik: i’m out with her and caroline rn wot u talking about

Louis Tomlinson: i don’t have a prob with her

Liam Payne: i literally have like two scenes with her

Niall Horan: seen

Harry Styles: did you just type ‘seen’

Harry Styles: that’s not how you seen someone, u just seen them

Harry Styles: !!!

Louis Tomlinson renamed the group niall old man horan™ cant work tech

Niall tries to be nicer to her, he really does, but Aahna Deakins doesn’t quite make it easy for him.

She’s… a bit of an enigma.

On one hand, she’s just the type of person he wouldn’t mind as a friend; a sense of humour, the ability to draw the line between on and off screen relations, and an oddly in depth knowledge on history and mythology. (They had a twenty minute row on set about lycanthrophy which had to be escalated to some staff writers before they reached a resolution that she was indeed correct, despite the fact that he’d been the one playing a werewolf for most of his on-screen career. Where is the justice?)

But on the other hand, their similar interests; a passion for food, books, and golf doesn’t stop them from arguing all the time. And it doesn’t quite matter where they are either; on scene, in the studio, at the apartment, even while grabbing lunch with the cast. There’s apparently always something to disagree over.

Suffice to say, it drives everyone a little bit crazy. Especially Harry, who is caught in between more often than not.

“Oi, five-year-olds! We were trying to get some work done here?” Harry hollers, rolling his eyes.

Aahna’s in midst of running lines with some of the boys at Harry’s when Niall decides to pop by for a beer and they (naturally) find something or another to bicker about.

“Oh, I’m a five-year-old?” Aahna asks, incredulous, “I’m not the one who needed seven takes to get one line right,” she shoots a glare at him as he plops down on the couch, a beer in hand, intentionally close to her despite the copious amounts of space available literally anywhere in the living room.

It’s evident at that point, that no work is going to commence in the space anytime soon.

“I wouldn’t have needed seven takes if you didn’t keep breathing down my neck about my bleedin’ accent,” Niall jabs her in the ribs with his free elbow, “Christ, you give a model one acting gig and she thinks she’s Helen fucking Mirren.”

Niall’s not quite sure why, but the need to rile her up as much as she does him is overwhelming. It isn’t even hypothetical, when it comes to Aahna, he’s condescending and he’s obstinate to a point of being obnoxious, and he can’t seem to help himself. He’s tried to isolate where the antagonism is coming from, because it really is out of the ordinary; her presence, on set and in recent times, in his life, somehow nettles him more than it should.

But he isn’t sure what it is about her. Isn’t sure why he’s reacting the way he is.

Aahna just… gets under his skin.

“Don’t you have your own apartment to muck around and drink and do nothing in?” Aahna huffs at him, voice condescending as he plucks the script out of her hands.

“Well if I did that, who would you have to distract from learning your lines?” Niall shoots back, voice dripping with something not quite pure annoyance.

“Alright you two need to cut it out!” Harry is pretty much frantic at this point. “And Lou, stop taking shots. It’s barely sundown! What is wrong with you?”  

Louis simply shrugs and tilts his head back, tequila shot glass in hand and refusing to look even a little bit guilty for not helping the situation even at all.

“Many things, primarily his overwhelming desire avoid responsibility,” Zayn shrugs.

“Oh, blow me Malik,” Louis snaps.

“Not for free.”

Life falls into a bit of a schedule like that. They work, they bicker, their friends slash cast mates break up the tension of their bickering, and they all end up getting drinks together or watching some kind of documentary at Harry’s whilst playing a drinking game at his expense (they take a shot everytime he points out an inaccuracy).

And it works, until they’re about halfway into filming the third episode when something just snaps in him.

“Can you stop it with these accusations?”

“It wasn’t an accusation,” she hisses back, the line of her jaw going taut as she walks off set, heading, he’s guessing, away from him. Which of course, only leads to him trailing behind, matching her large strides.

It’s the same old song and dance.

“Really?” Niall taunts, unable to help himself, “Sure as hell sounded like one.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“Alright, then.”

“Just shut up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just shut up!” She snaps, taking a step forward at him as if to issue a challenge. And suddenly they’re all too close. The inches separating them feel like a ravine. An abyss from which he’s not sure he’ll recover from.

“It wasn’t an accusation, it was a observation,” she says finally after the silence lingers one second too long between them, “You come in and you do the scenes without a thought; you know your character, you know Remus by heart, and that’s great for you, but some of us don’t have a five season contract to tide us over.”

Niall grits his teeth at that.

Her lips purse at the silence and when she finally speaks, he’s sure it’s just to provoke him some more.

“You’re maddening,” she says, sounding equal parts exasperated and defeated.

“What, so I can’t argue with you but I can’t be agreeable either?”

“Well, maybe it’s too late to be agreeable.”

“Well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”

The glare that she throws him is heated and harsh, “Why do you care so much?”

She’s got him there, he has to admit.

And so they stare at one another like that, breaths uneven and face tinged pink from anger.

Before he knows it though, he’s crashing into her like a tidal wave; mouth on mouth, skin on skin, and searing heat all over.

It’s not just a kiss, it’s a head rush. It’s a fight. It’s… akin to a flood, and it’s as though he’s waited his whole life to feel it. Part of him knows that they were just seconds ago shouting themselves hoarse at one another, but she’s pulling him in closer and all Niall can hear his blood rushing in his ears, blocking out everything but the smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of her.

Her lips are pressing up against his, ravenous, matching his intensity.

He’s glad that they’ve actually gone into overtime for the scene and the studio is mostly empty at this time of night because when they finally stumble into his dressing room, the door slams behind them with all the subtlety of police sirens in the dead of night.

“Fuck,” she gasps, pulling back as though reality hit her like a tonne of bricks. Her eyes wide and frenzied, lips red, hair wild around her head. Niall is certain that if they were to be walked in on, they would look to an outsider, guilty as sin.

Her blouse is halfway buttoned and barely hanging off her shoulders while his belt buckle is undone and fly already down.

“Fuck?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, “Fuck!” She reiterates herself slightly louder, running her hands through her already wild hair.

Niall breathes out a shaky laugh, “Someone’s eloquent tonight.”

“Oh like you think of a better word to describe,” she motioned the space between them a little too frantically with her hand, “… whatever this is?”

“I’ve got a couple off the top of my head, yeah.” He shrugs, looking her straight in the eye.

There’s a silence. And then…

“Oh shut up,” she instructs, taking a step closer before tugging on his jumper and pulling his lips back down onto hers.

Niall Horan to niallofficial is a shitty twitter handle: seriously

Niall Horan: which one of you bellends got Sierra involved

Harry Styles: ???

Niall Horan: someone told my agent

Niall Horan: who apparently is also deakins’ agent (thanks btw harry)

Niall Horan: that i’m being difficult on set

Niall Horan: now she wants to ‘talk to me’ tomorrow at her office

Louis Tomlinson: … have u evn checked twitter since u created your acc?

Louis Tomlinson: mirror.co.uk/things-getting-fired-up-between-niall-horan-and-model-actress-aahna-deakins-on-marauder-set

Niall Horan: oh

Liam Payne: don’t think ‘oh’ is gonna fix this one mate

Niall Horan: this explains that email from the execs

Louis Tomlinson: i can’t believe u read those studio memos

Harry Styles: not to abruptly change the subject but i need 2 talk about this thing with me n ains

Niall Horan: my agent is about to rip me a new one for on set behaviour

Niall Horan: which by the looks of the mirror article, the whole world knows about by now despite it being a closed set and everything

Niall Horan: but by all means commandeer the chat to talk about your love life

Louis Tomlinson: either get together or dont

Zayn Malik: ur not exaclty an authority on the subjct tommo

Harry Styles: i have booze

Louis Tomlinson: in the car now

Liam Payne: swing by to pick me up

Zayn Malik: me too

Niall Horan: getting in the elevator now

Ainsley Williams to Niall Horan: You should look at Twitter right now

Ainsley Williams: Everyone is so frenzied

Ainsley Williams: By the way, what were you boys up to last night?

Ainsley Williams: Apart from your drunk tweets

Ainsley Williams: Harry called twice to tell me he really enjoys scones

Ainsley Williams: Hello?

Niall is a little nervous as he makes his way to Sierra’s office at five past noon. The woman is a hardass agent who’s great at sniffing out opportunity (not that he’s needed for much from her in the past four years). She books his appearances, endorsements, and despite him never being interested, never fails to send over scripts for killer movie roles.

By proxy, she also works as his publicist, although they have more of a you stay out of trouble and I don’t have to put out any fires type of relationship.

And now he’s five minutes late to see her.

Sierra I didn’t get to where I am today by sleeping in Jones, is going to rip him a new one. He knows it. He can feel it in his bones. Niall can just imagine, and he groans at the thought of it, her utter annoyance at him. First he makes headlines for being a diva on set and not playing nice with the newcomer and then shows up to a meeting late? She’ll have his left nut and then some.

He reaches her office door a good three minutes later despite the near jogging pace he’s been walking at and silently curses Harry’s complicated love life. He’d told Aahna to stay at Ainsley’s so that he could have a lad’s night but ended up mostly just whining about how he doesn’t quite know where he stands with Ainsley.

Sierra’s assistant waves him in and he takes a deep breath before pushing the door open, surprised himself to find Aahna already in the room and apparently trying to reason with the older woman.

“Mr. Horan, how nice of you to join us,” Sierra greets his entrance sweetly, sarcasm simmering just beneath the surface of her voice.

Niall shuts the door behind him, rolling his eyes ever so slightly. The woman is a great agent, he can’t argue with that, and an expert negotiator too, but she’s definitely got a short temper and a flair for dramatics.

“Do sit down.”

Niall slides into the chair next to Aahna, intentionally avoiding her gaze considering that they hadn’t discussed their rather… explosive row few days prior. Not that they had much to discuss; they yelled, they had a bout of angry shagging, and kind of just left things at that.

It helps that they hadn’t needed to be in the same room together since. Up until this point that is.

“You wanted to talk to me?” He almost chokes out the words, voice a little worse for wear after the night of heavy drinking.

Sierra raises her eyebrow before letting her stare flit between her two clients, as if gauging something.

“Well, it has come to my attention that there’s been some… trouble on set,” the older woman starts saying, “Now, I don’t normally interfere in these matters but neither of you have publicists or managers, and no one is pointing fingers, but filming might need to go into overtime for two weeks.”

Sierra takes a long breath and exhales rather theatrically before continuing, “Would I be wrong to assume that this is because you two can’t seem to get your scenes wrapped satisfactorily?”

Niall sighs, “Is that what she told you?”

The woman frowned, “Is that incorrect?”

“That’s hardly—”

“Aahna, you’ve had your say, now I’d rather hear his,” Sierra says curtly before diverting her attention back to him.

Niall takes a deep breath before non committally saying, “Well, there was never a problem like this until she came around.”

“Oh, piss off!”

“Language, Aahna!” Sierra snaps, glaring at her sharply for a moment before resettling her gaze on Niall, exhaling crossly, “You were saying?”

He pauses for a moment, feeling his co-star’s rage boring holes into the side of his head. The co-star he does not at all like but shagged in his dressing room. (But there’s no way he’s discussing that with Sierra. Or anyone really.)

“We just… rub each other the wrong way,” he settled on saying, “And maybe that’s stalled production a little but—”

“Oh, so this is my fault now?” Aahna interjects.

“You can’t just conveniently skip over the part where you constantly insult how I play my character and think that that’s not going to have an effect on production!”

“Forgive me for trying to have a civil discourse—”

“And here we go again with the accusations—”

“For the last time, it’s not—”

“All you need to do is show up and read your lines—”

“We’re on the same team here, you wank—”

“If you two could restrain yourselves!” Sierra interjects, her voice the loudest Niall has ever heard. She pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales, taking her time to (he’s guessing) let all three of them calm down.

She declares crisply, voice slightly acidic, “Do you think we can find it within ourselves to act our age?”

“I wasn’t the one tweeting obscenities at midnight,” Aahna rolls her eyes, crossing her arms like a petulant teenager.

Technically, she’s right. (He’d seen some of her meme retweets of their video that’s making its way around the internet and things got… a little more heated online. The boys and the booze didn’t help, obviously.) But he’s not about to let her know that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! I wasn’t the one retweeting vines—”

“Obviously, you didn’t even know what a vine was before—”

“WOULD YOU BOTH. JUST. SHUT IT?!” Sierra explodes, her voice cracking with shrill exasperation, her eyes blazing at the indignant lack of respect in her two clients.

They’re both immediately silenced, words dissolving off of their tongues at the volatile frustration of one Sierra Jones. Niall suspects that their agent is way past pinching the bridge of her nose in dramatic silence. So they sit there under her steely gaze.

After a moment or two, she states as a matter of factly, “I’ve come to a conclusion that you two idiots need to sort this out yourselves.”

He hears Aahna scoff derisively.

Niall blinks at that, slowly and deliberately, contemplating his agent’s words and willing her to continue that sentence because honestly, he imagines that paying her 20 per cent of his income would warrant a better solution.

“You two clearly have personal issues that you need to resolve outside of the set,” Sierra says, eerily calm as she flips through some files, some scripts, and stacking them all together, “If these little outbursts are of any indication, your antagonism towards one another clearly goes beyond work.”

Niall reluctantly turns to meet Aahna’s confused gaze as they both pull into the same trail of thought, all of five minutes with them and they’ve somehow driven their agent completely mental.

“The only way I see fit to remedy this situation is to forcibly give the two of you time together to straighten things out.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his head fills with apprehensive dread. More time together did not sound like a solution. If anything, it spells disaster, and clearly, Aahna thought so too.

They both speak out at the same time;

“The more time we spend together is just more time spent fighting.”

“Wouldn’t throwing us into The Hunger Games be faster?”

“Is that even necessary when we’re already halfway through the season?”

“If we’re already behind schedule that hardly sounds like a good idea.”

Ignoring them both, Sierra rearranges the stack of her files patiently and stands up, tucking them into her oversized purse before pushing a button on the phone on her desk, “You can leave for the rest of the day, Andrea, I’ll be working remotely.”

“Hang on,” Niall asks as Sierra walks around the table toward the door, “Did you just say ‘forcibly’?”

She swivels around to face them as she reaches the door.

“I don’t know about you kids, but my Twitter feed today is 80% people asking if the two of you are having hate sex,” Sierra’s no nonsense eyes snaps over to his mirthlessly, as though issuing a challenge, “And I’m not saying that hate fucking is going to fix this… whatever it is that’s going on between you two, but it might be something to think about in the next few hours.”

They’re both out of their seats at this point.

They have definitely, definitely, driven their agent to the brink of insanity.

“You’re kidding.”

Sierra tight lips lifted slightly into a satisfied smirk, “I don’t ‘kid’.”

“You can’t just lock us into a room together and force us to get along.”

“Watch me.”

And with that, she is out the door with a rather decisive click echoing behind her slamming the door shut.

Aahna turns to look at him, “Did she just—”

“Lock us in her office together? Yeah, I think so.”

Niall’s eyes fly shut in disbelief, head lolling back and frustrated groan leaving his lips as she lunges forward toward the door to rattle the knob inconsequentially.

She turns around, a slip of paper that Sierra somehow slid through under the door in her hands.

“This is a nightmare,” she declares, passing him the piece of paper.

    Office is soundproof so yell away.

    Snacks and water in my left drawer.

    Cleaners have the keys. They come at four.

    DO NOT BREAK ANYTHING.

A rather tense, momentary silence fills the room. While Niall resigns himself to their fate, it seems that Aahna has other thoughts, fidgeting with the doorknob some more and getting really up close and personal with the door in general.

When he doesn’t seem at all bothered to help, she snaps at his direction, “What are you even doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Vegetating, or something equally productive.”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Niall kicks his legs up onto Sierra’s desk and places his hands behind his head.

“So you’re just going to not look for a way out of this?”

“She said that the cleaners are coming in a few hours,” he shrugs, enjoying the fact that the whole situation seems to have her more on edge than him.

And on edge she proves to be, making a ruckus and a whole production out of trying to unscrew the hinges and then moving onto attempts to break the doorknob. After about twenty minutes of her basically exhausting herself and him making mindlessly unhelpful comments, Aahna slumps onto the sofa.

It’s uncomfortable to say the least, but only because they’ve never really spent any time alone together. There are always other cast members around, or crew members, or… other people in general. And the last time they were left alone, well, that didn’t really fix anything.

Niall never would have thought in a million years this is what his career would result in after taking on Remus Lupin.

He had prepared himself for pulling all-nighters to get scenes just right for rather difficult directors or falling in love with guest stars on the show over table reads on otherwise unremarkable Wednesday nights or piling laughingly into taxis with the cast and crew after a night out and having good-naturedly bemused drivers who’d chuckle and ask to take selfies with him. But he hasn’t quite done any of those things.

He’s never been one for rash, near-reckless errors in judgment so he doesn’t quite know why he expected life to change.

But it didn’t, for so long, that he got comfortable and now he doesn’t know what the protocol is when you don’t get along with a co-worker, get into their pants that one time, be involved in a bit of bad press, and then get locked in a room with said co-worker.

So they just sit in silence for a few minutes, the tension palpable, and it’s turning him into a bit of a mess honestly, sitting there with his phone dead and nothing to do to distract from the fact that the last time they were alone together, things got a little… out of hand.

He tries not to think about it, he really does, but the way she drapes herself onto the sofa and a lack of things to occupy his mind with makes it a pervading thought; the way she had kissed him back, hard and rough and unexpected. The way his hands moved from her waist, lower and lower, like they’d been there before.

Niall starts shuffling through some of the scripts on Sierra’s desk to have something to do, but none of them hold his attention for long. His thoughts revolve mostly around how the last time they were alone together, his heart raced and his head swam and his blood seared.

The slow-going and low-simmering… something that he feels for her has inexplicably expanded. Exploded. Gone from an itch he couldn’t quite scratch to a blistering burn he couldn’t ignore. He thinks that liking someone isn’t a prerequisite for wanting them. Which is why he finds himself blurting out, “So the boys may or may not have also suggested that we should fuck.”

Aahna raises her eyebrow at his direction from the couch slash casual sitting area in Sierra’s office where she’s taken up permanent residence in the past ten minutes, casually swiping on her phone.

Her expression ripples with surprise and then disdain.

“Why exactly do the boys think we should fuck?”

“I didn’t tell them that we technically already did if that’s what you’re worried about, they just think that some platonic fucking might actually help us be in the same room as each other without wanting to kill each other.”

And also they thought it might be good for me to stop being a soppy romantic and just get laid, he thinks. But he doesn’t say it.

“Right,” she says, but there’s something a bit off about her voice, “The platonic fucking in your dressing room didn’t exactly help us with Sierra today now did it?”

“It’s just a thought.”

“Uh huh.”

The pause that follows is heavy and full of all kinds of something he can’t name.

“This was a mistake,” he groans.

“What’s that mean?”

“What?”

“You said ‘this’ was a mistake,” she replies casually.

His heartbeat is beating fast, faster than it should be, and his palms are damp.

“What’s ‘this’?” She stands up, “Suggesting that we fuck? Or…did you mean something else?”

A muscle in his neck ticks, lurches, jumps.

“You started this,” he snaps.

“Look, I’m not a phase, okay, I’m not your crisis or your fucking spiral because your life is so God damn—”

He can tell that it’s about to turn into one of their angry yelling matches that got them into this predicament to begin with so he just nips it in the bud because he’s still slightly hungover and really isn’t in the mood, “Look, just forget I mentioned it!”

“It’s just a thought,” he’s also on his feet by now.

“Okay,” she nods in a tone that suggests she may not be okay with it.

Her gaze softens and looks genuinely alight with some kind of curiousity. But he catches the tail end of some unknown emotion flitting across her face as she takes another step forward.

“So let’s dissect it. You think we should, as Sierra so eloquently put it, have angry hate sex to solve our problems?”

He hesitates and clenches his jaw, unsure how she can be so blasé about the whole thing.

Tension hangs in the air between them like thick velvet curtains, heavy and all-consuming. The intensity of her gaze far too intoxicating to be uncomfortable.

“No, I’m—what do you think is happening here?” he hedges, his frustration mounting.

“I think you’re propositioning me for mindless totally non-timing consuming sex.”

Another step.

“Non time consuming?” Niall sputters, taking a step forward, a choked-off huff of frustration building at the base of his throat.

“Someone was pretty eager the last time,” she shrugs.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he huffs, completely lying.

They’re so close to one another now that he’s almost afraid a flicker of eyelashes would betray him. But she’s standing her ground, so he just waits for her to argue with him instead.

She doesn’t.

Instead she tugs on his shirt collar and fully closes the gap between them.

Their lips, as if entirely of their own accord, start to move furiously against each other and sort of just… work, in an unexpected and unexplained harmony.

Like a melody and a lyric that shouldn’t fit but flowed beautifully together.

Her throat hums in agreement beneath his lips.

Taking that as a go ahead, he moves his hands from beneath her shirt to lift her onto the solid surface they hit, Sierra’s desk. In turn, she wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer and smirking as he groans into her mouth, his growing arousal rubbing against her.

Aahna all but swallows her exhale as he slides his fingers into her, the sound that rips from her throat mid way between a grunt and a groan.

“You sure you want to talk about eager?” He all but challenges, a streak of confidence bordering the line of arrogance rearing its head as his fingers move against her obvious enthusiasm.

“Well, I haven’t had dick in a while, what’s your excuse?”

Her fingers are digging into his shoulders the way they are and her voice all raspy and out of breath shooting electricity into every corner of his body.

Niall can’t seem to think or breathe at their proximity. Nevermind that he’s being stupider than he’s ever been in his life, she whimpers as he groans, and his mind is blissfully blank, so he continues the teasing, rubbing and stroking and flicking.

“Okay, you have about five seconds—” she starts to say before he hastily covers his mouth with hers.

He lets his tongue push past her lips at the same time he pushes into her and the sound that comes from her throat is so fucking intoxicating that he‘s not sure of anything anymore.

Niall grips both sides of her hips tight, moving slowly inside of her, giving her the only thing he’s got that she wants and it pisses him off to be honest, how well they fit together. And by the way she’s leaving fingernail crescent marks down his back, he’d say she feels it too. They are scorching and sweaty and utterly out of breath, lips lazily locked. He’s stretching and drawing out the whole ordeal further than he thought himself capable of, eliciting sounds from her that play a soft symphony around the still room.

She pulls her head back to let obscenities freely tumble out, her breath hitting his skin in ragged huffs.

Aahna practically keens for more, her cheeks impossibly flushing and her muscles tight beneath him. It’s all heady and sensual and way more than he can take so in one smooth motion, he slides out and flips her over to bend her over the desk.

He thrusts into her, deliberately frantic, each pump leaving her more of a quivering mess than before, her knees shaking and barely holding her body upright.

As her body begins to spasm, his thrusts grow more desperate, barrelling her towards the release they both crave.

A dozen or so strokes later, he’s there too.

It takes them both by surprise, the sheer intensity of it. They pant together, recovering slowly, still tangled and reeling, neither moving more than what it takes to claim the next gulping breath.

Caroline Davies to Niall Horan: u fucking deakins yet?

Niall Horan: WHAT

Niall Horan: NO

Caroline Davies: care to explain y not?

Niall Horan: care to explain where this is coming from?

Caroline Davies: cos

Caroline Davies: u should get on that

Caroline Davies: or under that

Caroline Davies: or behind that

Niall Horan: i WILL block you

Caroline Davies: lol like you know how

Caroline Davies: also, i mean, if u wont i will

Niall Horan to Aahna Deakins: just a heads up

Aahna Deakins: ??

Niall Horan: i think caroline wants to have sex with you

Aahna Deakins: i mean i already knew that

Niall Horan: …

Niall Horan: what?

Aahna Deakins: seen

Niall Horan: ‘m gonna kill harry

The first time they consciously agree to have angry hate sex, in Sierra’s office no less, Niall thought it’d be a one-time thing, an interesting experiment culminated from a hangover and not having had sex in… a while.

But then the second and third time go by, and it occurs to Niall that there might be some real science behind the whole hate sex theory.

Things actually begin to drastically improve after they start shagging out their frustrations on the regular. When they agreed on something without yelling a good few minutes about it first, Louis chokes on his tequila shot. (It’s at the pub at the corner of the studio and the boys decided that everyone needs to take a shot whenever he and Aahna ‘go at it again’ and it spectacularly backfires when they take a preemptive shot just as she says, “No, I think you’re right.”)

A few more weeks and a few more tucked away in a dusty corridor rendezvous later and they’re all at the production wrap party, hosted by the studio after the final scene of the season has been shot.

It’s a Tuesday and they’re out with some of the crew at a little bar smack down in the middle of London. Aahna’s been ordering round after round of brightly coloured cocktails, all of which named after incredibly explicit sex acts, and between the outrageously short dress she has on and the sound of her saying things like, “hit me with a screaming orgasm” and “get me a couple of leg spreaders”, Niall thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s been thrust into a very special kind of hell.

And he can’t stop fucking staring.

It’s so easy to see now that she’s more than just a persona. Not just an empty, shallow, airbrushed mask. Not just a famous for being famous type influencer slash model slash actress.

She’s blatantly jagged and simpering and unapologetic about how she is.

And she’s smart too, not a lot of people have the nerve to move their entire life across oceans to fight her way into Hollywood (albeit it didn’t pan out as well as it could have). And he doesn’t doubt for a second that she’d had to fight tooth and nail for her Marauders audition as well. That she probably had to call in favours, made some unpaid appearances, turn down “comeback” runway opportunities. Basically, really really want it.

As Aahna throws her head back, laughing from across the room at some joke the ridiculously tight v neck t’ shirt by the bar just made, Niall thinks that they need to talk about their whole provoke each other and then press each other up against walls situation. His mind is slightly befuddled by the fact that they’ve been low-key shagging for the past month or two yet she’s flirted quite openly with the bartender for the past hour and the half.

(He’s also a bit confused about the fact that he can’t find any internet searches that addresses her sexuality head on. There’s little to no indication that she’s even ‘into the d’ as the kids say.)

Her laughter carries itself across the room and Niall fights the urge to go over and drag her away from the dark-skinned, broad-shouldered bartender.

Said bartender has high cheekbones and eyes half-lidded to go along with his lazy trying hard to play it cool demeanor. His posture is perfect, a little too perfect for a man standing by the bar at some shi shi up and coming hotspot in London. If it weren’t for the pub full of who’s who at the studio, Niall might think that he’s one of those tries too hard to be dangerous prep school boys peddling designer drugs with a carefully crafted layer of apathy.

Distracting himself from the scene, he busies himself with the tedious task of talking to some studio executives. Someone has to, considering that Harry and Ainsley have disappeared god knows where together, Zayn and Louis are going round with a bottle of tequila making cast members take shots and Liam is deep in conversation with one of the directors.

He’s mid polite laugh when out of the corner of his eye, Niall sees her meander out the backdoor all hips swaying and dress swirling and alone.

A few seconds go by and he excuses himself to follow, but something, or rather someone, stops him before he even makes it to the door.

“So how long have you two been fucking?” Caroline asks bluntly.

He’s not sure how Caroline of all people would know, but in hindsight, Aahna did leave his place the other night to meet her for a drink in one of his t’ shirts.

He raises his brow and feigns nonchalance, “Me and Mark from finance?”

“You and Aahna, bellend.”

He laughs, “What makes you say that?”

“Because you have that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“That ‘I want to fuck the shit out of you’ look.”

He looks Caroline straight in the eye and is incredibly proud of himself for not cracking, not even a little, “I do not have an ‘I want to fuck the shit out of you’ look.”

“You do and you so want to hit that,” the blonde says, all smug.

I’m already hitting that, he almost says, the words on the tip of his tongue just balancing perfectly before it swan dives him into trouble.

“No, you want to hit that,” Niall chuckles out instead.

“We get along too well for there to be any sexual chemistry,” Caroline shrugs, “The two of you on the other hand…”

“There’s nothing but animosity between us, Care.”

“Can I point out that hate sex is a known cure for situations like this?”

“Yeah. No,” he says before sidestepping her and pushing the door open.

He’s pretty sure she’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary and Niall isn’t sure if he’s the canary in the situation. The London air hits him like something out of a literary scene, a little nippy but a much appreciated break from the suffocating interrogation by the hands of one Caroline Davies inside.

Just as he recalls why he headed out there into the back alley to begin with, a line of cigarette smoke wafts into his view.

“Don’t you have better things to do than play babysitter and watch me smoke a cigarette whilst sipping on your tonic water?” Aahna remarks, a cigarette between her fingers and a layer of indifference around her.

“Excuse me?”

Niall may be twenty-five and enjoys the occasional beer or two (that often don’t end at two) but he’s also old fashioned and refuses to crack one open until the sun goes down to the very least.

“At least I’m not drunk at four in the afternoon on a Tuesday, at a company party.”

“I like to chase my cocaine high with gin, it goes down real smooth,” she hums, mocking the judgement in his voice with a line of smoke to his face.

“You realise that this isn’t Models R’Us anymore, right?”

She flashes him a smile that a journalist once called ‘equal parts make your slacks tighter and stop a baby elephant in its tracks terrifying’ in the Daily Mail and informs him in a sickeningly sweet voice, “First of all, it was a joke. And second of all, it’s a party, old man Horan. Loosen up.”

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, expression visibly hardening as she effortlessly pushes his buttons.

There’s a pause as he collects his comeback and she leans in, as if to whisper a secret.

“Careful,” she simpers, narrowing her eyes, “Might give yourself an aneurysm there.”

“I don’t think you’re in a place to give off health advice, Deakins.”

She almost chokes on the smoke as she cackles at his statement, “Oh, like you are? Mr. three knee surgeries and clearly needs glasses but doesn’t wear them?”

“Just…” he says tiredly, “Shut up.”

“You shut up,” she snaps back, but without any real bite in her voice.

“I’m not the one trying to peddle an STD to poor unsuspecting bartenders.”

“Oh come on,” she drawls, “Getting chlamydia from me has been the highlight of your year.”

“I was wondering what that rash was,” Niall plays along as they grin at each other, sharp and feral, as though not realising who it is exactly they’re bantering with.

She drops the cigarette to the ground and their lips lock.

She tastes of cigarettes and sin. And her mouth is just the way he remembered, hard and warm, tongue flickering against his as he pulls her body close. It’s wet and messy and a little bit desperate the way their teeth clack together and their tongues urgently wanting more, but they stumble blindly into a storage room of some sort.

She arches up into him with a whimper when he moves his way down her neck.

He sinks blunt teeth into her sternum right where the fabric of the top crosses over on her chest and she whines at the contact. Her body already erupting in goosebumps.

“What are we doing?” He asks as he slides ad hand up her skirt between her thighs.

“I don’t know; what do you think we’re doing?” She gasps between breaths as she grinds against his fingers.

He’s not even touching her in earnest yet, just teasing, keeping her on the edge, ghosting over her skin.

“I thought you weren’t into this?”

“What, this being dick?” Aahna asks, contempt in her voice.

The disdain, obvious and unforgivingly sharp, would have bothered him if he didn’t quite enjoy feeling her body react to his touch so much.

He uses that as opportunity to slip his fingers into the thin fabric that is her underwear, using the pad of his thumb to rub gentle circles into her just the way he knows drives her crazy.

“Well, there’s this concept called bisexuality. I’m sure you’ve— fuck,” she moans throwing her head back as his fingers slide into her.

Her cheeks are flushed and bright while her eyes keep on fluttering, struggling to stay open.

The sounds escaping her throat as he continues to finger fuck her makes things so much better and so much worse at the same time. When he feels her insides clench at him and her breath shudder into his shoulder, reaching her release, he’s ready to burst.

For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of their harsh breathing, and she sighs into his neck. And then, she lifts her head and leans back against the wall, sly smirk dancing on her lips, “You know, they say once is a mistake and twice is a pattern.”

“Yeah, and what’s seven and a half?” Niall jokes weakly, his pants so tight he’s surprised there’s any blood going to his brain at all.

“Good practice,” she says as her hands slide from their spot on his back and down to the front, undoing his belt and unzipping his trousers with a certain finesse that’s getting him impossibly harder, “I mean, giving a blowjob isn’t exactly like riding a bike.”

He forgets what they’re even talking about when she gets down on her knees in the dingy little storage room.

Niall Horan to CALL TIME IS 12PM DONT FORGET: did empire just reschedule the shoot?

Niall Horan: i swear tommo, if you’re hungover and lied about the baby being sick again…

Niall Horan: guys

Harry Styles: why do u even have a twitter acct if ur never gonna use it

Niall Horan: what?

Louis Tomlinson: for once it is not my fault thank you very much

Zayn Malik: a and h are stuck with the bobbies

Niall Horan: what?!

Liam Payne: aahna saw a cyclist get hit and run-ed, she called harry after she called the ambulance, he goes over because he’s an idiot, they get recognised, twitter blows up because the interwebs think aahna and harry hit the cyclist, and now they’re giving a statement at scotyard

Louis Tomlinson: and that’s what you missed on glee

Niall Horan: the cyclist ok?

Aahna Deakins: thanks for the concern, horan

Niall Horan: and why would you stop if you weren’t the one to hit him

Aahna Deakins: it was a corner

Aahna Deakins: he could have gotten run over by other cars!

Harry Styles: didn’t you stop for a guy who got hit by a car once?

Louis Tomlinson: because he was chasing his dog?

Zayn Malik: at like 2am at night or some shit?

Niall Horan: i’m not a lone female driver nor a celebrity yet at that point

Niall Horan: and he got hit because his dog jumped out of his car and he ran after it

Aahna Deakins: wow was the dog okay?

Niall Horan: that’s beside the point

Louis Tomlinson: the owner still sends him pics every christmas

Niall Horan: THE POINT IS

Niall Horan: it could’ve been one of those staged scams where you get robbed blind

Niall Horan: or you could’ve gotten caught in a fan mob

Niall Horan: have you no sense of self preservation, deakins?

Louis Tomlinson: aww look at nialler all concerned for aahna

Harry Styles: i call that growth

Zayn Malik: look how far they’ve come

Liam Payne: 😍😍😍

Niall Horan has left the chat

Aahna Deakins to Niall Horan: we’re secretly fucking on the regular

Aahna Deakins: does that answer your self-preservation question

Niall Horan: THAT IS NOT THE SAME THING

Zayn Malik to this is your reminder to stop getting tattoos before they replace the whole cast: we’re heading over to pick ‘em up

Zayn Malik: make sure they dont get mobbed cause of harry’s fans

Liam Payne: so we can all get mobbed together apparently

Niall Horan: no

Louis Tomlinson:

As much as he loves his job, Niall is glad when things wind down. It’s mostly post-production work once all the scenes are shot and the cast get to take a little break. Not like anybody actually takes breaks; Harry and Zayn usually have promotional commitments or other projects that they jet off to, as does Ainsley, Liam almost exclusively has some West End or Broadway gig, Louis disappears into his role of on duty father and occasional boyfriend depending on the state of his on again off again relationship, and Caroline does quite a fair bit of radio.

For Niall though, it spells out a chance to settle in and recharge. Maybe get some golfing in. Playing someone on screen is like having someone in your head, and it’s exhausting. So he fulfills contractual appearances, does an interview or two, and reads scripts for movie roles he knows he won’t take because trying to purge one character out of his head is hard enough.

If he’s feeling particularly restless, he dives into a bit of writing.

He’d hit a wall with one particular piece he’s been working on a while ago and wasn’t sure where he’s going with it. But between shelving it and the hectic filming season, he thinks he might just be able to get back into the groove of it.

He’s reading through the pages when his phone buzzes violently by his side. Niall wedges the mobile between his ear and shoulder, answering on autopilot more than anything.

“Hello?” It’s Aahna’s voice, sounding like she’s calling from the middle of Glastonbury or some rave or whatever the young’uns are into nowadays.

Except her voice sounds terrible, gasping and raspy and all wrong.

He shoots upright from his former position on the couch.

“Deakins?”

“Yeah— I’m just— Hang on— I can’t deal with that right now, can you please get her from the loo so we can get out of here?”

There’s a shuffling and some shoving sounds coming from the other end, but then she’s back before he can question it or voice his worry.

“Sorry— We’re kind of next to bar fight. Anyway—”

“Did you just say bar fight?”

“Yeah, Harry’s been away for a week now and he hasn’t called to check in with Ains so we went out for some drinks where she basically whined about how she doesn’t know what they are and then Caroline thought it’d be fun to instigate a fight between these two guys who kept buying us drinks,” she rushes through the whole thing like it isn’t a big deal, “It’s a whole ordeal.”

“Yeah?” Niall says, having no idea where she’s going with the call.

The background noise seem to be getting louder and he eyes his car keys from his living room couch, wondering if he should go pick them all up before it morphs into a social media frenzy and another one of those things that the studio execs send them all emails about with exclamation marks in the headline.

“Yeah,” Aahna shouts back over the phone, “You remember that time when I told you that Harry’s new coffee maker was voice activated?”

He smiles at the memory of it, dropping the papers in his hands to his side, “Yeah, that was a fun morning. Spent fifteen minutes yelling at the damn thing before Harry asked me the hell I was doing.”

She laughs at that, “I swear you’re like a seventy year old in a twenty five year old’s body.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Niall’s finding it hard not to raise his voice to match hers at this point.

“Nothing, I was just calling to let you know that watching Caroline manipulate guys into a fisticuffs was really fun,” she shouts back, louder this time, “Almost as fun as watching technology stump you.”

Niall goes warm all over at that. He blames the chilli he wolfed down earlier that she left for him last night.

She’s stayed over at his almost every night since Harry’s been away, doing away with the cloak and dagger of sneaking in and out to avoid questions or suspicions.

It’s been surprisingly domesticated. She brings over takeout, they watch something or another on the telly, they fuck, they bicker all over his apartment that he feels her breath lingering in corners when she leaves for whatever responsibilities she has for the day, and it’s been sort of just… nice.

The intimacy of it all should feel like too much; the cuddling after sex, the falling asleep wrapped up in one another. But he can’t find it in him to to care. Not when his blood is still getting back to their path not south of his body and his sheets have yet to cool from their exertions. Besides, they’d agreed that they weren’t hurting anyone with their arrangement so there’s no point trying to fix something that isn’t broken and that’s just been that.

When he opens his door about an hour later, it’s Aahna. Leather jacket over a thin romper (ridiculous for London weather, in his humble opinion) hair all blowsy and too much leg showing.

No wonder some pricks was buying her drinks all night. But he doesn’t tell her that, obviously.  

“You need to tell Harry you’re not dead,” she pushes past him into the apartment, kicking off her shoes and hanging her jacket at the hook next to the door habitually, without him prompting her to do so she goes.

“What?”

“He’s been texting me to check up on you this whole week because none of your socials show signs of life and it’s driving me insane.”

He stares after her as she makes her way to his living room, confused. He does a few InstaStories on set here and there but those are more contractual obligations for promo than anything.

“And it’s not like I can tell him you’re fine because I’ve seen you practically everyday,” Aahna continues, “When I tried to flip the subject on him for leaving Ainsley hanging yet clearly not being dead because he’s texting me like clockwork every day, he accused me of not looking out for you, because apparently it’s a neighborly obligation to ensure that you haven’t accidentally bored yourself to death or something.”

“I don’t need looking out for,” Niall frowns.

“Good, ‘cause I’m apparently doing a shit job,” she jumps on the couch, lying flat with her feet propped on the armrest. She cocks her head looking over at him, “Although in his defence, your socials have been particularly dead and that’s not— Wait, what is this?”

She yanks out the scripted version of his story from beneath her.

“It’s nothing,” he says, as he goes to snatch it out of her hands.

“Niall James Horan, are you actually looking to expand your curriculum vitae?” Aahna cocks her eyebrow up as she leafs through the first few pages.

“Give me that.”

“Are you auditioning for a film?” She asks again, eyes skipping across the words on the pages, and ignoring his previous statement.

“No. It’s nothing,” he repeats defensively, tugging at the script, feeling nervous and oddly self-conscious about it. But Aahna has got an inexplicably strong grip and she weasels out of his grasp, script still in hand, jumping off the couch to read more of it without his limbs getting in the way.

“Where’d you get this from?”

“It’s not—”

“Niall, this is good,” she looks up at him, eyes alight, “This is really good. You should do it.”

He starts trying to explain that it isn’t a movie, just a silly thing he’s been working on and off over the years but he trails off before he can let the words out.

He can’t believe it, but the sleek, sour, and at times, inexplicably charming co-star, Aahna Deakins has, over the weeks, gradually gone from a veritable thorn by his side to somewhat of a begrudging friend. (Well, a friend who ruthlessly mocks him every available opportunity and then jump into his bed when no one is looking. That sort of friend.)

She’s just staring at him and they’re just silent, which neither of them are used to.

“It’s just a thing I’ve been fiddling with,” he finally admits, “I’ve been writing it for a couple of years, it’s not… It’s not anything.”

“I’m five pages in and I’m hooked, why aren’t you pitching this to the studio?” Aahna asks, confused.

“It’s barely a done script.”

“Then finish it,” she says, as a matter of factly.

“Sure,” he says with a shrug.

She looks at him pointedly, “I mean it. You need to show this to Sierra or something.”

“Alright.”

“You better,” she says, pushing the thick wad of paper flimsily stapled together into his chest as she turns to head to his kitchen as though it was hers. Although at this point, with all the take out and beer she’s bought over, it might as well be.

“If anything, you should do it for me,” she grabs a beer out of the fridge.

“For you, huh?” Niall sets the script down, trailing behind her into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” she knocks the beer cap off the corner of the bar counter with ease, “To impress me.”

“Trust me, I’m trying,” he says under his breath.

She cocks her head at that, and he takes the opportunity to snatch the beer from her, “Forget I said that.”

“Alright,” she says, mirroring his tone from earlier, smirk on her lips, smug and proud.

He’s moved closer to her without realising.

“You do, by the way,” she plucks the beer bottle back from his hands effortlessly.

“What?”

“Impress me.”

He says nothing for a minute, just looking at her. And she’s just looking back at him. Too much space between them. His heart, still thudding from the panic of her finding the script to begin with, slowing finally.

“Now,” she says, breaking their prolonged eye contact, “Let’s talk about getting Harry off my back about you; how do you feel about fashion shows?”

Niall Horan renamed the group can we pls stop renaming the group chat

Louis Tomlinson renamed the group horan and deakins sitting on a tree

Niall Horan: what

Louis Tomlinson: oh im sorry

Louis Tomlinson renamed the group #teamdrowningindeniall

Louis Tomlinson: better?

Niall Horan: first of all, you’re not using the hashtag right

Niall Horan: second of all, pretty sure this is cyberbullying

Louis Tomlinson: first of all what do u know about hashtags

Louis Tomlinson: second of all no is not

Louis Tomlinson: everyone saw the fashion show photos

Niall Horan renamed the group stop it or i’m calling old bill on you tommo

Louis Tomlinson renamed the group lmao old bill cant help that ur in love with aahna

Liam Payne: hahahahahahhahahahah

Harry Styles: could’ve been worse

Harry Styles: he could have started a fb couple page for u

Niall Horan: …

Louis Tomlinson: if i weren’t so happy ‘d be upset i didn’t think of that first

Zayn Malik: link us as soon as it’s up

Niall Horan: thanks, harru

Niall spends a good five minutes under the stream of the too hot shower water just staring at the tube of face wash. The body wash, her brand that leaves him smelling a little too coconut-y and a little more moisturised than he likes, swirls down the drain as he contemplates the face wash so innocently staring back at him.

It’s the exact brand he uses, one that you can’t just get out of any Boots or Tesco. No, his face wash is one that you could only get at its boutique brand outlets.

And he knows he’s overthinking it. Knows that it’s stupid to get all worked up over a simple face wash. He can’t help it though, a few weeks of under the radar shagging has left him even more unnerved than before they were working out their onset aggression.

He makes a gargantuan effort to push the thought away; the thought that Aahna went out of her way to get him his face wash to keep at her bathroom. The thought that even though filming for the season has wrapped and for all intents and reasons they wouldn’t be seeing much of each other anymore, she still got his face wash to keep at her place.

The thought that their level of intimacy now is almost on the edge of being caught. (She insisted that she needs to make Harry’s place look lived in by the time he gets back and Niall goes over to help her out with that except they just ended up fucking on the couch with some mindless cop drama playing in the background.)

He’s cleaning up in her bathroom and there it it, his face wash just sitting there in the shower. Like it’s been there waiting for him all this time.

Niall shuts off the water and steps out of the shower, face wash be damned. But when he walks out to the living room, she’s just lounging on the couch, scrolling through the Netflix queue in the ratty t’ shirt he was wearing earlier and his heart swells with some kind of feeling he hates to admit.

She settles on some documentary on greek mythology and he wonders for a moment if she is Persephone; an abstract idea he dreamed up and kidnapped, now kept captive in his mind.

(And he knows right then, that he is completely and utterly fucked.)

[betterbranches]

Love, Gratitude and Home

Between the cutting, poking, prodding of the biopsy, chest pumps and hospital there were my girlfriend, friends and family. I didn’t forget you.

On Thursday morning Wendy picked me up in time to hear the roosters crow. Zipping me to the hospital, I checked in and Jocelyn met us. Hours later when I was wheeled to Room 911 where I was to spend three nights Jocelyn and Wendy were there. I remember at some point Jocelyn brought Chinese vegetarian food that I devoured between the anesthetic of the chest pump wearing off and the morphine of its pain setting in. Though knowing she was there was all that mattered.

Having expected to be home in four hours but now with no finite end date from the hospital I needed to make arrangements for Moki. My dear friend and neighbor Martha came to the rescue. Moki moved across the street to his home away from home for four daily walks and loving care.

I’m a morning Darjeeling/Assam tea drinker but there was clearly no prospect of perfectly steeped leaves in my immediate future. Instead the hospital lobby Starbucks was sounding pretty good. On Friday at 5:45a.m. a ritual was born after the RN agreed her helper could get me a coffee from Starbucks. For the subsequent four mornings the message was passed from exiting night nurse to entering dawn nurse that someone should go to Starbucks for the lady in 911. I drank decaf almond milk lattes extra hot and they were among the most delicious things imaginable.

Steven and talking. Duffy and texting. Jocelyn visiting. Friends texting, calling. But I had very little energy, elan or enthusiasm. I just wanted out. I played game upon game of terrible scrabble, I’m generally pretty good. Streamed. Missed the news. Was too dopey to read. Slept or tried to but what a challenge–every time my lids shut a doctor, nurse, X-ray tech, vampire, gurney driver, water deliverer, nurse’s assistant arrived.

Friday Pat and Melinda visited. Again I don’t remember much just how calm and good it felt to see them.

Saturday after chest pump #2 operation Jocelyn was back in the late afternoon distracting me with pruning tales and vegetarian Japanese food. She also may have told me the secrets of the universe for all I remember–my brain was fuzzy.

Sunday she and I had wheelchair escapades. Touring the ninth floor around my room 911 before taking off for bigger adventures a four-foot-six-inch-80-pound-octogenarian blocked our passage and staring me in the eye–remember I’m seated in a wheelchair–robustly decreed that World War lll is here what we need to do. Next the mad Lilliputian tried commandeering my chair by pushing Jocelyn out of the way and going for the control bar. It’s surprising the strength of a tiny crazed granny and it could have gotten ugly if not for the timely intervention of a nurse who coaxed the woman away. Jocelyn and I beat a hasty retreat to the nearest elevator. Definitely time for some fresh air in the atrium.

As if the number 911 was inauspicious enough the room looked smack into the center of the old crumbling, grey hospital blocking the surrounding hills and sky. Finally on Sunday a room with a view opened and I move to a more gracious space for the remaining 20 hours, thirty-seven minutes and two seconds but whose counting.

Monday I exited into the capable hands of Ms Wendy Penney who helped me begin scrubbing the ubiquitous adhesive from my skin in a luxurious hot shower. She saw me settled in bed with a bowl of the world’s most delicious corn/summer squash soup Jocelyn had cooked to assure I would be warm, cozy and well fed once home. It worked. I was. For the second time this year, first was after the flood evacuation, I knew there was no place like home and that it is filled with love.