#I could finally wear a man's suit jacket without it creasing T-T

[punk-in-metal-detector]

Are you telling me that if I get a vest I need not, no... I should not wear the suit jacket buttoned? Well that is one dangerous game we're playing, my friend

[sidhelives]

I Can Only Hope You Won't Be Too Disappointed

Fluffcember 2020

Prompt: Family/Friends

First chapter under break, please use link to read full fic.

Hero ran her hands down the Warden blue silk of her gown for the one hundred and thirty-fifth time as she gazed at herself in the mirror. It felt soft and light, so different from her armor, and her bare shoulders felt cold, naked in the cool air creeping in through the window. She took a deep breath and released it slowly, willing the nerves she felt jangling the edges of her vision to still.

"Wow. You look incredible."

She started at the sudden voice, closing her eyes to regain her bearings. When she opened them again Nathaniel was beside her in the mirror, his grey eyes, two shades darker than her own, taking in her carefully upswept hair and tastefully painted features.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them softly and warming her chilled skin.

"It's alright, I'm just a ball of nerves I'm afraid." Hero smiled, covering one of his hands with her own. "Let me look at you." She turned, dress rustling as the slight train dragged across the stones. Nathaniel obligingly stepped back, put his arms out, and turned once for her, his smile equal parts proud and uncomfortable. The suit had been custom ordered from Denerim, jet black with a high sharp collar which accentuated his equally sharp jaw. The waistcoat was the same rich blue as her gown and embroidered with the silver griffins of the Wardens.

"You look impeccable, as always." She smiled, tucking a lock of dark hair behind one of his ears, her fingers brushing softly against the silver hoop set into his lobe: Anders had goaded him into the piercing months ago. He had been embarrassed by it at first but had seemingly grown fond of the feature. Hero thought it brought out his eyes, which may have had something to do with his change in attitude.

Nathaniel caught her hand and laid a kiss against her palm. "We could still cancel," he offered sincerely.

She sighed. "Everyone is already here, you can hear them milling about the great hall getting antsy."

He shrugged, a wry smile creasing his eyes. "You're the Warden-Commander. Just say that there are hyper-intelligent Darkspawn climbing the walls: that will clear them out quick."

Hero laughed, tipping her head back and pressing a hand to her chest. "If only it were that easy." She shook her head. "What have you done to your cravat?"

Nathaniel glanced down. "What's wrong with it?"

Hero rolled her eyes. "Let me see it."

Laughing, Nathaniel tipped his chin up to give her access. "What's got you so jumpy?"

She flicked her eyes up to his face then back to the cloth around his neck, straightening and tying it properly. "Just pre-party jitters, that's all," she lied. She glanced up at his face again and found him looking down at her, a single disbelieving eyebrow raised.

"But what is it really?" He asked.

She looked away, focusing on the cravat, not wanting to meet his eyes. "It's nothing."

Nathaniel's palms rubbed comfortingly up and down her bare upper arms. She finished the tie, tucking the ends into the neck of his waistcoat, and sighed heavily. She was a terrible liar. Always had been. "Fergus is here."

"Ah." Nathaniel nodded. "And I'm guessing he doesn't know about us."

She shook her head, the apples of her cheeks growing hot from embarrassment. "No. I—" she swallowed hard. "I'd been trying to think of how best to tell him…"

"It's been months, Hero."

She had expected him to be angry or at the very least frustrated with her lack of candor, but he sounded more perplexed than perturbed. She smoothed her fingers over the silk of her gown again, hands flighty and aimless without weapons to hold. "I don't know how he'll react…"

"When he finds out you're sleeping with the son of the man who murdered your parents."

" In love with ," Hero corrected, poking him firmly in the chest. "And yes, that is the worry."

"It will be fine." He smiled, using one finger to tilt her chin up. "You don't really think your brother will take a swing at me in the middle of the party, do you?"

Hero smirked. "He might. You don't know him like I do."

"I might look dashing with a black eye."

"Less so with a broken jaw," she chided.

Nathaniel frowned in a way that indicated he had not considered that possibility. "Do you… not want to tell him?"

Hero's mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. Nathaniel's eyes were sincere, the question offered as a genuine possibility rather than a rebuke, but the fine lines around his eyes belied the sting of the words. "Of course I want to tell him." Hero told him firmly. "I love you, and I don't want to hide that from him. I just... need to explain it to him in a way that doesn't end with a duel."

Nathaniel pressed his lips together, head nodding softly. "Okay." He kissed her forehead.

"Are Delilah and Albert here?" Hero asked, smoothing her hands down the front of his jacket.

"They had trouble finding someone to watch Ollie—"

"Oh no!" Hero's brow creased harshly as she frowned. "They should have brought him."

"Which is what I told Delilah." Nathaniel smiled. "They're here."

Hero's expression reversed, her smile lighting up. "It will be so nice to see them. Ollie must be so big now."

Nathaniel suddenly snapped his fingers. "I almost forgot. I have something for you." He went to a bureau and began digging through a drawer. "I placed a special order with Wade. Not his usual line of work, but you know how he likes a challenge."

"A gift made by Wade? You know I can't wear a weapon with this dress." She gestured at the fine silk.

"I'm sure you could fit a dagger or two into that pillow thing on your behind," Nathaniel teased without looking up.

Hero crossed her arms petulantly. "It's a bustle . They're the height of fashion in Denerim at the moment, or so I'm told."

"Are you sure someone isn't playing an elaborate joke on you?" He looked back at her with a roguish smile. "I think your behind looks perfectly lovely without any augmentation." Nathaniel closed the drawer with a snap, a flat wooden box retrieved and tucked under his arm.

Cheeks gone pink, Hero frowned harder. "Is that what you got me then? Bustle knives?"

"That would have been an excellent idea." He returned. "I can only hope you won't be too disappointed." He tipped the front of the box towards her, releasing the catch with one finger and lifting the lid.

Hero gasped softly. "Oh, Nathaniel. They're beautiful."

Lazurite and Silverite forged in delicate swirls and curls, framing and supporting a filigree Warden's crest pendant and matching earrings sported exquisite miniature griffins in flight. The metalwork stood on its own, without gems or insets, ingots tempered to an immaculate shine, which caught and reflected light, dazzling her eyes.

" You're beautiful," Nathaniel corrected. "These are very fine things, but they can only compliment your radiance."

Color rushed to Hero's cheeks. "Thank you." She reached out a tentative hand to the jewelry. "Can I...?'

"Wear them? That was the intention, yes," he smiled glibly.

Hero wrinkled her nose at his cheeky smile and plucked the earrings from the velvet-lined box, slipping them easily into her ears. When she reached for the necklace Nathaniel pulled the box just out of her reach. "Let me."

With a sheepish smile Hero nodded and turned around. In the mirror, she watched Nathaniel carefully drape the necklace around her neck. The metal was cold against her skin, but the warm caress of his fingers as he placed and clasped the chain kept her from shivering.

"There." Nathaniel met her eyes in the reflective glass. "Perfect."

His expression was so soft, so full of awe it made Hero's chest clench. She turned and caught his face between her hands, pressing her lips to his. His arms encircled her waist holding her tight and returning her amorous embrace. Hero felt light-headed and giddy as they parted, giggling at the smear of red her lips had left on Nathaniel's mouth.

"Oh, Dear. You need a handkerchief."

Nathaniel glanced at the mirror and snorted, pulling a square of lining from his back pocket and roughly wiping his mouth with it. "And not just me."

Hero caught sight of her reflection in the glass and descended into another round of giggles at the stain around her own lips.

"We can't have the Warden-Commander turn up to her Wintersend banquet like that. What would Mistress Woolsey say?"

Hero let him lift her chin and gingerly clean her face. "I'd tell her it was your fault. It's not a lie."

Nathaniel smirked. "I'd happily take the blame for that." He placed a chaste kiss upon her cheekbone, just below her eye, then offered his arm. "Shall we descend upon the rabble, Warden-Commander?"

Hero rolled her shoulders back and took his arm. "Let's, Warden-Constable."

He walked her out of their quarters and down the hall, the sound of music and chatter growing louder with each step they took. Despite her momentary ease, Hero felt the cold breath of anxiety creeping back up her spine as they drew closer to the main hall.

She had to tell Fergus. 

It would be easy, she told herself. She was a grown woman, battle tempered and fully capable of making her own decisions; and he was her brother, he loved her unconditionally.

She needed to trust that he loved her more than he hated Howe.

Nathaniel broke from her side as they reached the door to the hall, giving her crown a final reassuring peck before he opened it for her. The sound of the hall stilled as the door opened, and Hero could hear Garevel announcing her. Her eyes lingered lovingly on Nathaniel's for a moment longer, then she took a deep breath and stepped through the door.

[harryandhishook]

Don’t touch what isn’t yours! - Chapter 1

Fandom: Dream Daddy

Pairing: Damien x Robert

Setting: Maple Bay

Warning: Mentions of smut, Damien’s genitalia referred to as male, nothing much for this chapter

Summary: Damien has been dating Robert for a while and their life is becoming slowly more and more domestic but unfortunately, someone has been watching and doesn’t like it one bit.

Words: 1618

Requested: I remember seeing an old posts about some really dark prompts and I thought about the cult ending of Dream Daddy so I jumped at the chance ... then got really carried away (Btw, I wanted to contribute to the cult ending stuff so don’t @ me for this, normally I wouldn’t write Joseph like this)

Side note: This is a story I have completed and if it wasn’t for an anon jumping into my asks to see if I was okay then I would have waited longer to post this. Sorry for the absence for this time but everythings just piling up and I rarely get much time to myself if I’m not doing uni work (Which I graduated :D but I’m going onto a masters) or doing normal adult survival stuff so I hope this is okay.

First // Prev // Next

Perfect, everything was perfect, Damien had a perfect house, a perfect, if somewhat moody, son and a perfect, if slightly dysfunctional, boyfriend, everything was perfect … Maybe not perfect but close enough.

The bright morning light filtered through the curtains, flowing over the beautiful dark coloured carpet and slithering up to drape across the two lumps underneath the red silk sheets adorning the four-poster bed. Soft sounds of snoring filled the room as two men embraced as if their lives depended on it, one gruff and rugged while the other delicate and soft, complete opposites but fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw, maybe not the exact same picture but they go together nevertheless. Nothing could ruin the morning, nothing could interrupt their moment of bliss, nothing at all, except an alarm.

The blaring of Damien’s phone alarm caused the two men to stir, groaning from the rude awakening as the long haired prince of darkness sat up, his hair ruffled and tangled, the obviously two sizes too big, red V-neck shirt hanging off his shoulder as he looked around, his eyes still drooping while he observes the room, trying to get his brain into gear.

Moments of tiredly debating the inevitable wake up and letting his alarm play, Damien finally groggily reached over to his oak nightstand, swiping the screen and silencing the obnoxious disturbance. His hand shuffled around the wood, pushing his phone out of the way to grab his glasses and place them on his face.

Looking around, after giving himself the ability to see, he spotted something that quickly pulled a small smile across his face. Laying on the floor nearby the end of the bed was Roberts black leather jacket.

With a deep breath and his bottom lip between his teeth, the Victorian man carefully shuffled across the silk fabric of his bed, his bare legs slipping out of the covers and over the edge. Once his foot made connection to the fluffy carpeted floor, Damien peered over his shoulder to make sure that his other half was still deep in his slumber before finally pushing himself up.

Tiptoeing across the room, he carefully took the article of clothing in his hands, making sure that no noise could rouse his sleeping lover before slowly pulling the coat over his arms and holding it close to his body. The fading smell of Alcohol and Robert’s musk bombarded Damien’s nose causing the gothic dad to moan in happiness, letting a shiver course down his spine at the familiar aroma giving him a little boost for the day.

While Robert continued to sleep, Damien decided to get ready for the day. Looking over at the dark drawn curtains, he decided against letting the warm sun light up the room, his boudoir was dark but his lover was still asleep and he wouldn’t want to disturb that so he used the small amount of light flowing past the gaps to find his vanity, taking his ornate carved brush in between his long slender fingers and carefully pulling through his long black hair, luckily, the knots weren’t too bad after … last nights adventures … but still enough to make him wince. The Victorian decided to distract himself from the slight pain in his roots by reminiscing, well, more dreaming about Robert, thinking about their romance, thinking about their late-night escapades, thinking about Roberts hands, about his ruff voice about his…

He had not realised just how distracted he had gotten until he felt two strong arms wrap around his body from behind as some prickly stubble grazed his neck and a breathy deep voice whispered in his ear,

“Morning, love” another shiver shot down Damien’s spine as he squeaked from the sudden appearance of his lover, quickly he turned his head, hair swishing over his shoulder as he came face to face with the man he was fantasising about a moment ago,

“Robert, I didn’t hear you get up, darling, how, erm, how long have you been awake?” the goth asked softly, a slight nervousness laced in his voice as he realized just what state of dress he was in, Roberts shirt, Roberts Jacket and nothing else, he was practically naked. His thoughts were interrupted by a low gravelly chuckle,

“Long enough to watch you practically drool over me” he smirked as he wrapped one arm under Damien’s legs, lifting him off the chair so he could sit down, placing the man onto his lap instead, “I woke up just in time to see you smell my jacket” he whispered with an underlining tone of lust but to Damien, he could also hear the love emanating from his voice.

The Victorian squeaked softly and quickly pushed his face into the crook of Rob’s neck, hiding his obvious blush, even in such a dark room, anyone could see the bright crimson gracing over the softer mans face,

“I-I wasn’t smelling it, I was just … reminding myself of your scent, there’s a difference, my dear” Damien argued back, his voice muffled by Robert’s tanned skin, unfortunately the sound of his phone vibrating with notifications stopped him from just hiding under the safety of his bed sheets, “I think my cellular is definitely taking away the aesthetic of my lifestyle” he chuckled softly, peeking out from his little safe spot, moving his gaze as best as he could to see that his lover was staring lovingly down at him,

“I think you wearing my leather is definitely taking away from the look … but it suits you, makes you look a little … rebellious” he smirked as his eyes seemed to move over every inch of the Victorians body until they stopped, Damien watched curiously, following his gaze until he saw exactly what he was staring at.

With a gasp, Damien pulled the red shirt down his legs further, keeping anything out of view as he tried to keep himself composed, unfortunately, the damage had been done and Robert now had the image of Damien’s long, slender legs nestled over his as the red shirt crumpled up his body and revealed … a little too much of his body,

“Robert, as much as a part of me would love to recreate the events of last night, I’m afraid I am under dressed for the day and you must remember, some of us must leave the home for our place of work, so I really do need to go and bathe before Lucien awakens so I can at least provide him breakfast” he tried to argue but it got harder and harder to want to when he felt the familiar feeling of large, rough hands creeping up the inside of his thigh, “a-as I already seemed to h-have wasted some time, my morning bathe will need to be cut shorter t-than usual” he stuttered out, feeling Robert’s hand push past his and under the red shirt, creeping closer and closer to his little treasure, “I n-need to make breakfast a-and make sure I have e-everything and … R-Robert...” he partially moaned out as he felt the fingers of his lover touch the crease connecting his thigh and something that was still quite sensitive, “I-I need t-to get r-ready and I’m already s-sensitive enough a-as it is…” he whispered in the other man’s ear, his breathless argument only made Robert smirk more, his fingers dangerously close to his prize,

“You always seem to give yourself a good few hours and never use it all in actually getting ready, so a little fun before you do get ready shouldn’t be too bad and anyway” Robert’s thumb and forefinger wrapped around Damien’s little dick, rubbing gently, “how about, to help you save time and not have to rush, I join you in the shower?” he asked with the biggest shit eating grin on his face as he watched Damien’s expression change to sheer pleasure, he took it as a win. Earning a whine from the goth as he removed his hand, his arms once again snaking underneath Damien’s legs but this time it was to carry the softer man into the en suite bathroom, spending the next half hour giving Damien a reason to think about him all day … and probably giving Lucien a wake up call.

The rest of the day went off without a hitch, Damien managed to get ready for work in time, breakfast was made with enough time to spare for both him and Lucien since the boy still had school and even though he refused to look either his father or Robert in the eye, probably from the inappropriate wake up call, he gave them a smile before he left. Damien and Robert kissed each other goodbye as they left to go their separate ways with a promise of meeting up again after the Victorian came back from his probably quite exhausting job and that was how the day went.

Finally, when the end of the day came, Lucien was first home like always, stomping to his room to play his obnoxiously loud music, Robert decided it was around time to head over to wait for his lover and also be uncharacteristically nice enough to start dinner for them all to give Damien a little break and once the man in question was home, Robert was there waiting by the door, bouquet of flowers in hand and a warm smile on his face.

However, unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes were watching them from a distance, a pair of dark, hate filled eyes, glaring at them both while hatching a plan for them because if someone were to have Robert, it wasn’t going to be Damien.

[breathlester]

Play date

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

summary: Dan and Phil need a night off parenthood duties, so they leave their baby son with Phil’s mum and make reservations at a nice restaurant. Only things don’t really go to plan…

genre/themes: parenting, fluff, smut

content warnings: mild sexual content

“Y’know-,” Phil says mid yawn and stretched halfway across the table. “Y’know what we need?”

Dan doesn’t respond, face hanging so low above his mug of coffee he’s inhaling it rather than drinking.

It’s seven in the morning and neither of them have slept for more than three hours.

There was a time when three hours of sleep would have been fine with them. There was also a time when getting up at seven would have been intolerable - at least for Dan - but those times have passed, and though neither of them says it, they are both immensely thankful for this short while of peace and quiet that only the early morning grants them.

Phil tries again, this time lifting his face off his arms. “Dan, you know what we need?“

The other man makes a grumbling noise, not looking up. His hair is a mess of tangled brown curls and his lids are so heavy Phil can barely make out his eyes.

“We need a day off,” he declares.

There are two bowls of cereal on the table in front of them that Phil has managed to pour in his overtired state. He’s forgotten milk and spoons, which proves handy now as Dan extends one hand and shows a bunch of dry cereal into his mouth.

Phil listens to the crunch, crunch of his teeth, then his inevitable cough as he swallows too many shreddies at a time.

“You think?,” Dan replies finally, lifting his mug with a shaking hand to take a careful sip.

His brown eyes blink at Phil, small and blood-shot.

Phil drapes one arm across the high-chair next to him to be able to interlace their fingers, cracking the first tiny smile of the day as Dan’s wedding band presses cold against his skin.

For a while neither of them says anything else, as Dan sips his coffee in silence and Phil is content for the moment playing with his fingers, his head resting on the table again.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until said fingers weave through his hair and tickle him awake.

A mewling noise slips off his tongue and he frowns, hearing Dan giggle softly. It takes the greatest effort to crack his eyes open again and he yawns so wide he can feel his jaw click unpleasantly.

“Did you hear what I said?,” Dan asks, seeming slightly more awake now that he’s had his daily dose of caffeine. “I think you’re right. We do need a day off. And a night, for that matter. We haven’t slept through in a week.“

Phil smiles up at him, feeling giddy at the mere idea, until doubts and a sense of guilt seep into his mind. “Are you sure we can do that, though? Just leave him with somebody? Wouldn’t he get -“

Dan interrupts him before he can start to obsess. “Phil, he’ll be fine. He’s been without us before, remember?“

“You mean when we were sent on a BBC thing late at night and he was supposed to stay with my mum until the next day but you got so anxious we drove all the way up north afterwards and picked him up at 4 in the morning?“

Dan blushes and looks down, fiddling with his cuticles. “Yeah, well, he was only a baby then. Now he’s a toddler and we know better.“

Phil catches his hand and pulls it away, up to his mouth so he can kiss Dan’s maltreated fingernails as a silent ‘don’t do that’.

“Let’s call my mum later?,” he suggests. “She’s been meaning to visit us in a while; we could have her over for dinner tomorrow and let her take Charlie home. Then we can take off Friday and go up north on the weekend. I haven’t seen my dad in a bit anyway.“

Dan closes his eyes and sighs happily as Phil’s lips move to the back of his hand, pressing a soft kiss there.

“Sounds like a plan. We should probably give her a fair warning though…“

-

“Sounds to me like he’s moving on to his defiant phase now,” Kath says on the phone. “You boys better prepare yourself for some mean temper tantrums.“

Dan’s slouched on the sofa, forming a new crease on their fairly new piece of furniture. He’d brushed off Phil’s attempts at critique with the argument that he needed to break it in.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. The paediatrician said so, too. The terrible twos and all.“

“Oh, Phil was bad with those. I don’t quite know how I survived.“

Dan bites back a grin, watching Phil stack lego towers on the lounge floor, looking quite a bit more enthusiastic about the building exercise than their small son who’s sat next to him. “Was he? I can hardly see that.“

„Yeah, he’s playing Mr Innocent now. You’d better watch him with Charlie though, I have a feeling he might turn out just as indulgent as his dad used to be. It’s no good for a child to be spoiled.“

Phil looks up questioningly when he feels Dan’s eyes on him. Dan puts him off with a wave of his hand, but Phil pushes out his lower lip and reaches out one hand for the phone.

Dan chuckles. „Speaking of two-year olds – your thirty-two year old is pouting at me because he wants to talk to you.“

She laughs. Dan can hear her clanking with pots. „Ah, that sounds like him. Well, then, Dan. It’s been nice chatting with you! I suppose I’ll sort out the details with him?“

„Yeah, alright. See you soon!“ Dan straightens his back, stiffling a moan as he hears it crack, and gets off the couch to hand the receiver to his husband.

„Hey, mum!“ Phil’s face lights up immediately as it always does when he’s talking to his family. Not like Dan’s jealous, because he knows he’s part of that.

And someone else is as well, for nearly two years now.

„Hey, duck“, he says softly, crouching down next to the infant. „You’re building a nice house, yeah?“

Charlie looks up at him, dark blue eyes wide and honest. „Daddy build house.“

In front of him, Phil has constructed a small tower of blocks. Dan smiles, settling down cross-legged. „Yes, daddy was building one just now, you’re right. But let’s bet you and I can build an even better one, huh? One just like the one we live in?“

As Phil reclines on the sofa, Dan picks up a yellow brick and holds it out to Charlie. „What colour’s this one?“

-

It’s the morning after dinner with Kath and Phil is a nervous wreck.

„And you’re sure you’ve got everything you need? Nappies, toys, his blanket -“

He reaches out to check the baby bag for the third time, but his mother stops him.

“Philip, I’m not an old woman, I promise you I haven’t forgotten anything. Besides, Martyn’s left some of Sophia’s things, including a potty that Charlie can use.“

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to make sure.“

She reaches out to pat his cheek. “Since when have you become the over-anxious one? Wasn’t it Dan last time who rang me out of bed in the wee hours?“

“Hey, I’ve improved since!“ Dan emerges from the nursery down the hall with a warmly dressed Charlie in his arms.

Kath’s face lights up like a christmas tree at the sight. “Aww, look at you, little man! All dressed up! The neighbours are going to be so jealous, Mrs Hudson’s granddaughter isn’t half as charming as you are.“

Dan laughs, tugging on the jacket his son’s wearing. “I know, right? Phil found it online. It’s got a duck’s bill on the hood and a tail and everything.“

“Me ducky“, Charlie voices confidently, causing Dan to press a kiss to the side of his face.

“Yes, you’re a little duckling, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he coos, smoothing down Charlie’s feathery locks of ginger hair.

Two years ago, Dan would have cringed at words like these, but now look at me, he thinks, gone all mushy and soft. And he’s not even ashamed of it. If it’s true that fatherhood changes people, it’s certainly brought out the best in him and Phil, and they wouldn’t have it any other way, even if lately Charlie has cost them their good night’s sleep more often than not.

The boy calls for his granny, and Dan passes him on to her after one last kiss to his cheek.

Phil observes with a smile how his mother greets the two-year-old, lifting him up and joggling him softly until he giggles.

Dan’s arm snakes around his waist, chin coming to rest on his shoulder; a touch that reassures him without words, ‘don’t worry, it’ll be fine.’

“I’ll best be off then,” Kath says, the baby bag slung over her shoulder and Charlie stood next to her contently holding on to her hand. “Before traffic gets too crazy. You boys enjoy yourselves, yeah?“

She eyes them with a smile playing in the corner of her mouth.

Phil goes red in the face, about to say something when Dan bursts out, “Oh, right! The baby seat!“, and runs off again to fetch it.

-

At five in the afternoon, Dan stumbles out of the shower and wraps himself in a towel. Phil’s playing Muse in his bedroom while getting dressed. He’s banned Dan from the room as if this was their wedding all over again.

It’s good though, it makes Dan feel giddy and even more excited for the night. They’ve reserved a table at a nice place in London they haven’t been to in a while. Living on the outskirts, they rarely visit central London now except for the BBC.

But tonight they will, and considering the traffic they should leave in about half an hour if they want to be on time, Dan realizes with a glance at his phone.

He dries himself off and puts on his clothes – a semi-formal black suit and a white dress shirt, because how long has it been since they’ve had a proper date? Just as he’s done straightening his hair with extra care, Phil calls for him from the hall.

He’s leaning against the wall next to the door, checking his phone as Dan walks up to him.

And fuck, this is one of those moments Dan wants to pat his own shoulder for getting this gorgeous man to marry him.

Phil’s wearing a slim grey suit and the azure blue shirt Dan got him for his last birthday that matches his eyes perfectly. His hair is pushed back casually into a quiff, there’s a subtle waft of his cologne in the air, and Dan wants to eat him up.

“Good, you’re ready.” Phil’s eyes dance over Dan’s frame and he smiles before looking back down on his phone. “Shall we go then? I was thinking we could take a walk along the Thames before, since the restaurant’s right there. You know, work up a bit of an appetite and all that”, he rambles on, taking no note of Dan’s change of mood.

“Oh, I’ve already got quite an appetite, to be honest,” Dan remarks and Phil finally looks up, picking up on his suggestive undertone.

Dan meets his stare, smirking although his heart is beating slightly too fast. Saundering towards him with his hands pushed into his pockets, he allows his eyes to wander as well.

“God, you’re a feast for the eyes, aren’t you,” he says in a low voice once he comes to stand in front of Phil, watching with satisfaction how Phil’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard.

“Dan…”

Dan ignores him, reaching out to smooth the collar of his suit jacket, then grabs his tie to pull him close. Phil’s breath hitches, his eye lids fluttering closed, and Dan can’t lie, he definitely enjoys the little whine his husband gives when he draws out the moment before the kiss.

“I’ve always wanted to do that”, Dan admits, tugging softly again on Phil’s tie to emphasize his words, before Phil lets out a moan and takes the initiative, leaning in to crash his mouth against Dan’s.

Dan flicks his tongue against Phil’s bottom lip, then takes it between his teeth, and Phil’s hands capture his face. When he tips his head to deepen the kiss, Dan wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him flush against his body.

Phil groans, attempting to pull back, which only causes Dan’s mouth to leave his and press tiny kisses to the underside of his jaw instead.

“Dan – we’re going to – be late,” he manages to croak out.

“Oh, screw the walk to the restaurant, Phil, don’t pretend you hadn’t got this in mind when you said we needed a night off,” Dan mutters against the soft spot beneath Phil’s ear, making him shiver.

He sucks a patch of skin into his mouth, biting into it softly, and Phil’s hands slip to his shoulders, fingers digging into his suit jacket. “Don’t l-leave marks,” he warns him, head leant against the wall to allow Dan better access nonetheless.

Dan moves to nibble on his earlobe, causing Phil to whimper softly. He kisses his way down Phil’s neck, fingers fiddling with the upmost button of his shirt. When he manages to pop it open, he pulls Phil’s shirt to the side so he can latch his lips onto the joint between Phil’s shoulder and neck.

Phil whines, running his hands down Dan’s arms in search for something to hold on to. As Dan pulls back to admire the purple mark he’s created, conveniently hidden beneath Phil’s shirt, Phil pushes him against the door.

“We should really leave,” he says, palms pressed flat against the door to both sides of Dan’s head, “if we want to make it on time.”

His cheeks are flushed, his hair is starting to come loose and his lips are red and swollen.

“Who needs dinner when I can have you?,” Dan murmurs, head cocked to the side, glancing up at Phil from beneath his lashes.

“That such a sentence should come from your mouth,” Phil huffs in amusement, still keeping a fair distance between their bodies.

“More than that shall come from my mouth,” Dan smirks and Phil gasps.

"Dan.”

He chuckles, watching intently as Phil exhales heavily, then bows his head until their foreheads touch.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a bit, basking in the simple fact that they’re able to. No child is going to start crying in the background and disrupt the moment, no child is going to walk in on them doing something he shouldn’t see.

They’re alone. And fuck, if they aren’t going to make the most of it.

The next kiss is soft and slow, composed of Dan’s arms around Phil’s neck and Phil’s smile against his lips.

“Love you,” Phil sighs as Dan winds a strand of hair around his finger and tugs on it. As a reply, Dan pushes his thigh between Phil’s legs and breaks the kiss so he can whisper into his ear.

“Say that again.”

A moan tumbles off Phil’s tongue. “D-dan – love y-”

Dan doesn’t let him finish, pulling his fingers out of Phil’s hair and snatching his wrists in his hands in one quick movement. He sucks Phil’s bottom lip into his mouth, revelling in the way Phil thrusts his hips against him eagerly. Interlocking their fingers, he lets go of Phil’s lip.

“Want to take this to the bedroom?”

-

It’s dark and quiet when Dan comes to.

He feels so warm and relaxed it takes him a bit to orientate. He stretches, then flinches as he becomes aware of the soreness in his lower back.

Steady, gentle breaths to his right.

He turns, moving closer to the source of the breaths and the source of body heat, trying to recollect his memory.

Hot breath against his neck.

“You smell like cinnamon and apples.”

“New shower gel.”

A flick of tongue, a sharp inhale.

“Hmm… I like it.”

Soft giggles, muffled by skin.

Oh, right. There was that. Well, that might explain why his ass hurts.

Dan almost laughs at himself. Between their demanding jobs and their even more demanding two-year-old, they’ve gone without sex for so long he’s nearly forgotten what it feels like to wake up afterwards.

But god, was it worth the pain. He closes his eyes again, revelling in the memory.

The sound of skin slapping against skin.

Forgotten words whispered into his ear.

Phil’s hands holding on to his shoulders too hard, not hard enough.

The feeling of heat pooling in his stomach, legs wrapped tightly around Phil.

Breathy moans, high-pitched begging, fingernails scratching flushed skin.

The final thrust, the touch of Phil’s hand that sends him over the edge.

And then bliss – Phil curling up next to him – panting breath, a kiss to his cheek –

He blinks as someone yawns and shifts next to him.

Right, Phil.

He looks so lovely with his hair ruffled and no clothes on, Dan thinks, and I’m the only one who gets to see him like this. A smug smile spreading over his face, he reaches out to wrap one arm around his husband.

Phil reacts by snuggling up to him, face pressed into Dan’s shoulder.

“Hi,” he mutters, voice soft and slurred.

Dan chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Hi, love. Sleep well?”

“Hmm…”

He’s ready to happily settle back in and drift off again when one thought rises from the back of his mind, claiming his attention.

“Oh, shit.”

At first he wants to slap himself, but then he just throws his head back and laughs, because fuck it, this was worth it.

Phil looks up at him, his wide, puzzled eyes replicating the expression on Dan’s face. “Dan?”

It takes him a few minutes to stop laughing. “Phil,” he chokes out, breaking off into a hiccup. Tears are sliding down his cheeks, and Phil reaches out automatically to wipe them away.

“What? What is it, Dan? You’re scaring me.”

Dan bites his bottom lip to force the laughter to subside, cradling Phil’s face in his hands.

“Phil, we had dinner reservations,” he says finally, like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

But actually, the funniest thing must be Phil’s face as realization hits him.

“No,” he says slowly.

“Yes,” Dan replies, still chuckling.

“No,” Phil repeats, sitting up and reaching across Dan. “Give me my phone. What time is it?”

Dan finds it on the bedside table and unlocks it, promptly beginning to laugh again. Phil pries the phone away from his hands.

His eyes grow even wider. It’s hilarious.

“Fuck!” he exclaims, throwing the sheets off. “Why won’t you stop laughing? Dan, we’ve got to get dressed, maybe if we hurry we can still make it!”

“Phil, I’m moderately sure they’ve given our table to someone else by now,” Dan says, watching Phil climb out of bed to put on his boxers.

“Why? It’s not seven yet, I mean we’ll probably be a bit late but we can call in and -”

Dan shakes his head, sitting up as well. “Phil – Phil, wait. Phil!”

“What?!” Phil cries out, exasperated and half-dressed. He’s got his underwear on backwards.

“It’s half past six in the morning, not at night!”

-

“Stop laughing already!”

Phil hits him across the head with his pillow.

Dan rolls over on to his back, still choking back laughter. “You have to admit it’s funny!”

“It’s not! I really wanted to go there, Dan!” He looks genuinely upset.

Dan raises one eyebrow. “Are you saying you would have rather gone to this restaurant than have sex with me?”

Phil looks at him uncertainly for a moment. “Yes?”

Dan huffs and turns away from him. “I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.”

He’s mostly faking, but it serves to finally get Phil’s mind off their missed reservation.

His arms snake around Dan’s waist from behind, lips brushing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the night, though.”

Dan grins, pushing his bum out to earn a gasp from Phil.

“Yeah, I had the feeling you were enjoying yourself quite a bit there, just like your mum told us to.”

“Shut up,” Phil says, pulling back one hand to pinch him, albeit gently.

They settle into silence again, curled up comfortably until Dan mutters, “There’s one disadvantage though. I’m fucking starved.”

Phil groans in agreement. “Pizza would be amazing right now.”

Dan giggles. “It’s seven in the morning. I’m pretty sure they don’t deliver before noon.”

“I think we still have some in the freezer,” Phil murmurs sleepily into his neck.

“Are you serious?” Dan frees himself from Phil’s embrace and sits up, pushing back the duvet. “Then why exactly are we still in bed? Come on, move! It’s time for breakfast!”

Ignoring Phil’s protest, he strolls to the door, swaying his hips as he’s aware of Phil’s eyes following him.

“Don’t you wanna put some clothes on?” Phil asks, the corners of his mouth curled upwards.

“Why?”, Dan replies, eyebrows raised. “Charlie’s not here. Or does it bother you?”

They look at each other for a moment.

Then Phil grins.

“Go preheat the oven, I’ll be right there.”

*** this used to be on my ao3 page (softiejace). i’m taking my phan content down from there for personal reasons but reposting it here so people can still enjoy it :) ***

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

As You Are

Title: Customary

Co-authors: hopeless_romantic_spoonie, yespolkadotkitty

Summary: What is the first date with an Asgardian Prince like?

Rating: General Audiences

Also found on Ao3 here :)

A/N: yespolkadotkitty did a lot of the legwork on this chapter, so give her lots of love!

Taglist: @just-the-hiddles, @yespolkadotkitty

You were going on a date with an alien Prince.

How in the world had that happened?

You had spent far too long agonizing over every little detail leading up to the moment that Loki knocked on your door, rather than use his key - “It is customary for the male suitor to not have a key to his affection’s home at this point.” Did you go for comfort or style? What of your comfortable clothes would be fitting to wear on a date with someone like Loki? Surely he wouldn’t do anything too extravagant for a first date?

Then again, he was actually from another planet. Who knew the rules of alien dating?

You had to stop yourself from cursing at the sight of him. He wore smart dark jeans, green button-up shirt and crisp black suit jacket like it was his job. He was breathtaking. How were you supposed to compete with that?

“What is wrong?” he asked, instantly concerned by the vexed expression you wore.

You waved your hand up and down his body. “You look like you just walked off of a runway.”

“Thank you - and another time we will talk about why fashion models, as you call them, and aeroplanes use the same device - but forgive me, I do not understand the issue?”

Self-conscious about your sudden insecurity - the man had seen you looking far worse several times now - you crossed your arms over your stomach and stepped back to invite him in. Your face burned as you stared at the floor after closing the door. “I just feel like a potato. You know?”

He sat the flowers he had brought down on your kitchen counter before strolling back to you until his black leather boots met almost toe to toe with your sensible flats. “I can’t honestly say I have ever experienced that particular emotion.”

A bitter laugh burst out of you of its own volition. “Of course. No one who looks like you ever has.”

“Is it simply the differences in our attire? That is easily remedied.”

Gold light glowed from your torso, and when it disappeared, an elegant emerald green blouse had taken the place of your simple solid t-shirt and cardigan. It wasn’t too restricting or revealing, just classy enough to match the jeans adorning your legs. Your neck felt much colder than a moment ago, and you reached up to find that your hair had been piled into an elegant knot on the back of your head.

“While I believe that you were just as beautiful before, does this help you feel less like a root vegetable?”

The sincerity of his tone chipped away a bit more at that piece of your heart that he had been trying to capture for weeks now; it was almost his. You smiled honestly and finally lifted your eyes up to him, forcing yourself to breathe evenly with how close he was, his handsome face just inches from yours. “We match now.”

“I quite enjoy it. Is that acceptable?”

The hint of vulnerability that creased the smooth skin between his brows revealed that he cared about the answer much more than he tried to let on. Summoning all your bravery despite your racing heart, you reached out and entwined his fingers with yours. “It’s perfect.”

*****

“This is your car?”

He let go of his hold on your hand to open the door to the shiny black sports car, its chassis sleek as a panther, reminding you of the man before you. He offered his hand to help you inside since it was so low to the ground. “Of course. Why would I assist you into the vehicle of another?”

You waited until he had settled into the driver’s seat and headed off to reply, “It’s a Jaguar. This thing had to be expensive.”

“The mechanics are remarkably similar to chariots I’ve commandeered from other races in the past.”

A thought suddenly occurred to you and you looked over to him with wide eyes. “Did you make a reservation? Because in New York City on Friday night, we’re going to be screwed if you didn’t.”

He winked arrogantly. “I took care of it.”

*****

After dropping you off in front of the hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant so he could park the car, Loki tapped you on the shoulder, drawing a startled squeak out of you.

“That is certainly a noise I haven’t heard from you before,” he smirked and held out his arm to escort you inside. “Perhaps the first of many. Shall we?”

If your cheeks burned any hotter your face would burst into flames. You tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow and followed him inside.

“It’s empty in here!” In New York, on a Friday night, that was not a good sign. Nothing was ever empty in the city that never slept.

“Would a booth or a table be more comfortable for you?” he asked, explaining nothing as he led you over to a corner of the restaurant where both options were presented to you with a lit candle and a single rose in the center of the tables.

You slid into the booth, secretly charmed that he would ask your opinion and prepare for either option. It didn’t deter your concerns, however. “Loki…”

He sat opposite you, the candlelight adding a touch of warmth to his pale skin. He nodded at someone behind you before meeting your gaze steadily, head tilted to the side to wait for you to continue.

“Why is no one else in here?”

“Because I have found that most anything can be purchased on Midgard for the right sum, including a private evening with delicious food,” he replied smoothly. “And here is the talented woman responsible for said delicacies.”

A tiny Chinese woman wearing a purple cheongsam crossed from the kitchen to their table. Her short hair was obsidian black, worn in a severely cropped style that framed her pixie face of high cheekbones and almond-shaped brown eyes.

“Welcome to The Golden Dragon,” she said in accented English. She cast a sly glance at Loki. “Xiăo, you’ve brought a woman for the first time.”

Loki introduced you. “This is Nai Nai,” he added, gesturing to the restaurant owner. When she left them in search of menus, he said in a low voice,” Xiăo is Cantonese for little. A joke between us.”

You blinked. “You know her… well?”

He shrugged. The candlelight bathed his angular features, kissing his cheekbones with gold. “A time or two I’ve assisted with a few matters.”

You took the offered menu from Nai Nai when she returned, nodding to her with a smile before she left to give you a moment to look it over. You directed your compliment into the menu. “How generous of you.”

He didn’t even bother to glance at the offerings. “I assure you I am not as altruistic as you imagine; I simply appreciate good food, and protecting those who produce it.”

Nai Nai returned and gave her advice on what to order - she suggested a pared-down version of their Emperor’s Choice banquet - hot & sour soup to start, char sui miniature pork buns served alongside, and then a mixed seafood chow mein, vegetables in oyster sauce and duck in plum sauce for the main course.

You raised a brow when Loki agreed, wondering if you’d be able to eat it all. And maintain some sort of dignity; chopsticks weren’t your forte.

But during the meal, there wasn’t time to worry about something as trivial as your chopstick skills. He admitted that ‘Nai Nai’ was actually Mandarin for grandma - she had insisted, and you got the impression he sort of feared her - which nicked at that ever-growing section of your heart that he was taking for himself. He entertained you with tales from Stark Tower over the delicious meal, ranging from hijinks carried on against Tony to his own frustrations with Dr. Strange’s ‘cheap imitations of magic.’ But he admitted that he had a liking for the sorcerer seeing as the good Doctor often created a portal directly into Stark’s office rather than bother to email him, scaring a year off Tony’s life each time. The Avengers found it most amusing.

Laughing the whole time at his tall tales, as the savory flavors of the food melted on your tongue, you slowly settled back into the comfort that had been established from spending many meals together in your apartment.

Only this time, there was an extra layer of tension beneath it all, tightening the muscles in your stomach whenever your eyes would meet over the table.

“I thought fortune cookies weren’t actually Chinese?” you asked, even as you excitedly ripped into the plastic wrapping protecting yours.

“It is still considered an important part of the meal, is it not?”

You loved opening things, so you weren’t going to argue. “Happy life is just in front of you.” It was pleasingly trite, but you hoped it might be true. You certainly couldn’t find fault with the man in front of you, so.

Loki opened his with less ferocity, unfurling the small paper with long, deft fingers and scowling down at the contents. “The one that recognizes the illusion does not act as if it is real.”

*****

Not that you had gone on many dates, but without fail, the most awkward part of the whole affair was always the end of it, and the fact Loki had seen you in sweatpants didn’t make this any easier.

“You coming inside?” you asked, hiding your sudden bout of nerves by facing the door and putting your back to him as your shaking hands finally managed to stick the key into the lock.

“Do you need any assistance this evening?”

You palmed your keys after removing them and opening the door. “Nope, I think I’m good. I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Am I to bid goodnight to your back?” he asked, settling a large warm hand onto your upper arm.

You flushed and turned around, successfully chided, your breath hitching in your throat at the warmth in his eyes as he towered over you.

“It is still customary for me to kiss you goodnight following our excursion?” he whispered, his voice low, tone intimate.

You couldn’t look away from his gaze; he’d enchanted you thoroughly and you were a willing thrall. “Uh huh,” you managed, presenting your cheek.

Loki leaned down, smelling not of Chinese food as most people did after dinner in an Asian place and instead of his usual intoxicating cocktail of citrus and spice. His face was just a breath from yours when a twinge of pain snapped in your back and you involuntarily turned your head. Your lips met his for a moment that stretched. Every cell in your body hummed in approval.

His hand slid down to clasp yours gently, squeezing it as he broke the kiss with a soft smile. “Goodnight, kitten.”

And with a brush of his soft lips on your forehead, he was gone, taking with him that piece of your heart that he had been working away at all evening.

[islareeveswriting]

STORY PAGE

PREVIOUS | NEXT

INSTAS

The deep end was a scary place to be.

Molly found she didn’t mind it too much normally, when it came to things like uni work. In fact she found she quite liked it when it came to uni work. She thrived off having lots to do, a little stress seemed to make her work harder and better, and maybe it drained her a bit, made her feel a little more tired, and a little more glad when it was all over, it also meant the pay off felt far better. Molly was well rehearsed at keeping herself afloat at the deep end.

However, stood on the sidelines of the rugby pitch between Amanda and Katie, with Zak on her hip, Molly realised how she’d never truly been out of her depth enough to appreciate the deep end for what it was. Thrown in didn’t cut it. She hadn’t even seen Harry before the game started, she just turned up at the rugby club, as instructed, at the time Harry had told her, and hoped she saw Amanda, or Amanda saw her before anyone began to notice she was a little out of her comfort zone. Luckily Amanda had spotted her from the other side of the club house and beckoned her over before anyone else in the room seemed to have even realised Molly had arrived.

After discussing Molly’s sketches and ideas for what turned out to be nearly an hour, Molly had asked Harry to stay, he’d happily agreed, a bright smile creeping onto his face quietly, attempting subtlety but not quite managing to. Strangely Molly felt more nervous about spending the night with Harry in that bed than she had at her parents house. It was a good nervous though, an excited nervous, the kind she quite liked and made her feel zingy. She’d been like a giggly teenager when she’d crawled in beside Harry who was wearing only a pair of jersey shorts and his boxers under her sheets, her face clean and hair brushed, unable to to bite the coy smile back as Harry wrapped an arm over her middle, pulling her closer until there was barely any space between them at all, just enough so they could look at each other as they whispered quietly through the darkness.

It was as they laid there, fighting tiredness and their bodies desire to sleep, too caught up in their quiet conversation and the way their eyes glittered in the dark of the room, that Harry asked if he wanted to attend the annual Charity gala with him at the rugby club. Molly’s heart sped up at first. That sounded important, and not at all like taking it slow, but he’d asked, and she calmed as he went onto explain it a little more. It was quite a casual affair, Harry would have to wear a jacket of some kind as was tradition after a game, but it never lasted long, there’d be a raffle, some food, stupid games, just a general good time. But more than that, Harry wanted her there with him and that made Molly feel some sort of way that was only another signal that things weren’t going as slowly as had been insinuated in the car a few days prior.

Just over a week later, and Molly was stood on the side of a rugby pitch for the first time in her life, with two of Harry’s good friends, following suit and cheering as they did, slowly getting her head around what was going on and the basic rules. Even Zak seemed to have more of an idea what was going as he squealed for ‘daddy’ everytime Joe got the ball and pushed through the other teams players being dragged to the floor. Harry grabbed it out after every tackle and passed it out to another player, most of whom Molly didn’t know. Shane was on their side of the pitch, running up and down the side, moving into the centre, but mostly staying on the edge of the pitch, whereas Niall only stayed in the middle and kicked the ball over the post after every try. Though there’d only been two of those, none scored by anyone Molly knew, but she cheered with the others, and Zak who clapped along happily.

Molly was still trying to work out how the scrum worked when the whistle cried loudly over all other sounds, even that of her whirring mind. She twisted her head to the noise, a gang of men from both teams engaged in what looked like quite an angry altercation. Harry was in the centre, squared up to a man much larger than him in every possible way, their foreheads practically touching as if they were a pair of fighting bulls. Molly wasn’t entirely sure why she was so surprised, but she did gasp a little as Shane pulled Harry roughly away and marched him away as the other team chuckled to themselves. Molly could tell Shane was having stern words with Harry, but she suspected it was as more than just as team captain.

“Typical Harry,” Katie chuckled from beside Molly, shaking her head a little as she did so. “He’s gonna end up in trouble before long,” She continued. Molly listened but didn’t say anything, didn’t even ask the questions on the tip of her tongue, simply because she felt like she probably knew the answer. It wasn’t exactly a secret Harry had a tendency to let anger get the better of him if the situation was right, and his buttons were pushed enough. Molly imagined that on the rugby pitch, with testosterone coursing through him, hoping to win, that the buttons were a little easier to find.

“Ah, he’s no worse than any of the others really,” Amanda shrugged off, eyes glued to the pitch. Molly glanced to Amanda out of the side of her eye, and she felt Katie twist her head, but Amanda never turned to look at either of them, firm in her statement, and not about to back down under the cold glare Molly could feel from the other side of her. Before anymore could be said on the matter, Amanda was screaming again, cheering Harry’s name loudly. Molly flicked her eyes to the pitch, to see Harry flying down the side line, darting around a couple of the opposing team and diving over the try line, slamming the ball to the floor before hopping to his feet and jumping to the air just as Niall crashed into him to celebrate.

“Yay Uncle Harry,” Zak cried and Molly chuckled, cheering with him as she bounced Zak on her hip.

The rest of the game was largely undramatic. No more fights, but a couple more points for both sides. When the final whistle sounded, after Niall had booted the ball out of play, the homeside were three points ahead. Molly smiled on as she watched them celebrate, hugging and laughing, shaking hands politely with the other team members. Harry caught Molly’s eye as he pulled out of a hug with a member of his own team that Molly didn’t know and winked before strolling over to her. It had been a wet week, and as a consequence Harry was coated in mud. It was stuck in his hair, slathered down one side of his face and embedded into his knees.

“You need a shower,” Molly chuckled once Harry was close enough to hear. The offence ran over his face quickly, bottom lip pouting and eyebrows dipping.

“Your man has just won, he scored a try, and you’re telling me I need a shower?” Harry pouted, “You’re meant to be going weak at the knees.” Molly laughed and shook her head as Harry leant over the rope that kept the spectators from the pitch to give her a kiss.

“Ewww,” Zak wailed, pushing away from Molly’s chest, attempting to get as far from the display of affection as possible.

“Oh Zakky, what’s up, you jealous?” Harry asked, pouting his lips dramatically and leering closer to the toddler who only backed further away as he did so. “So what did you think?” Harry asked, turning attention to Molly again, Zak refusing to entertain Harry’s jokes.

“Was good, enjoyed it,” Molly smiled nodding.

“You’d come again?” Harry asked hopefully, eyes widening and brightening a little.

“Yeah, if you wanted me to,” Molly told him, nodding still.

“I’d like you to want to,” Harry told her quietly, leaning closer still, as close as he could without falling over the rope completely.

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers Styles,” Molly jested playfully, a little smirk pulling at one corner of her mouth. Again Harry’s bottom lip pouted a little and the space between his eyebrows creased. “So you are gonna shower?”

“Definitely,” Harry laughed, “Got a suit to put on,” Harry reminded her. It wasn’t a full suit, but Molly had helped him choose a jacket out of his vast collection of suits to wear with his black jeans after the game. Molly had been a little surprised at just how extensive, and well curated his suit collection was, but one in particular stood out. It was a mixture of earth tones arranged in an eye catching geometric pattern that send Molly’s mind into a spin. It had to be that one. “Go get yourself a drink, I won’t be long,” Harry promised.

“Do you want anything?” Molly offered beginning to back away from the rope.

“It’s ok, there’ll be beer in the changing room, I’ll get one with you once I’m dressed,” Harry told her, and Molly nodded before turning to find Amanda and Katie, strolling towards the clubhouse with the pram that Zak had gotten out of within five minutes of the game starting and not looked at again.

Once inside, and back with Katie and Amanda, Molly put Zak down and offered the other two girls a drink. They both accepted, Amanda asking for a bottled beer and Katie for a glass of wine. Molly knew which she’d choose, deciding the first time socialising with all Harry’s rugby friends was not an evening to drink wine. The bar was heaving but Molly found a little space to squeeze into, keeping herself to herself nad waiting for one of the three bar staff to get to her. She knew what it was like to work a bar that busy, she wasn’t about to get impatient.

“You being served?” Molly looked to the voice, a rotund elderly man looking at her and pointing.

“No, erm,” Molly hesitated, checking the stock of beer in the fridge behind the man, “Two coronas and a large glass of Pinot please?” Molly asked, falling back to the floor from her tiptoes.

“Not seen you around here before, new girlfriend is it?” The man asked as he grabbed the two bottles and popped the tops from them. There was a crease between his eyebrows and it was very clear to Molly that he was used to knowing ever person that came in and out of the doors of that place.

“Erm, well,” Molly hesitated because girlfriend wasn’t exactly the right word, in fact it was far from the right word. “I’m here with Harry -Styles,” Molly added quickly, just in case though the slight smirk told Molly she needn’t have worried.

“Ah, young Harold, I see,” The man smiled, nodding as he unwound the top from a bottle of wine. “About time he found himself a girlfriend.”

“Oh, no, we’re not, I’m not..” Molly flustered, it was hard to explain and she could feel her cheeks getting pink.

“Not what? He’s brought you here, so you must be something,” The man told her, and Molly swallowed on nothing, not entirely sure what she was meant to say, mainly because she didn’t really know what her and Harry were.

It hadn’t bothered her until then, hadn’t concerned her even an iota until she was trying to find the words to explain their situation. They’d moved on from just friends but hadn’t settled on something else yet. That suited her, them, perfectly, they knew the feelings it didn’t need a name. But it was hard to explain it to anyone else, particularly a nearly elderly man Molly didn’t know. “Seeing each other is it?” He asked, and Molly nodded, supposing that was it. “Well he must like ya, no lad would bring a girl in here unless he was serious,” The man, whose name Molly nearly asked for, but didn’t, informed her, and there wasn’t a hint of a joke in his voice. Molly just smiled, because she couldn’t help the little bit inside her that quite liked the idea of that. “Bill by the way,” The man told Molly before asking for her money, Molly smiled grateful he seemed to have read her mind.

Molly handed money over to Bill and took the drinks over the table that Katie and Amanda had occupied. She handed them out and took the seat next to Katie, it wasn’t purposeful, but once she was in it, Molly hoped it might make Katie warm a little more to her. It wasn’t quite as icy as it had been in the cafe, perhaps Katie was happier now things were becoming a little more serious, but still there was the odd look that set Molly on edge and made her feel a little uncomfortable.

“So things are going well with Harry?” Amanda asked, her lips popping around the edge of the bottle when she took a large sip.

“Yeah,” Molly said with a nod and a smile. “Taking it slow, seeing how things go, but so far, so good,” Molly explained, lifting her own bottle to her lips and taking a sip.

“That’s a good idea, don’t want to rush into things, make sure you really know each other first,” Katie smiled, and Molly appreciated what sounded like a supportive sentiment.

“Yeah, exactly,” Molly nodded, and Katie offered a small smile, something a little sympathetic about it before she took a mouthful of her wine. The conversation moved on from there naturally, the three of them chatting just generally about everything and anything until men started filtering out into the bar area from the changing rooms, lugging kit bags and dressed in casual suits, mostly smart blazer jackets and trousers of some kind. Shane appeared first, a pair of dark trousers on and a blazer that blended well with them.

“Evening ladies,” Shane grinned, that bright, Hollywood smile that would have made Molly weak at the knees if she wasn’t waiting for one she thought was better. He bent and kissed them all on the cheek sweetly. “That jacket of Harry’s is wild,” Shane chuckled looking at Molly as he attempted to clasp his watch together.

“It’s good isn’t it?” Molly grinned, to which Shane nodded, still concentrating on his watch. “Do you want a hand?” Molly offered, sitting up a little and reaching her hands to his wrist.

“Oh thanks Mol,” Shane breathed lowering his wrist so she could get her hands to him. “Hand got trodden on and fingers aren’t quite working yet,” he chuckled lowly as Molly clipped the clasp together and adjusted his jacket sleeve a little so it was sitting how it was designed to.  “Getting us all dressed is it?”

“Well if you’re gonna wear a jacket, may as well wear it properly,” Molly winked earning a laugh from those in ear shot. Shane offered a drink which they all declined thanks to their freshly bought round, and disappeared over to the bar. “I was terrified of him when I first met him,” Molly admitted quietly, causing Amanda to laugh.

“Everyone is,” Katie told her with a grin. “He’s a puppy dog though when you get to know him,” She went on, glancing over her shoulder at Shane. “Wildly protective of Harry though,” Katie frowned, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Amanda straighten.

“Why?” Molly asked, eyes narrowing and flicking between the two women. No one said anything for a good ten seconds, and Molly didn’t miss the look between Amanda and Katie, jaws tense and Amanda’s nostrils flinching a little.

“Guess he just feels like his big brother? After the stuff with his dad and things,” Amanda explained, and Molly could get that. It explained the look as well, perhaps they weren’t sure how much Molly knew, but the way she accepted the explanation obviously told them that she knew just enough for it to make sense.

Slowly the rest of the players trickled out of the changing rooms, Harry was one of the last. Molly caught him out of the corner of her eye before he saw her, and took the opportunity to check him out. Her eyes lifted up his body, from the black leather boots he had on, over the skinny jeans, that were fairly new and blacker than the ones he normally wore. There was a leather belt holding them up that looked worn and well used, undone and tightened again  enough to leave permanent creases in the leather. The black shirt he’d opted for was tucked into the jeans, buttoned up to his throat, the collar perfectly ironed and firm around his neck.

But the jacket stole the show. Molly was sure about it when she saw it in his wardrobe, but on his body it was even better. It was like it was made for him. It wrapped his arms snugly, but not too tight that it looked uncomfortable, it cleared his shoulders nicely and only emphasised just how broad he was. The jacket was unbuttoned and Molly watched as he reached into the pocket of it, pulling out his rings and beginning to slide them onto his fingers as he walked. Molly watched for a second before finding his face, only to discover she’d been well and truly caught checking him out. Harry just offered a smirk and a wink before beginning to greet the group, leaving Molly blushing and sipping her beer to try and cool her cheeks.

“Afternoon all.” Harry’s voice was rougher than normal as he threw his bag to the floor and kicked it under the table beside Molly before bending at the hip to capture her lips in a quick kiss. If anyone really took any notice of it they didn’t show it, but it only intensified the blush that was lingering under Molly’s cheeks. “Want another drink love?” Harry asked, delving into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve his wallet.

“Sure, I’ll give you a hand,” Molly told him, getting to her feet and finishing the last of her beer quickly.

“Easy love, we don’t want a repeat of your birthday,” Harry jested with a wink.

“No, you just don’t want me kissing Niall again, might realise what I’m missing,” Molly rose quickly, leaving Harry a little gobsmacked as the rest of the table chuckled lowly. “Drinks then,” Harry just nodded quietly, offering the others a drink before leading the way to the bar.

It was quieter than when Molly had ventured up there earlier, only a few people stood around it, and less than that actually waiting to be served. Harry walked straight up and leaned against the old wooden top, stained and marked from years of use. He hardly even acknowledged that Molly moved in to stand next to him, flicking his eyes to her, but never looking properly. Molly could feel it, the corner of a wedge between them and she rolled her eyes at it, smirking to herself.

“Really?” She asked, unable to not be amused. “You really ignoring me now?”

“Well why did you have to say that?” Harry returned quickly and a little viciously. His eyes were dark and his voice was a low rumble, disguised from any eavesdroppers by the music that was playing. Molly just shook her head and turned to catch the attention of Bill, or one of the other two bar staff, though all of them were serving other people. “Was out of order,” Harry added.

“But it’s ok for you to try and make me look a dick?” Molly retaliated quickly twisting her neck back to Harry. She wondered if it was obvious they were having a disagreement, she could bet it was. Harry’s body was stiff, his jaw bitten tight and her eyes kept narrowing in his direction.

“That’s different,” Harry mumbled.

“Really? How?”

“Because I’m not threatening to kiss someone else,” Harry pointed out. There wasn’t a doubt that if the room hadn’t been packed he’d have raised his voice, but instead he spoke through a clenched jaw, his teeth bitten together, his tongue hitting the back of them as pushed his words out of his throat.

“If you honestly think I’d do that you don’t know me very well,” Molly spurred, turning away from Harry again, admittedly a little hurt.

“Well, you did it to Ryan,” Harry reminded her, as if she needed reminding. No matter what Ryan had done, before or after they’d broken up, it didn’t take away from the fact she’d kissed someone else when they were together. No matter what happened from there, she doubted she’d be able to forgive herself. It was something she swore she’d never do, and no matter how many times Lauren told it was just a kiss, it was nothing, and no matter how much she knew how little it meant, it didn’t feel any better.

“Don’t use that against me Harry,” Molly murmured, sucking her cheeks in.

“Well don’t use it against me then,” Harry returned.

“Against you? Exactly how was I using it against you, you were the one who-”

“You have absolutely no idea how soul destroying it was to see you kissing my best mate do you?” Harry cut in quickly. Molly froze and closed her hanging jaw slowly pinching her lips together, if she’d been expecting him to say anything, it hadn’t been that. Harry sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Thought so.” Molly wasn’t sure what to say, whether an apology was more fitting, or just silent contemplation of what he’d said. It sunk in quickly, and it ached as it did it. Molly had her lips pinched together and she stared at the bar, picking at a blob of candle wax that had obviously dripped onto the wood at some point. “Look,” Harry started with a breath, “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but I hate when you joke about that because it really got to me when it happened, and does a bit now too.”

“Why?” Molly asked quietly.

“Cause I really fucking liked you and you were kissing my best mate, why’d you think?” Harry told her honestly, Molly just shrugged, swallowing on nothing. It felt bad enough she’d done it anyway, now it felt worse. “I hate that you kissed him before you even thought about kissing me.”

“That’s not true,” Molly pointed out quickly, and it took Harry back. “I’d thought about kissing you, long before I kissed Niall.” Molly explained before Harry could ask what she was talking about. There was a smug smirk that crawled onto Harry’s face seemingly pleased with himself. “Don’t look so smug,” Molly tutted shaking her head.

“Well that makes it a little bit better,” Harry pondered, letting his tongue hang from one of his canine teeth.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look Harry, even on you,” Molly told him, finally catching the eye of the only woman working behind the bar.

“Everything’s a good look on me love,” Harry jested, turning as the woman got closer. “Alright Jackie, can I get…” Harry began to list of their order Molly looking at him as he did so, pondering what had just happened. As Jackie set about getting their order together, Harry looked back down at Molly. “What?” He asked with a grin.

“Can’t keep up with you, we’ve gone from arguing about a comment, to you being all smug and happy with yourself in two minutes, I don’t know if I’m coming or going,” Molly told him, and Harry chuckled though she wasn’t sure she was amused.

“Well, would you rather that, or let it ruin the night and be miserable?” Harry asked, and Molly supposed that was fair enough. “Look, I get jealous, I like you, so I get jealous, I’m a narcissist, I’m an arse hole, I know, and I’m sorry but I really like you Lol, really fucking like you, and I’m trying so hard not to be a narcissitc arse hole, cause I really don’t want to fuck this up,” Harry explained, and Molly huffed a laugh. “I’m failing right now, I know.”

“Don’t change, you’re not fucking it up,” Molly told him with a creeping smile. It was so wildly different to anything Molly had ever known and thrill of it was far better than any security or safety she’d gotten used to in the past. There was no doubt Harry wasn’t going to her hurt her in anyway, but he kept her guessing with everything else, and Molly found herself falling for it. “Kiss me?” She asked sweetly.

“As if you have to ask,” Harry chuckled, leaning forward and tipping Molly’s chin with his finger and thumb and catching her poised lips with his. It was a little intimate for the setting but neither seemed to care, not immediately anyway.

“Come on Styles, leave it til you get her home,” Jackie piped up, forcing them away from one another with a blush on Molly’s part and a laugh on Harry’s. “Seventeen eighty then ta,” Jackie told Harry, who started working on getting money out of his wallet as Molly began to carry drinks over to the table.

Once both back at the table, Harry and Molly took the seats next to one another, both with quietly pleased smiles on their faces as they took sips from their drinks and Harry reached under the table to put his hand on her thigh. No one even batted an eye lid as they shuffled closer to one another, too caught up in the conversation that was circling the table. Harry’s fingers were drawing patterns near Molly’s knee delicately enough that it tickled her skin through her jeans. Before Harry’s hand on her leg or around her own hand had been simply a source of comfort, an acknowledgement they were in it together. It still held that too, it still felt comforting and reassuring, but it was more than that. They were still in it together, but also it was a declaration that they were together, and Harry wasn’t afraid to touch her, or kiss her, or show any kind of affection in front of anyone. His hand was hidden by the table, but Molly had no doubt, if the table wasn’t there, his hand would still be resting over her leg, and tracing over her jeans to send tingles through her.

It felt like the mood had changed, at least to Molly. Things felt different to how they had initially. Neither of them were quite as tentative or nervous about stepping forward for what they wanted from the other. There were moments that felt a lot more primal and intuitive than the practiced steps they’d been taking in the moments after their first kiss. The way Harry pulled Molly’s body tighter to his, trying to get as much of his skin against her as possible, ensuring she could feel every part of him. The way she asked for a kiss, and didn’t shy from letting her breath tickle over his puckered lips as she stepped back down, hoping to leave him wanting more.

There was a conversation Molly was sure they had to have, though simultaneously she wasn’t entirely sure they did have to have it. With Ryan, they’d discussed it, it was her first time and she wanted it to be clear that she wasn’t rushing. It was very obvious Molly and Harry weren’t going to be each other’s firsts when they got to that point, and that was new to Molly. It made her nervous, not being sure whether to bring it up, to ask, or to just let it happen when they both wanted it to. Of course she trusted Harry completely, that wasn’t even something she was questioning, she knew he wouldn’t judge her or laugh at her, but it didn’t take away from how nervous bringing it up made her feel.

A gentle squeeze of her thigh bought Molly out of her thoughts, and she looked to Harry offering him a smile that matched the one he was giving her. Of course he could see she was getting into her head about something, and Molly could tell by the way his eyes flicked a little narrower for a second that he was trying to work out why. Molly tried to reassure him, widening her smile and a small shake of her head. Harry just bit his cheek though, and didn’t return his attention to the group until Molly had.

“Where are the toilets?” Molly asked, reaching forward and putting her bottle on the table.

“I’ll show you, need to go anyway,” Katie smiled, getting to her feet. Molly felt her tummy tighten, she couldn’t help it, Katie was intimidating and being alone with her made her a little nervous, but Molly just nodded and got to her feet, looking back to Harry as she followed Katie towards a door at the back of the room. He just chuckled quietly, noticing the tension Molly was holding.

The two women didn’t talk as they walked to the toilet, or once they’d locked themselves in separate cubicles. Molly wondered what the protocol was. Should she wait for Katie if she was done first, would Katie wait for her? Normally Molly would wait behind for her friends, but they were a gaggle of university girls often in club toilets together, not barely acquaintances in an antiquated rugby club.

Molly was done first, and she washed her hands slowly, hoping she wouldn’t have to make the decision and Katie would appear from her cubicle as she held her hands under the dryer. Luckily it worked, and Katie smiled as she caught Molly’s eye. Now Molly knew it was protocol to wait, she couldn’t just walk out the door without Katie now Katie was at the sink washing her hands. Molly stood patiently by the door, folding her lips together trying to think of something to say.

“-So-”

“-Sorry,” Katie spoke over Molly, though not intentionally. They chuckled quietly, and Molly motioned for Katie to carry on. “Sorry if I came across like a bitch,” Katie continued, wiping her semi-dry hands on her blue jeans.

“No, don’t be silly,” Molly brushed it off, obviously not about to tell Katie how uncomfortable she’d made Molly feel at brunch a couple of weeks previous.

“You don’t have to be nice, I know I come across cold, I’m not stupid,” Katie laughed, and Molly just shrugged not entirely sure what to say. “Was a bit of a shock Harry bought someone along to be honest,” Katie went on, and it was suddenly clear they weren’t about to just walk straight back out of the toilets, and perhaps Katie had been wanting to get Molly alone for a little longer than Molly had realised. “We never really even hear about girls he’s with, or at least Amanda and I don’t, he tells the lads about his conquests, but it’s normally just sex,” Katie shrugged as Molly tried not to feel uncomfortable. She shifted her weight and cleared her throat. “Of course, I’m not saying that’s all he’s with you for, obviously it’s not,” Molly nodded, though she couldn’t help the feeling that even if that wasn’t what Katie was saying, that she was putting the idea in Molly’s head by saying the words.

“No, of course not,” Molly smiled, before sucking her cheeks in and tilting her head. “Just, well, I’m not sure what you are trying to say,” Molly chuckled sarcastically. There was no doubt Katie could feel the tension she’d built up, but it was impossible to tell if she was enjoying it.

“You seem like a really lovely girl, everyone really likes you, just Harry has a tendency to lead people on, and you should know that,” Katie told Molly, stepping forward. Molly folded her arms across her chest and stood a little taller. It was very clear what Katie was getting at and she didn’t like it. The majority of her couldn’t believe it, not after how well Harry had, for the most part, treated her. But there was the tiniest bit of her that was starting to panic that her instinct that it was all too good to be true, might have been right. “If you want my opinion-”

“I don’t, I have my own, thanks,” Molly bit in, and turned for the door and moved to pull it, though Katie stepped in and held it closed.

“Well, I hope you know exactly what it is you’re getting into then,” Katie hissed before letting the door go so Molly could wrench it open. Molly could feel her hands trembling and she scraped them through her hair before she opened the second door back to the bar area, holding it open for Katie. There was no way she was willing to let it get under her skin, but at the very least, she didn’t want Harry to see it. So she smiled and walked beside Katie back to the table.

“Actually I’m going to be modelling for Lolly’s new project,” Molly heard Harry announce as they got closer to the table and Katie re-took her seat. Molly just smiled as Harry looked to her, but she began rummaging around in the pockets of her coat, not willing to take her seat again just yet.

“Ooo, get you,” Amanda cooed, bouncing Zak on her knee, suddenly tired and back from wherever he’d been. “What’s the project?” Amanda asked, turning her attention to Molly. Molly felt the spotlight, and cleared her throat, glancing at Amanda but not holding her eyes for any length of time, getting straight back to what she was looking for.

“It’s a tailoring project,” Molly mumbled, moving to the other pocket.

“Tell them about the ideas,” Harry gushed, nuding her arm a little with his elbow as he did so. The grin was welded into his tone of voice, Molly could hear it loud and clear.

“No Harry,” Molly sighed, giving up with her pockets and grabbing her bag from under her chair to look through it. The tote was large for where she found herself, but she’d come from the library where she’d been looking for references for an essay she was nearly finished with, and it was full with all kinds of things, making the search for the pack of cigarettes, she knew she’d picked up, harder than it should have been. They were left on the side from a housemate night out two nights previous. Jimmy and her had gone halves and there were three left in the pack of ten, all of them hers. At first she told herself she didn’t need them, and she didn’t. But she knew she’d be drinking, and the way Katie’s words had left her reeling, she was glad she’d grabbed them in a last minute panic and thrown them into her bag. Though she wished she had indeed put them in her pocket the way she’d intended as she swore she felt every pair of eyes on her.

“What? Why?” Harry quizzed quickly.

“They don’t want to hear about all that, it’s boring,” Molly hissed, flicking her eyes to Harry from her bag for a second.

“I’d like to hear,” Katie piped up from where she was sat. Molly turned her glare to Katie, Rich’s arm wrapped around the back of her chair. Molly wondered if he knew what his fiance had planned on telling Molly, or even if she’d planned it all. She wondered if Katie could see how she’d made Molly feel and was trying to make up for it, or if she was just twisting the knife. Molly just shook her head.  “What I would? It’s interesting,”

“It’s not, trust me,” Molly mumbled quietly.

“Who says?” Shane quizzed, from the other side of her. Molly swallowed on nothing and glanced up to Shane who’s forehead was a little creased. She didn’t say anything, but took a quick glance to Harry out the side of her eye. She saw it click and dropped her head.

“Her fucking ex,” Harry spat cruelly.

“Harry!” Molly scalded snapping her head to him.

“What it’s true? Somehow managed to convince you your ideas aren’t worth hearing about, must be fucking mad,” Harry bit, sitting up a little straighter and looking down at the floor as he did so.

“So tailoring like suits and stuff?” Katie asked clearly trying to diffuse the tension. It confused Molly and she could work Katie out even less than before. Before she’d just been cold, now she felt cruel and callous.

“Yeah, and she’s fucking amazing at it,” Harry chimed in aggressively.

“I’m talking to Molly,” Katie pointed out, pursing her lips at Harry until he sunk back before turning back to Molly. “Did it have to be menswear?” Katie asked, her voice sickly sweet again as she did so.

“No, but I prefer it personally,” Molly told her plainly, pulling her sketchbook out of her bag to give her more space to see, but holding it close to her just in case Harry got any ideas.

“Well, hopefully we get to see them, and Harry doing his David Gandy bit,” Katie smiled.

“Yeah,” Molly breathed a false laugh, finally reaching in and finding the pack of cigarettes. “I’m going for a cigarette,” Molly announced pulling a single one from the pack and the lighter that was also tucked inside before chucking her sketch book back in. “If anyone…?” She looked around the table but every single one of them shook their heads in response. “Young and stupid I guess,” Molly sighed.

“You calling us old?” Shane asked with a playful smirk.

“Exactly, but wise, so swings and roundabouts,” Molly smirked back, though it fell to nothing as she left the table and headed for the door with her coat and cigarette.  

It was bitterly cold outside, and Molly quickly pulled her coat on before resting the cigarette between her lips. She flicked the lighter  three times before a flame appeared from out of it. The flame was hypnotising, and she stared at it for a few moments before letting it go again and dropping her hands to her side with a sigh, staring up to the night sky and leaning heavier against the cold wall. For a little while she let the cigarette just hang lazily from her lips, but eventually she took it out and tucked it between her fingers. She didn’t want to smoke it, but if the feeling inside her that was making her eyes prickle and her mind reel with things she wanted to say continued much longer, that might change.

“You ok?” Harry spoke up, taking long but slow strides towards her, finding the pockets of his jeans and sliding his hands inside them.  Molly nodded slightly, and offered a faint smile that was barely visible through the dark. “You’re not smoking,” Harry pointed out, nodding towards the unlit cigarette in her hand as he stopped in front of her, hands still in his pockets.

“Don’t actually want it,” Molly laughed, tucking her hand into her own pocket and dropping the cigarette before letting her hand hang by her side once again. It was quiet for a little while, muffled sounds from inside the only noise. Molly didn’t know what to say, and she was scared that if she worked it out she wouldn’t be able to stop and she’d end up talking herself out of something that she’d spent months talking herself into.

“What’s up?” Harry asked, giving into the silence that was anything but comfortable.

“I’m fine,” Molly breathed with another little smile. One that Harry could see straight through, though she hadn’t worked that out yet, no one else seemed to and everyone else in her life had known her a lot longer than Harry. He sighed though, heavily and loudly, bordering between quiet growl and loud sigh, making it very transparent that he could see through her.

“This has got to stop Lol,” Harry started. Molly’s eyes went wide with the sudden change in tone, looking up to him from where she’d sunk against the wall. “Whatever it is that makes you think your thoughts and feelings are worthless,” Harry continued and Molly dropped her gaze quickly beginning to nibble on her bottom lip. “Was it him?” Harry asked quietly, but Molly didn’t answer just rolled her lips together between her teeth harshly so she felt the flesh pop over them and it left a metallic taste on her tongue as she swiped it over the inside of her mouth.  “I’m not gonna belittle you or your ideas or you feelings, it’s valid Lol, you’re valid, and this bullshit stops now, if you’re not fine I wanna know, if I piss you off I wanna know, pretending everything's ‘fine’ all the time isn’t gonna work.” It was right there, on the tip of her tongue, and she couldn’t bite it back and swallow it anymore, so she didn’t.

“He always used to say it was boring, what I did at uni was pointless and unimportant and I was boring when I talked about it, materialistic,” Molly told Harry, staring at the dirty pavement as she did so. It wasn’t something she told anyone, but the conversations she’d had with Ryan stuck in her mind and poisoned her enjoyment of talking about it.

“That’s absolute bullshit,” Harry bit quickly, not even stopping to really think about what Molly had said, just knowing it angered him and reacting as such.

“Maybe, but someone tells you something enough times I guess you start to believe it,” Molly shrugged and looked up at Harry, supposing there was no point trying to hide the tears in her eyes when there was a wobble in her voice as she spoke.

“Well stop, because it’s crap, it’s not boring, it’s not pointless and it’s not unimportant, and you’re certainly none of those things,” Harry implored, reaching forward and taking her face gently in his hands, ensuring she looked in his eyes as he told her the truth. “Lolly, I’m proud of you, I’m proud of what you do and can do, I wish you’d scream about it from the rooftops, you shouldn’t feel embarrassed about something you love.” His voice was quieter then, but the sincerity in his eyes didn’t follow suit.

“You’re proud of me?” Molly asked, her mind still hinged on those words alone.

“Of course,” Harry smiled with a slight chuckle as if the question was a joke. His hands dropped from her face then and he stood up a little straighter, Molly’s eyes following his.

“No one’s ever told me that,” Molly admitted almost silently.

“What?” Harry asked pointendly. Molly didn’t say anything though, just shrugged the way she so often did when she didn’t know what to say next. “No one?” Harry asked to be sure.

“No, not really, parents congratulate me and stuff, but they’ve never actually said they’re proud, and Ryan certainly never did,” Molly told him, loathing talking about him again.

“I think your parents probably are proud, they just don’t think they need to tell you,” Harry suggested, and Molly supposed the same thing. She never doubted they weren’t proud of her as such, they were always happy to hear talking about how well things at uni were going, and what she was up to, how much she enjoyed what she did. Molly guessed there were other ways to say you were proud of someone without actually saying the words.

“Probably.”

“But I will tell you every day if that’s what it takes to make you forget all that crap that arse hole ever told you that makes you feel like anything less than what you are,” Harry promised. Molly smiled happily as her lip turned downwards a little, her tears turning from something bitter to something far, far sweeter as she stared up at Harry and moved into his open arms. Harry pressed a gentle kiss into her hair as she rested her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “And I’ll carry on even after that,” He told her, his words muffled by her hair. “Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone I hardly know as much as I hate him,” Harry hissed.

“But you hate people you do know?” Molly asked looking up at him uncomfortably from where she was resting against him.

“One or two, doesn’t everyone?” Harry muttered, releasing Moly from his embrace.

“I don’t think I hate anyone really, no,”  Molly mused, shaking her head as she did.

“Lucky you,”  Harry laughed. Molly’s mind was ticking, from one thing right onto the next, he had said he wanted her to tell her when something wasn’t fine, but she doubted he meant so much so quickly.

“That why you were squaring up that guy on the pitch?” Molly asked quickly.

“Huh?” Harry puzzled, his eyebrows lowering unevenly.

“During the game, if Shane hadn’t pulled you away, you’d have hit that guy from the other team,” Molly told him, but Harry just shook his head as if he wasn’t engaged in conversation with someone who seemed to know him better than he knew himself, and who had seen how he could get with her own eyes.. “You would Harry, you know that and so do I, I’ve seen it enough times now,” She reminded him, and she saw it twist on his face how much he hated that.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry grumbled, moving to turn away.

“Don’t I?” Molly asked, calling him back with her question.

“No,” Harry barked, but quickly pulled himself back. Molly wasn’t scared, but she could see in his eyes how riled he was getting. “It was a game of rugby, things get heated all the time on a rugby pitch,” Harry explained quietly, his tone evening a little more.

“Katie seems to think-”

“Katie what? Katie fucking what? What’s she getting involved in this time?”  Harry laughed as if he knew it was coming. Molly moved back to the wall a little more, suddenly feeling stupid for buying into her words so much with the amused look that was on Harry’s face.

“She just said you were gonna get yourself in trouble,” Molly told Harry, holding her own as best she could, despite how much better practiced Harry seemed to be at this kind of thing. Molly had never been good at arguments, she was sure being the youngest sister had taught her just to back down and admit defeat before it became a row, but something with Harry made her want to fight a little harder and she couldn’t back down from it.

“A yellow fucking card, it’s not the end of the world,” Harry told her.

“Yeah as long as it’s on the pitch, but it’s not just on the pitch is it, you’re getting pissed off with me now,” Molly pointed out, and with that Harry snapped his head at her. It wasn’t there, but he told himself he could see fear in her eyes and he stepped back so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t trip over himself. His hands were back in his pockets in seconds and he was shaking his head quickly.

“I’d never touch you, don’t even dare insinuate I would,” Harry promised, and there was an emotion in his voice that was far from anger but just as passionate.

“I never said you would,” Molly told him honestly, because she believed truly that he would never touch her with malice. “I just mean you’re getting angry, and if I was a lad your fists would be curling and you’d be thinking about hitting me,” Molly explained, and Harry knew he couldn’t argue that, because it was true. If anyone else were to rile him the way she was he’d be trying to find something to lay his fists into, but as it was, he was focused solely on Molly and making sure she understood she wasn’t like anyone else when it came to him, “Are you leading me on?” Molly asked, the silence giving way for other thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck? Where did that come from?” Harry spluttered, his eyebrows knitting together and eyes widening, pure shock registering over him. It didn’t take long to click though.  “Katie again?” Harry eye rolled, and stepped forward gently, as if asking permission, as if he had to. Molly didn’t do anything to rebuke him so he stepped closer, ensuring she could see the green of his eyes as he spoke and the honesty laced into it. “Listen, people, Katie, are gonna say things about me, stuff you’re not gonna want to hear, but you have just got to trust me,” Harry told her.

“Like what? What are people gonna say?” Molly asked.

“That I’m a player, that I fuck girls over, that I’m every girls worst nightmare,” Harry listed, there were other words, worse words, worse accusations, but the ones he chose were enough to give Molly the gist of the things he’d answered to in the past.

“That it?” Molly asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Harry promised. The other words didn’t matter. They worked to the same effect, they meant the same thing, they were just more venomous and hateful. “Well, I think so,” Harry chuckled, but Molly shook her head.

“You can’t laugh it off everytime Harry, it’s not a joke,” She warned him. Sure she agreed it was good to move on from arguments and not let them fester into something far greater than they started out being, but she wasn’t about to laugh off every little thing just to save a little awkwardness at a table of friends.

“Everyone’s done stupid shit, and when I was younger yeah I was a dick I’m not gonna lie, but it has been nearly three years since I’ve even spoken to a girl like this, let alone been with someone,” Harry told her, and it wasn’t an over exaggeration, Molly could see that, so she nodded. “This is still new and fresh, so I can’t tell you where it’s going, but I want it to go somewhere, I’m not just after a fuck, I like being with you, and I want to keep doing this,” Harry told her, stepping closer still.

“What about the sex?” Molly asked quietly, and she saw Harry swallow on nothing, his tongue slipping out over his lips to wet them a little.

“What about it?” He asked lowly.

“Well, what, I, do you…” Molly lost her words, not quite sure what to say, not quite sure how to word it.

“We’ll get there when we get there, when we’re ready, if we’re ready, no rush, no pressure,” Harry assured her, and Molly nodded, visibly relaxing. No pressure sounded perfect. No rush sounded good too. They were in for the long haul, and at last Molly found her feet on the bottom, suddenly the deep end didn’t feel quite so deep, or at least not so terrifying.

Progress? No progress? I dunno what do you think?

I hope you like it, please let me know your thoughts and theories cause I LOVE THEM! If you missed the instas for the last five chapters check them out here, you don’t know what clues your missing otherwise.... 

Have a great weekend, lots of love x

[cass-trash]

Night Out

Castiel x Reader

Summary: Castiel takes you out for a date.

Read on AO3

Warnings: none

Word count: 1322

Dean did a quick double take as he walked past Castiel’s bedroom, his eyes widening as he noticed all the clothes Castiel owned were spread out on the bed. There weren’t many garments there, the usual suit, trench coat and some sweatpants and hoodies from when he was human. The hunter stepped foot into the same room with curiosity, not expecting Cas to be half naked as he stood in front of the mirror. “What the hell are you doing?” Dean asked. “Why aren’t you wearing anything?”

Cas turned around, a sheepish look on his face as he looked down at the white dress shirt in his hands. “I don’t know what to wear.” He mumbled, his eyes wandering back to the clothes laid out on the bed. 

“Pants, for starters.” Dean replied, shaking his head. “Why does it suddenly matter what you wear?”

“I-um, Y/n and I are going out tonight.” 

The hunter’s face twisted in confusion and shock, not sure whether to be proud of Cas or jealous. “How’d you manage to get her to say yes?” He asked, his mouth agape as he watched Castiel’s mouth twitch into a smile. “Okay, okay. I can’t let you go there looking like a dork, I’ll help.”

Dean easily picked out Castiel’s normal attire, but disregarded the trench coat that usually covered up most of his muscles bulging out of the suit. “I always wear this.” He frowned the slightest, looking at himself in the mirror.

“No,” Dean shook his head, smoothing out the creases in his jacket. “You always covered yourself up with that coat, it’s time to show yourself a little, Cas.” He turned the angel around to face him and started fixing his hair.

“I don’t understand why that’s necessary.” Cas murmured. 

“Because girls like to check out their dates, the same as guys do.” 

The angel turned back around and looked into the mirror after Dean had finished with his hair. “There, all set.” Dean said, clasping a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Use protection.”

Castiel tilted his head in confusion, wondering what he meant by that, but Dean had already left his room. He picked up his truck’s keys and left the bunker without a single goodbye, the eagerness getting to him rather quickly.

---

The angel stepped foot out of his truck, nervously staring up at the two story house he was parked outside of. He took a step closer to the door, but then he decided against it, and quickly turned back, bending down to look into the truck’s side mirror. He fixed up his hair from the long drive and tightened his tie once again before smoothing his clothes out and standing up straight. 

You were watching him from the lounge room window, a stupid grin plastered across your face as he worriedly fixed himself up multiple times before finally walking over to the door. His nervous knocks on the dark wood rang through the silent house and you suddenly felt just as anxious as he was. You were wearing a black dress that stopped just above your knees, and didn’t show much off. Being a hunter, you never wore dresses, so you didn’t really know if this was okay or not. 

Castiel’s knocked once again, and you know you were worrying even more. What if he thought you ditched him? Your fingertips nervously pressed against the cool metal before your whole hand wrapped around the doorknob and you twisted it open, a shy but excited smile spreading across your face. “Hey,” You whispered, your voice small and quiet while you observed his clothing choice.

He didn’t own much, and you weren’t surprised seeing him in his suit, but without the trench coat it was like a whole different outfit. “Hi,” He replied, his voice weak like yours. He was surprised to see you in something other than flannel and jeans, and he couldn’t stop staring at the dress, trying to picture you wearing this more often. 

Cas smiled as he watched you restlessly shifted on your feet, your hands awkwardly intertwining with each other as you looked down to your feet. “You look gorgeous.” He complimented, taking a step closer to you.

You looked up at him, a dark blush spreading across your cheeks. “T-thanks. You look...dapper.” Castiel smiled at your choice of adjective before he held his hand out for you to take, which you did. His hands were slightly calloused, yet somehow managing to be soft at the same time. They were much larger than yours, and practically engulfed your hand.

He walked you to the passenger door and opened it for you, causing you to blush even more than before. Who knew he could be so gentlemanly? “Thank you.” You said as you climbed into the truck, watching as he walked to the other side and hopped in with you. 

You fidgeted with your fingers as Castiel drove the both of you to the restaurant where you made reservations. The two of you talked about whatever you could think about, and you actually felt pretty normal for once in your life, despite going on a date with an angel, who no doubt has a blade tucked into his suit jacket.

---

Castiel and yourself had finished dinner and decided to go for a calm walk down the streets, where it was almost silent, other than the sound of cars hitting puddles in the distance. “Thanks for this.” You said, your thumb rubbing against the back side of his hand. “It’s nice to get away from the life we live. I feel pretty normal for once,” You admitted. Castiel stopped in his tracks and gently pulled you towards him, heat rushing to your face from the sudden attention he was giving you.

“I understand how you feel.” He nodded, looking deep into your eyes. You swallowed thickly as you inched closer to him so your bodies were pressing against each other the slightest. “This life is exhausting,”

“Y-yeah,” You murmured, your eyes lost in his. He bent down and cupped the back of your head as his slightly chapped lips pressed against your own. His fingers played with the hairs at the back of your neck, the long strands wrapping around them. Your hands settled for his forearms, squeezing ever so slightly as his tongue bumped against yours.

You heard footsteps nearing close to the two of you, but chose to ignore it. No more than ten seconds later, the two of you were pulled apart when somebody knocked into you. Cas looked at whoever it was with a furrowed brow, wondering what they wanted. “He’s drunk.” You commented, noticing the way the man barely even recognised he bumped into you and continued walking away, nearly falling over trashcans and walking into poles.

You were still observing the man when you felt material being draped across your shoulders. Turning to Castiel, you saw him smile as he placed his jacket over you. “You were shivering.” He said.

“Thanks, Cas.” You smiled, sliding your arms into the sleeves and wrapping the jacket around you even more. Standing on your tip-toes, you pressed one more kiss to his lips quickly before you intertwined your fingers with his and leaned your head against his arm as the two of you walked back to Castiel’s truck.

He thought back to when he first met you, where he wouldn’t even think about going on a date with you. Heaven definitely would have punished him for doing such a stupid thing, and they would have most likely killed you to make sure his head was in the game. Castiel shook the thoughts out of his head and squeezed your hand protectively, reminding himself he had his angel blade in case something was going to happen.

You anticipated for your next date with the angel, where maybe, the two of you would get to know each other even more.

Castiel tags:

@castiel-savvy18, @hey-um-misha, @kitkatgaming, @cryiner, @magnificent-mantle,

Everything tags:

@1-more-internet-kid, @disappointeddinosaur, @unknown-chronicles, @marisayouass, @greenappleeyes, @nina-winchester4life, @fanboyswhereare-you, @yes-this-is-snek

If you’d like to be tagged in character/story specific fanfics, send me an ask or a message!

[brittysaucefanfic]

Brand New Blue

Part 13

(First)(Previous)(Next) (AO3)

Lance was never one to run away from a fight, not unless his chances of surviving were zero to none. He believed that there was always another way. Another way to smuggle these weapons, another way to get around this Galra patrol, another way to escape imprisonment. There was always another way. So this… situation... of his was no different.

There was always another way.

Lance just had to keep repeating his mantra in the back of his mind and stay focused on the task at hand. Said task, of course, was finding out just how many of his contacts has dropped him or decided they want to come for the bounty on his head. Let them come. Lance will show them exactly why people were afraid and awed by him.

The ship was going through a series of wormhole jumps over the next few days, so that Lance could get to the nearest Resistance base. If the Resistance was still on his side, things could still be just fine. He just needs to confront the council of higher ups. In the meantime, Lance was making himself at home in the castle.

Hunk, after worrying like a mother hen over him in case he went into a mental breakdown, had given him a full tour of the castle. For as big as the ship actually was, it was still uncanny just how unused the place felt. It wasn’t surprising, there were only six people, seven if you count Lance, aboard the ship. Hunk had said that the team frequented only a few places on board.

The dining room was one of them where they had their meals, as well as the bridge where Allura could be found most days. The observation deck was one of Shiro’s frequent spots on offtime, and Lance would no doubt be right there most nights as well. There was also the lion hangars, kitchen, and the rooms.

All of the Paladins slept down the same hallway, and Lance claimed the free room across from Hunk and beside Keith. It was about the same size of a Garrison dorm room from as far as he could recall. The last place he was shown was the training room and training room control deck.

It was occupied by Keith and Shiro, who were full on sparring while everyone else watched. Allura and Coran could vaguely be recognized through the darkened glass of the control room half a story above them, and Pidge was sitting on the sidelines fiddling with a chunk of metal and wires that would no doubt be turned into some interesting new invention or something.

Lance stood next to them and crossed his arms to watch the match. Keith and Shiro seemed to be in the middle of it, or perhaps towards the ending of the spar. Keith had his hair pulled back in a low ponytail that set Lance’s blood pumping, dripping with sweat. The strands of hair that couldn’t be contained was plastered to his cheeks, violet eyes narrowed. He wore the cutest little twist on his lips that made Lance feel as if he was looking at a disgruntled wrinkly puppy.

Shiro was in much the same state.

His white forelock, usually fluffy and soft looking, was damp with sweat. Shiro had pushed it backwards, and two thick clumps stuck up wildly while the rest looked gelled backwards. Keith was wielding a red and white sword, launching across the training room floor wildly against Shiro, who only fought back with his prosthetic arm.

And Shiro was winning.

The spar didn’t last long after Lance and Hunk arrived, and Shiro won in a landslide. Both men moved so fluently, like they were dancing. The kind of chemistry these two held was astounding, attesting to their unique bond. Was it like this with all of the paladins, or just them two?

Lance tilted his head to the side and brought a hand up to pick at his lip. These people may be Lance’s friends, but they barely knew anything about each other.

Hunk and Pidge were now both seated on the floor beside each other. Pidge was sitting with her legs crossed, leaning towards Hunk and whispering in his ear, and Hunk was holding the chunk of metal and wires. He looked concentrated and focused as he nodded along to whatever they were talking about, and his large body was hunched over the thing as if to protect it.

Keith and Shiro had just finished their little match, and they both seperated, Shiro patting Keith on the shoulder as he went to get water. Keith looked around briefly, and after locking eyes on Lance, stalked over with a water of his own to stand by Lance.

They didn’t say anything for a moment, before Keith looked over at him from beneath his loose hair. It was still in the low ponytail. It truly was unfair just how beautiful these people are.

“So, did Hunk give you a tour?” The question was low toned, almost reluctant, and Lance nodded, keeping his voice low just as much.

“Yeah, I think this was our last stop.” Keith didn’t respond very quickly but Lance didn’t mind. Some people just needed a few extra moments to speak. After a minute or two of just standing around, Lance still picking at his lip, Keith went to say something but Shiro walked back to the center of the room, and drew Lance’s attention with a wave. Lance nodded his apology and departure to Keith, and stepped up to Shiro.

“What’s up?” Lance asked. Shiro tilted his head with a smile, worry still creasing his brow.

“Would you like to try out the training system?” Lance raised his eyebrows before glancing down at his outfit. It wasn’t exactly the type of outfit used for training.

He was wearing his casual jeans and t-shirt, along with the green jacket, but underneath the shirt he was wearing his black thermal suit, which regulates body temperature and other science-y things of that nature, not unlike the Paladin bodysuits, as well as his silver breastplate he’s had since before Voltron. His twin pistols were strapped to his thighs in leather holsters. Lance looked back at Shiro and shrugged his consent.

“Why not?” Might as well burn off some steam right? Shiro ran his human hand through his hair, making the forelock stick up even worse than before. It was such an adorable look for such a powerful man.

“If you’re sure about it, Allura just wanted to get you started on your Paladin training.” Shiro explained as he crossed his arms loosely across his chest, his stance vaguely reminiscent of a soldier’s. “She’s kind of strict about that sort of thing, and she needs to see your skills first to be able to teach you properly.”

Lance assured him it was fine with a winning smile, and after a brief hesitance, left to gather the other paladins and speak to Allura.

Shiro told him to get prepared while he took everyone else into the control room, taking note to choose something for guns as a simulation. Lance didn’t even know what he meant, but he was a quick adaptor. Lance was in the middle of taking off his jacket when a booming voice sounded around him. He was so shocked he immediately drew his pistol and aimed it all around the empty room. His pulse was jacked up from the surprise.

“Lance calm down, it's just a speaker system.” Lance relaxed, his jacket still awkwardly bunched in the crook of his elbows. That voice was unmistakably Allura, the soft accent making her sound almost British. Then again, she always sounded British to Lance. He re-holstered his weapon and took his jacket off the rest of the way as she explained what was going to happen. His black suit was visible at his collar where the shirt drooped and at his arms where the sleeves stopped.

Lance tugged at his shirt wondering if he should just take it off as her voice surrounded him. Basically she would start the training sequence at level one, and as every level was cleared the difficulty would rise. Lance needed to last as long as he could, and when things got too difficult he would only have to call out the trigger words ‘end training sequence’.

The levels would move on automatically and Allura and the other's would observe from upstairs in the control room. Lance did a couple of basic stretches, mostly with his arms seeing as his legs are naturally very flexible. He pulled his pistols out one at a time to check the plasma levels. The guns weren't infinite in ammo, they required plasma clips, like clips for actual guns. They looked about half way full so Lance went to his discarded jacket and grabbed the four extra clips from it and stuffed them beneath his suit sleeves.

Once satisfied he cracked his knuckles and neck and yelled up at Allura to begin.

His feet were shoulder width apart, his right foot forward, knees bent slightly and back curved as if he was hunching. His hands were at his sides and his uncovered ear twitched when the whirring began. He realized the whirring was from a bunch of tiny spherical drones as they were floating in circles around him, rising up from the floor.

Lance’s curiosity, like the kind that killed the cat, made him loosen from his battle ready stance. He reached out a hand to touch the little flying drones, exclaiming in excitement. The drone drifted away, and Lance tried again. He felt so embarrassed at how fascinated he was with the drones, but he just wanted to look at them close up. The drones kept darting from Lance’s fingers, and he shouted in frustration.

“Come. Here.” Lance said. He leaped and finally got a hold of one of the drones and called out in victory, raising it above his head like it was a trophy. “I got it!” He yelled. “Look I caught-OW!”

The drone fired a laser at Lance’s palm, making his hand burn underneath his glove.

That pissed him off, and clutching his injured hand, Lance drew a pistol out with his good hand, the right one. His hand hurt like hell, even though it was more of a carpet rash than a burn, but carpet rashes hurt like a bitch okay?  

Without hesitation, due to his anger, Lance began shooting evenly and precisely. The round was ended quickly, but Lance knew better then to try playing with the drones again. It was exactly like that time Lance had been playing with a sting ray and he grabbed the tail, despite his mother’s countless warnings.

That hurt like a bitch too.

The next level was amped up just a little, and so was the next. Up until level three he had hardly broke a sweat and hadn't even drawn his second pistol. He had to get a little more active in his movements of course but that was expected. At level four, just before it began, Lance shucked off his shirt, leaving him in his black suit and jeans and breastplate.

His breathing was hitched now, erratic. His shots were faster and the bots were more aggressive. Lance finished off that level with a single shot striking his shoulder. Another carpet burn. He sucked in a breath and ran his hand holding his pistol through his hair as his other reached down to draw his second.

The sixth level went by fairly easily with his twin pistols and his movements were more stationary this time. His breath came faster, blood pumped harder. His guns fired off shot after shot. His body twisted to avoid the lasers. Lance was feeling an ache settle in his arms from holding his guns up for so long.

It was exhilarating.

Level seven was when Lance began his real show. For days at a time, no matter where he was, Lance would practice badass tricks with his pistols, any chance he got. During training or otherwise. During battle or missions or in the middle of the night when his mind would drift. When his dreams were bad, filled with wide inhuman eyes, and pain at his wrists and blue liquid spreading and spreading and spreading...

Lance felt himself jerk from another laser striking him, this time in his left calf, and focused back to the present. He just wanted to show off, not reminisce the bad things. So Lance let it all go with a slow smirk as he did the first twirl of his guns. Another flip, and another spin. Lance felt his chest get giddy as he began using his guns like he was in some badass anime.

But the level ended too soon.

His chest heaved as he readied for the next level and he shifted into a more fluid stance. The next level began with the same fast whirring. Up the bots came from the floor. Rotating in circles, surrounding him nearly completely except for below his feet.

Lance didn't even bother warming up to his little tricks anymore. He felt his body turn to water as he moved perfectly in sync with the bots. Shooting and shooting and shooting. Flips, whirls, throwing himself around as he did the same to his well loved pistols. More and more. Faster, faster, faster.

His heart beat wildly and a boisterous laugh escaped him. Laser fire was only just barely missing him as he moved. Heat beside his face, the smell of faintly burned hair. A crackle of lasers fizzling out on the ground. It was the best thing in his life.

Lance lived for this feeling.

**********

(First)(Previous)(Next) (AO3)

[theaalvarezworld-blog]

Chapter Ten: MEN’S APPAREL

Key Concepts:

▪️The history of the menswear industry. 

▪️ Categories of men’s apparel,

▪️Roles of brand names and designer names in the marketing of menswear. 

▪️Advertising and promotional activities in the marketing of men’s apparel. 

HISTORY OF MEN’S APPAREL INDUSTRY

We’ve said it time and time again, menswear is ruled by history and tradition. Every person in menswear (designer, stylist, editor, etc) has taken inspiration from the past at one time or another. And no era has been overlooked.

Therefore, as we continue to explore the foundations of personal style via our Menswear 101 articles, I thought we’d take a quick look back at the last hundred-or-so years in men’s fashion. Perhaps this will provide a little insight or context as to how menswear shifts, and more importantly, how we can make informed decisions when it comes to buying clothing and developing personal style.

LATE 1800S: LAST OF THE VICTORIANS

As the nineteenth century came to an end men were slowly shaking-off the Victorian influence which still had them wearing tophats, frock coats, and pocket watches while carrying walking sticks. This may seem like an elaborate and restrictive way to dress, but it was a big step in the right direction considering the Georgian period that proceeded it had men wearing feathers, panty hose, and high heels. And you thought you were a “dandy”.

1900S: TALL, LONG & LEAN

As we moved into the 1900s men’s clothing was predominantly utilitarian and rather unimaginative. The long, lean, and athletic silhouette of the late 1890s persisted, and tall, stiff collars characterize the period. Three-piece suits consisting of a sack coat with matching waistcoat and trousers were worn, as were matching coat and waistcoat with contrasting trousers, or matching coat and trousers with contrasting waistcoat. Sounds familiar, right? Trousers were shorter than before, often had “turn-ups” or “cuffs“, and were creased front and back using the newly-invented trouser press.

1920S – BROADENING HORIZONS

After the war (which introduced numerous classic menswear designs which are still used today, like trench coats and cargos), business started to pick-up and Americans had more money. More money allowed them to travel more and broaden their horizons culturally and aesthetically. Many crossed the Atlantic to England and France. Naturally they returned with suitcases full of the latest fashions being worn overseas.

1930S: THE HEIGHT OF ELEGANCE

The begining of the 1930s saw the great depression. Although the average man couldn’t afford to partake in the world of fashion, many often enjoyed observing the style choices of those who could. Hollywood films on the Silver Screen became a beacon for hope for the working class man living in this era. Men and women alike looked with admiration and aspiration to elegantly dressed stars like Fred Astaire, Clark Gabel, Cary Grant, and Gary Cooper.

1940S: THE BIRTH OF READY-TO-WEAR

With the end of World War II, American men strayed from the high standards and basic principles of fine dress established in the thirties. Part of this was changes in the workforce and the loss of formality in everyday life. With lower demand, the price of custom tailoring rose, which allowed for the mass production of menswear to takeover as the everyday norm. This period saw the introduction of mass produced ready-to-wear clothing in America, by some brands that are still selling us clothing today.

1950S: THE AGE OF CONFORMITY

The 1950s was the Age of Conformity. Young men returning from the military were anxious to fit right in with the establishment. Fitting in and “looking the part” meant taking on the Ivy League look, which was dominating menswear. Individuality in style of clothing was an afterthought. The goal was to look “part of the club”, in a boxy sack suit, oxford shirt, rep tie, and loafers. This was another big boost for mass Ready-to-Wear manufacturers who gladly sold the same ill-fitting tweed jackets to any young man trying to look smart and employable.

Little happened in men’s fashion until the 1960’s when suddenly menswear blossomed, cultivated by fads (British rock groups, Mod look, Edward-ian look) that changed the shape. These Revolu-tionary Fashions included social revolution such as long hair, beards, jeans, tie-dye, adop-tion of African clothing, dashiki, collarless woven shirts. Revolutionary Fabrics evolved with tech-nology influenced synthetics and knits boomed in the 70s (double-knit suit, circular knit shirt, in-terlock underwear, knit ties, jersey knit socks). Permanent-press finish of cotton introduced no iron shirts.

1980S: POWER DRESSING

In the 1980s things got a little more serious, with broad shoulders framing power ties and suspenders. Bold colors and graphic patterns conveyed a new national confidence and businessmen took to power dressing with an emphasis on expensive clothing and gaudy accessories.

1990S: BAGGY BUSINESS CASUAL

This may be perhaps the worst-dressed decade of them all. The fashion in the 1990s was the genesis of a sweeping shift in the western world: the beginning of the adoption of tattoos and body piercings. This brought back the indifferent, anti-conformist approach to fashion, leading to the popularization of the casual chic look; this included T-shirts, distressed jeans, oversized hoodies, and trainers. “Business Casual” also enters the lexicon as corporate offices generally become less formal, ultimately causing the suit to get bigger and uglier than ever.

2000S: HIP-HOP & EUROPEAN TAILORING

Menswear in the new millennium was influenced primarily by hip-hop culture for the youth, and European “slim fit” tailoring for the older gents. The suit finally started to slim down, as the “European cut” became highly sought after in America, to the point where eventually it became hard to find stores that didn’t carry “slim fit”. The internet also made it easier for men to learn about menswear and share their opinions with fellow style enthusiasts. We saw the birth of the first menswear blogs, with this one starting in 2009.

2010S: THE EVOLUTION OF STYLE ONLINE

The 2010s have brought us the evolution of the “fashion star”. Fashion bloggers have become mainstream. On the one hand, suddenly fashion is in the hands of the people, producing a larger variety of styles, reviews, and opinions than ever before. On the other hand, those being watched are naturally encouraged to try harder and harder to stand out from the crowd. “Peacocking” became a menswear term in the early part of the decade for “trying too hard”, although men have generally become more confortable with subtle, tasteful styling.

ORGANIZATION AND OPERATION OF THE INDUSTRY

The Federal Government uses these 5 classifications (although not of-ficial classification, sportswear has become a vital portion of the busi-ness and should be considered a menswear category):

Tailored clothing – Suits, overcoats, topcoats, sports coat, formal wear, and trousers.

Furnishings – Dress shirts, neckwear, sweaters, headwear, under-wear, socks, etc.

Outerwear – Raincoats, coats, jackets, and active sportswear. 

Work clothing – work shirts, work pants, overalls, and related items.

Other – Miscellaneous items and uniforms.

ORGANIZATION AND OPERATION OF THE INDUSTRY:

Size and Location of Manufacturers Key players include Levi Strauss, VF Corp, PVH in mid-Atlantic. Industry centers are gradu-ally moving with expansion to south and west. Guess and LA Gear are companies expanding in LA with Nautica and Patagonia in San Francisco and Eddie Bauer in Seattle.

Dual Distribution  Apparel is made available through both wholesale and retail channels; that is, the manufacturer sells it in its own retail stores as well as retail stores owned by others.

Designing a Line  For generations designer names were known only within the trade and were seldom considered important by consumers. Traditionally, they were the English styling led fash-ions (Savile Row). But, process to produce was too slow. The first signs of male rebellion in late 1940s was with the Ivy League (natural shoulder) suit and in the 1960s with the “Peacock revolu-tion”. Men were taking pride in their looks with long hair, bold suits, bright shirts, leisure suits, and shiny boots.

THE IMPORTANCE OF NAME DESIGNERS 

Designer names in  menswear mushroomed in the 1960s. Most were Women’s Wear designers from Europe. Oleg Cassini, John Weitz, Bill Blass, and Ralph Lauren were 1st Americans. To-day, the “name game” is big business in all seg-ments of the industry.

Italian designers: Armani, Brioni, Ver-sace, D+G, Kiton, Zegna.

Belgian: Raf Simons Leading 

US: Ralph, Calvin, Tommy

Menswear has never been more interesting than it is right now. If you’ve been paying attention, then you already know that we’re in a moment where traditional tailoring, streetwear, and avant-garde fashion coexist and even complement one another on the street, on the runways, and in the press. And that’s significant, considering the glacial pace at which men’s fashion has historically moved—going long periods of time without experiencing much change beyond the widening and narrowing of lapels, shirt collars, or pant legs. Emerging designers are having major breakouts (Craig Green), established designers are finding new ways to break through (Raf Simons), and up-and-coming brands are breaking new ground (Our Legacy). With the Fall 2015 season upon us—shows start in London on Friday—here’s our guide to the men’s fashion names you need to know, a list that reflects the fluid, dynamic state of menswear in 2015.

               ORGANIZATION AND OPERATION OF THE INDUSTRY

MAIN MARKET SEGMENTS IN MENSWEAR

Tailored Clothing : structured suits, overcoats, topcoats, sports coats, formal wear + separate slacks that require hand-tailoring; de-cline in demand; top in price and quality

Designer Suits : suits sized on a “seven-inch drop”, drop referring to the difference in inches between Chest measurement of jacket and Waist measurement of pants; differences also between natural shoulder or European styling

Production : a long, complicated process; styles selected, fabric ordered 9 months in advance, manufacturers do not cut until buyers or-ders confirmed, suit sizing

Suit Separates : sports jackets and trousers; machine-made and significantly lower in price; some believe men who buy separates are more “fashion-aware” than those that need the reassurance of preas-sembled look.

Sportswear or casual wear: runs the gamut from unconstructed jackets, knit/woven sports shirts, slacks, leisure shorts to coordinated tops/ bottoms; fastest growing segment of the men-swear industry since 1970s; fulfills men’s interest in having more variety in their wardrobes; sports-wear production differs from tailored wear where sportswear manufacturers are interested in short runs (the production of a limited number of units of a particular item, fewer than would normally be considered and average number to produce) and

a quick response to customer demand; narrow size range; contractors are handle production work most successfully.

MARKETING AND MERCHANDISING

Like Women’s Wear, Menswear producers back their lines with adver-tising and publicity. Menswear highly relies on agencies, freelancers, and less often on in-house departments for advertising and publicity.

Major publicity efforts are still undertaken by trade associationswhich sponsor market weeks, trade shows, and other promotions de-signed to publicize individual producers and the industry as a whole.

Link: 

https://www.wsj.com/articles/SB10001424052970204517204577042132703157156

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oH0gPHZkvMQ