#Stephen accidentally touching this man's skin and being like “what the fuck????”

[lilbitofmac]

You know what I realized never gets touched upon again in the MCU? (At least I don't think so—haven't kept up with any of the newer movies or shows).

The fact Thanos destroyed the stones that were at the very center of the universe. Like, how do we not get any repercussions for infinity stones not existing anymore in the main timeline, considering Steve returned the ones they borrowed from the past?

Anyway, I'm thinking of post-EG Tony being the literal last remnant of the stones and holding the fabric of the universe together.

[themculibrary]

Hello! My homophobic piece of trash uncle is staying with my family for a bit so I was wonder if you could find me some stucky or ironstrange fics (anything from snuggles to slow burn) thanks so much this would help me silently spite my uncle

ugh sorry to hear about your trash uncle :( so here's a couple of fics i found that hopefully will ease your mind, and if you need more, don't hesitate to ask (or maybe our followers can send some recs in?)

ironstrange;

Citizen Erased (ao3) - Imagined

Summary: What do you do when no one in the world ever manages to remember you?

Anyone who sees Tony Stark promptly forgets he ever existed after mere seconds. When everyone he has ever cared about has lost their memories of him, he goes to Stephen Strange, possibly the only one who can help him lift the curse. But a terrifying danger is coming, and saving the world isn’t an easy job to do when no one can remember who you are.

Mend What's Broken Between Us (ao3) - samandbucky

Summary: Steve knows his relationship with Tony is over, but that won't stop him from trying to make things better between them, but when he sees Tony and Stephen together, his chances are out the window. But luckily, he's got Bucky to make him feel better.

This was meant to be a whole lot angstier but that didn't quite work out, so there's a fluffy ending instead.

Mystic (ao3) - TenSpencerRiedPlease

Summary: Soul mate's names appear on their mate's skin. But the names aren't just the ones on their birth certificate- soul marks detailed every name your soul mate would ever receive throughout their lifetime.

Tony’s soul mate is fucking stupid. This idiot used the name ‘Stephen Strange’ and ‘Dr. Strange’- both of which made sense- but then the final tattoo that liked to appear sometimes was fucking ‘Sorcerer Supreme’. He decided from the moment he saw that embarrassing name he was one hundred percent never, ever going to give two shits about his dumbass soul mate.

Stephen had rolled his eyes so hard when ‘Iron Man’ flitted across his arm for the first time. Well, the first time he could read it. But the other names were interesting too- namely Tony Stark.

Rewriting Icarus (ao3) - Kimblydot

Summary: Stephen and Tony, from the beginning to the end and beyond.

stucky;

just say you do (ao3) - biblionerd07

Summary: Steve just wanted a job. He wasn't expecting a marriage proposal. And he certainly wasn't expecting to accept.

One Caress (ao3) - fuck_me_barnes

Summary: In which Steve learns how to become comfortable with touch, and there is one very good dog, and a slow-burn romance.

perfectly right wrong number (ao3) - melonbutterfly

Summary: It all starts because Steve is too dumb to handle his smartphone.

A wrong number AU in which Bucky Barnes doesn't enter Steve's life (meaning: Bucky wasn't born until the eighties, but Steve is still Captain America) until Steve accidentally dials the wrong number. Wherein there is a lot of texting, some advice via Natasha and Darcy, a bit of pining, and a first date in an amusement park. Oh, and on top of being a disabled veteran, Bucky is a professional catwalker. Literally.

Something So Precious (ao3) - steveandbucky

Summary: Bucky Barnes has two major weaknesses: small babies and big men.

Enter Steve Rogers: tall, blonde, all-around dream hunk, and awkward single parent.

young hearts, out our minds (ao3) - junko (orphan_account)

Summary: Bucky posts a selfie of the two of them in bed to his instagram.

He hashtags it #goodmorningamerica. Sam Wilson and Pepper Potts retweet it to their twitter accounts.

- Tori

[fanfictrashdump]

Universe in a Jar, 2 - Phase 4 fic

Recap: Some days ago, I reblogged this post about the magical trio. And then my brain went off on a monumental tangent and, I wrote Universe in a Jar.

Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki, Wanda Maximoff, OC

Rating: T? 

Warnings: Language! Embarrassing use of euphemisms, mourning, grief, mention of parent death, flirting is you squint, neurological disorders, attempted accidental murder, and typos probs.

Summary: Baby-sitting beings arguably more powerful than him goes awry for Doctor Strange. He knows one person who can possibly keep them isolated and out of trouble. Well, he knew someone who could… he hasn’t seen them in decades and for stupid reasons. 

XX

Persephone paused at the kitchen entrance, steeling her resolve and gathering the courage to walk past the table to get herself a cup of coffee. The notion that she would have to make herself brave enough to get something in her own home was ridiculous, but her kitchen was currently full of magic beings, as it had been every day for the past week. That wasn't the bit that made her hesitant, not being strictly ordinary herself. It was the man bent over a bowl of blackberries, freshly plucked off of a bush out back, that made her anxious. It was the superimposition of the familiar sight, her friend picking out twigs, leaves and the occasional caterpillar from the fruit, with the dull memory of a storybook villain who laid her whole feelings to waste.

"Morning! There's coffee and I'm making pancakes!" Wanda announced, much more cheery than she had been in a long while. The silence and lack of activities of their little haven in rural Nebraska had given her plenty of time to deal with unpleasant feelings. The witch tossed a half dozen pancakes in the air, all of them flipping perfectly back onto the griddle with no mess. Some people were blessed with better magic than her, Seph realized a little bitterly. "They have blaaackberries!"

"Oh. I, um, yeah–"

Stephen made a small noise of amusement. "I got strawberries for you. I know you think blackberries taste too purple."

She was forced to look up at the face she had been dreading for a whole week. The corner of Stephen's mouth twitched upwards briefly in a not unkind manner. Purple splotches stained the front of his t-shirt, a sight that took her back to days of youth when they would fill their shirts with berries and stuff themselves under a shady tree. Clearly, he had not yet learned another method to carry produce.

"That is not a thing, I assure you," Loki quipped with a smirk. He had helped himself to a book from Seph's library and had kicked his feet up on another chair, watching as the other two tinkered with breakfast.

"I have synesthesia. So, it is, actually, a thing."

She skirted past the men to the coffee maker, pouring herself a fresh cup and helping herself to the milk and sugar that had been left beside it. Wanda was good at this homemaker lark, considering Seph felt like she was an esteemed guest in her own home. Wanda had remarked several times that she liked to make people feel welcome and that she felt guilty for dropping in with the 'Magic Castle rejects' and causing 'unwarranted levels of trauma'. Seph had reassured her that she was fine with the company and it wasn't even bad to have Stephen around, but there was always an edge in her voice and a hint of mistruth in her voice that failed to convince the other woman.

"What in this Midgardian Hel is synesthesia?"

"Mis-wired sensory neurons." Stephen and Persephone answered in unison, startling each other and sharing a long, tense look before she continued. "My taste and sight are a little crossed."

"So your brain is broken." Despite the bluntness of his statement, Loki did not sound mean, more curious.

"More like it perceives differently."

"Mm." He was quiet for a long time after that one hum. The only noise in the kitchen being the sizzle of pancakes and the occasional sip of coffee. "How do you perceive portals? Do you feel the energy and shape it?"

Seph tilted her head in thought. She knocked Loki's legs from the chair and sank into the seat. Stephen and Wanda pretended to be engrossed in their task of making pancakes while they eavesdropped on the conversation. "No. It's like… have you ever seen those forests in a bottle? With like the microplants and worms, and you water it and close it. And it'll basically a self-sustaining entity as long as you don't open it? I see it like that, but the bottle is very flexible and bigger on the inside. Like the TARDIS."

"The what?"

"Time and relative dimension in space. It's a space and time travel machine. It's bigger on the inside," Stephen explained, mixing his fourth cup of coffee of the morning, which did not help with the shaking of his hands but it did wonders to quell his nauseous anxiety.

Loki's eyes widened with excitement. "Where can we acquire one?"

Seph smiled, reaching over to pat Loki's hand. "It's a television show, buddy. It's not real."

"Then why bring it into the conversation?"

"It was a good comparison. I didn't know quality entertainment was so lacking in Asgard." The atmosphere shifted subtly and Seph looked up from her cup of coffee to see all three magicians tense. "What?" More silence followed. Stephen's eyes flittered to Loki and everything made sense. This Loki had not lived through the chaos of moving his people to Earth. She then remembered Wanda giving her an update on everyone a few days ago and how he had not really taken everything all too well… fuck. "Oh. Oh, shit, I'm sorry, Loki."

The Asgardian smiled, a calm, bright expression that looked a little forced. "No worries."

Pushing the coffee away, she angled her body to Loki's and grasped his hand. "It's OK to be sad about losing a home that never truly accepted you, Lo–"

Stephen rolled his eyes and muttered. "Here we go."

Seph groaned, closing her eyes to settle herself. "No one's talking to you, Stephen!"

"Bleeding heart."

"Scalpel jockey."

He scoffed. "You could've done any specialty, chosen any residency–"

"And that's what I did. Not all of us are content hacking into people's heads."

"Not content in making a real difference, you mean?"

"Yes, tell me how that surgical career is working for you right now, Strange!" It was a low blow, she knew, and there was almost a feeling of guilt as he closed his fists to mask the shuddering of his hands self-consciously.

"I'm sure your business is booming. A couple of global catastrophes have probably got the nutjobs flocking to the brilliant psychiatrist, Dr. Hale."

Seph let out a disdainful laugh. "Considering most of my patients are kids who can suddenly levitate shit around their room or accidentally set things on fire, yes. My business is booming. If only the Earth had a protector that would keep global catastrophes from happening and triggering powers in scared kids." She swigged from her coffee and leaned back in her chair. "At least they have someone to talk to."

He slammed his own cup onto the kitchen table and chuckled. "And there it is! We talked almost twenty minutes without you bringing it up, Seph. Good job! You're getting bett–"

His cutting remarks were cut off abruptly, leaving only an odd mutter and the thumping of fist on glass. Around him, walls of a shimmery energy created a box and closed off all noise from the Sorcerer Supreme. His protests sounded like they were coming from underwater, though the walls were clear and solid to the touch. It almost looked like a specimen jar for entomologists–a killing jar.

"He's quiet, at the very least," Loki remarked, turning to give Seph a smile only to find her hazel eyes glowing as if they were leaking light, contrasting starkly with her dark skin. Her hands were shoulder width apart. Distractedly, she tilted her head, curls shifting slightly, and brought her hands closer together. The box rippled, and with it Strange coughed, suddenly panting for breath as he thumped his fist on the wall. "Persephone. Seph. Seph!" The woman showed no signs of hearing him, intensely focused on just the box and her prey. "Wanda!"

Wanda turned from the stove, midway through an eye roll before she dropped her spatula and swirling a large red orb in her hands and directing it towards the glass. The barrier shimmered but barely moved. Loki worked green and golden magic over Seph, trying to break through the blocks in her mind, but was becoming continually distracted by Stephen trying to magic his way out of the enclosure until he slumped forward, breathing shallowly.

"Come on, Seph. You need to let him go. It's not going to help." His eyes drifted to Strange. The sling ring had his magic flicker shortly before dying. Something about that box was not letting him enchant. "Persephone, killing him won't make it better. Believe me. Knowing the person who made you suffer is dead only gives you more grievances."

Wanda surrounded the bottle with her magic. It deformed and shifted, but was no closer to breaking apart to when she started. "I need help and Strange doesn't have long."

"Switch!" Loki turned his attention to the box, his magic making the whole thing shudder.

Wanda had taken his place and was fluttering her fingers beside Seph's temple, red tendrils flowing between them in an effort to access the other's mind. She frowned. "She's… she's keeping me out. How is she doing this? This shouldn’t be possible."

"Impossible is our specialty. Just keep trying." Loki grit his teeth, drawing and gathering his magic and concentrating it in one small, brilliant pebble. With a grunt of effort, he shot the projectile at the glass and a small crack appeared. "Oh for fuck's sake!" 

He repeated the process several times until the crack extended and opened just enough for air to flow in. Stephen breathed a little easier but was still looking weak, his skin sallow and pale; lips a sickly purple. With one last growl, Loki’s magic exploded outward, and the box shattered with a spine-quivering screech. He barely had the time to snatch the Sorcerer before he collapsed on the ground.

Seph inhaled sharply, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs from her mind, and opened her eyes to find all three guests staring at her with furrowed brows and narrowed gazes. Her gaze connected with Wanda, who still had her magic at the ready, to Stephen who was hanging off Loki's shoulder, desperately moving air into his lungs, to Loki who just looked concerned. On the floor, shards of shimmering glass rested, shaking to some unknown Universal vibration pattern before disappearing.

"Well, at the very least, he'll know not to antagonize you, now," Loki quipped, breaking the tense silence.

"Loki, no–" Stephen groaned, watching Seph disappearing from the kitchen, her footsteps echoing up the stairs.

About an hour later, Seph heard her bedroom door squeak open. She sat up like a shot and shuffled back against the headboard. Stephen closed the door behind him, his eyes fixed on her shaking form.

"Don't. Just, go back outside. I'll stay here. I–I can't be anywhere near any of you," she rambled, eyes wide and glittering with tears.

"It's a house full of magicians, we'll survive." He placed a stack of strawberry pancakes soaked in syrup on the bedside table. "You should eat. That kind of display… you should be exhausted right now. Why aren't you exhausted?" The question he tacked onto the end sounded rhetorical.

Reluctantly, she grabbed the plate just as her stomach growled. She picked at the pancakes before taking a bite. She winced at the taste, the color was too vibrant, too in-your-face. Stephen had definitely not had a hand in making these. He was terrible, but he remembered details like it was no one's business. Swallowing the bite, she put the plate back, wincing. With little warning, Stephen had pulled her hand towards him, a handful of long scratches etched into her palm, like the shattering of the box had recoiled into her hands.

"What? You hurt yourself and you don't say anything?" He tutted under his breath, bringing the other hand to his inspection to find similar scratches.

"Stop."

"I'll have to get the First Aid kit–"

"Loki, stop!"

Stephen frowned, eyes narrowing. "Loki?"

"Loki. Stop. Now."

The Sorcerer stared for another minute, face tight, before the glamour shimmered and faded in its entirety. "How did you know?"

She turned her hands to tap on his palms, held out steadily to hold hers. "He lets them shake when he's focused on something else. And the food was a little too bright."

"I knew I should've asked him to make it." He sighed, shrugging before gesturing for her hands back. "Let's have a look, pet." After a second's hesitation, she returned her hands and left them to his mercy. His magic stung her palms, but she remained still, occasionally sucking air through her teeth at the sensation of rapid healing.

"I thought you didn't like him." She said, out of the blue, but he immediately understood.

"He's been decent enough." He paused for another moment. "I'm also certain there is some sort of cosmic balance that would gravely suffer if that bother of a human is killed.” He waved his hands in a flourish and grinned. “There we go." 

"I'm sorry."

Loki frowned. "What ever for?"

"You guys are supposed to be laying low and recuperating not dealing with a fool with no sense of control."

"No control? Persephone, you wanted to kill Strange."

"Exactly! I–"

"No. You misunderstand me." He leaned down to level their stared. "You wanted to kill Strange. I could see it in your mind but I couldn't break through. You have excellent control. Which is why I had to go for the box and not your mind. I would've had to kill you to break the magic, if I had."

"So, I'm a psychopath?"

He laughed, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "No, dear. You're just very angry at him. I hate to say it, but you might have to talk this through like adults."

Seph frowned. "Have you ever tried to have a conversation with Stephen Strange?"

"Yes. It was painful." He laughed. "He's not unreasonable, though. He's just a bit of a…"

"Control freak?"

He smirked and nodded. "Your adjective is kinder."

"Usually is." The pair glanced over at the door to see Stephen leaning against the frame, arms crossed. "I was always the asshole in the duo."

Seph made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat. "Do none of you knock? Were you all raised in a barn?"

Stephen snorted. "We grew up in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska, where we, quite literally, spent most of our free time in a barn. You're lucky we speak in complete sentences given the public education system here."

"I know your mother taught you how to knock, Stephen Strange."

He rolled his eyes, quickly getting frustrated. "And yours taught you how to be polite. We both failed our mothers, it seems."

Seph's eyes flashed briefly and Loki made a warning noise loud enough to break her out of the glowing trance. "Have you learned nothing, you idiot?" Turning back to her, he smiled. "What he means to say is, memories have made him miserable and pent up all week and it’s making him snarky, but he is ready to give up the torture of having you angry at him."

"I haven't been miserable and pent up." Stephen’s tone was indignant and his chin jutted out defiantly. Loki was there to match his haughty tone with one of his own.

"Oh, so the self-immolation in her name was a coincidence?"

"I wasn't–"

She mouthed the phrase to herself several times, turning it over in her mind. Stephen looked fine, little scratches and scars from attempting to wrangle the other two, aside. Her doctorly instincts were not sounding any alarm bells that usually came on when she suspected any type of self harm. Was he maybe mentally torturing himself? "Self-immola–? Oh my god." She could barely look at either of the men. She definitely did not have to know what any of them got up to in the privacy of their own rooms. "Stephen!"

"I wasn't! Are you seriously listening to him about this?" He defended, though there was a jerky sort of nervousness in his movements and his cheeks blazed red.

Loki mouthed 'he was' at her and Seph covered her face with a pillow because suffocating in the fabric was a better alternative to this conversation. "Midgardians are such prudes, honestly. You're a beautiful woman and what I can presume is a source of comfort to him. He was very respectful of you in his thoughts–"

"How long were you watching me?"

"Long enough to respect your endurance.” Movement caught his attention. “Darling, where are you going?" Seph had thrown herself out of bed and was marching towards her closet, only to find that the door wouldn't budge. Same happened to the main door, en suite, wardrobe, even the drawers in her dresser. She wasn't going anywhere and Loki had made sure that every avenue of escape was unavailable.

Stephen scoffed. "Well, I can still lea–" He patted down his pockets and let out a groan. "Loki!"

"Looking for this?" The god held Stephen's sling ring between his thumb and index. "You can have it back when you've made nice."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I am done being in the middle of conflicts. I didn't like it five hundred years ago and I don't like it now. I detest having to scramble to keep her from killing you. This is the third time this week. Every time you anger her, the response is stronger." Stephen opened his mouth to protest, but Loki marched on. "What happens when her emotion and rage outweigh her control? I barely freed you today. Next time, she will succeed."

The Sorcerer rolled his eyes, ever the dramatic soul. "Yes, tell me how you'll weep."

"It'll barely register in my mind but it will destroy her, Strange!" The men’s argument was catching momentum fast, complete with random pointing in her direction and very colorful expletives.

"Could you not talk about me like I'm not in the room?" She murmured, just as the screaming match between the two started to elevate, scuffing her feet on the ground with a pout.

Loki swallowed the, no doubt acidic, retort he had poised on his tongue. "Apologies, flower. I meant no disrespect." He gave her an encouraging smile, holding his hand out to her. "But this is an issue that must be resolved sooner rather than later." After a moment's hesitation, she slapped her hand into his with a sigh and he chuckled. "Don't seem so enthusiastic."

"It's not about holding your hand–," she defended quickly, her eyes rounding with sadness as she fell back into her spot on the mattress.

"I was kidding, darling." He glanced at the Sorcerer. "Stephen."

"I'm not holding your hand, dude," he retorted instantly.

"Good. I've seen where it's been, I don't want it near me at the moment." Seph giggled quietly and Loki looked extremely pleased with himself at the sound. Stephen frowned, jealousy gnawing at his stomach. "Stop pouting, Strange. It's unbecoming."

"He doesn't deal well with negative emotions. So, he pouts a lot."

"I do not!"

"And denies negative feelings. Acknowledging them means he didn't successfully lock them into a tiny chest, wrapped them in chains and dropped them into the ocean."

"You're making me sound like a sociopath."

Seph fixed him with a raised brow look. "Where's the lie?"

Irritation clouded his speckled blue gaze, expression falling into the bored mask he usually wore. "Alright, this was a mistake. Loki, let me out."

"When's the last time you cried, Stephen?"

"Don't analyze me, Hale." His hissed tone would have intimidated a lesser human, but she remained as passive as ever. 

"It's a simple question, bud. I want to know how irritating you're going to be through this conversation."

"Does it matter?"

"It makes my point. You've always been awful with expressing yourself because you've convinced yourself that whatever asshole mask you put on makes you seem more mature. If you–"

"Match day."

"What?"

"Match day. I haven't really cried since residency match day. We weren't talking and you went off to Chicago and I stayed in New York. That's when I knew I lost you."

Loki leaned into her and asked under his breath. "When was that?"

"Decade and a half ago."

His eyes bugged out at her before turning back to Strange. "Decad–what is wrong with you?"

"You've had ample crying in the last decade and a half, have you?"

"I've had ample crying in the last ten and a half days. What the fuck is broken inside you?"

"Hey! Be nice!" Seph snapped, glaring at the god.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Abandoned you for your powers when you were at your lowest?"

"Oh. Right."

A long pause followed.

"I didn't know how to go back," Stephen admitted quietly. "I stood outside your building for three months. I could never knock. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the look on your face when I blew up at you… I knew I couldn't fix it. I still do."

Despite the ice that flowed through his veins, he couldn’t not stare back at the accusatory glare in her eyes. "I flew back home alone."

"I know."

"I identified her body alone."

"I know."

"I buried her alone. She loved you like you were hers and you didn't show up to her funeral, Stephen. I just…" Tears cut off the rest of her sentence, a sob gripping her throat. After a long while, she sniffled, wiping messily at her face. She chanced a look at him, his expression hard and his left eye twitching the same way it did when he was particularly upset about something. Twenty years and she could still tell when he was shoving his guilt down. "You're the one who leaves her flowers." Seph sighed, thinking about the bouquet of violets that were always there whenever she visited her mother's grave, and the fact that in recent times, it seemed like the visits had risen exponentially. Which made sense, since he could open a portal to the other side of the country at any given time.

He shrugged. "You leave mine flowers, too." He sighed, glancing hard at the floor. "I didn't forget my whole damn life just because you weren't speaking to me, Seph."

"To not have been speaking to you requires an effort for you to speak to me, wouldn't there?"

"She has a point."

"Shut up, Loki."

"Just moderating, Strange."

"I was stupid and scared. I went to you for everything. Feeling happy, feeling sad, stressed–you were the go-to for advice. Ironically, the person I would've asked for advice on how to approach you… was you." He forced a chuckle, feeling ridiculous. "Much like, full disclosure, the person I asked dating advice for was also you."

She cackled. "Yeah. No shit, Sherlock. I asked you what your mystery girl liked and it sounded like you were reading from my diary. You weren't exactly subtle."

"I threw in some bad information."

"You said she might be into girls."

Stephen's mouth flapped open several times before he dragged a hand down his face. "In retrospect, yeah, I pretty much described you, but I wasn't sure if you were into both."

"We went on three separate dates, you just didn't fucking notice!"

"And you were attracted to him?" Loki interrupted, eyes narrowed and looking between the two. "Were there no other options in lovers?"

"Shut up, Loki!" They replied in unison.

Seph smiled sadly, her fingers absently trailing over Loki's in an effort to distract her mind. "I would've forgiven you the second you knocked on my door if you had just apologized and meant it. Not something out of obligation or because I was literally your last resort."

"I'm not good at admitting when I'm wrong. You know that."

"Truly a tragedy, considering you're wrong a lot of the time, even if you swear up and down that you’re right," she teased, sounding like a well-practiced jab.

There was a bit of amusement lighting up Stephen's face. "I get one question wrong on a test, thirty years ago and it's all you ever talk about the rest of our lives."

"I also got a better score than you on the MCAT, so…"

He barked out a laugh. "I hate you so much." The smile slowly melted from his face, leaving behind a passive expression. He felt relaxed, less uptight. Whether that was due to the tension in the air lifting the slightest bit or the fact that he could feel her familiar aura as he had for so much of his life, he didn't know. "I'm really sorry, Peep. Leaving you is a regret I'll take to my grave."

Her nose scrunched at the long-forgotten nickname and shook her head, deciding that she knew better than to tell him to forget that endearment ever existed. "I'm sorry I tried to kill you, I guess. In my defense, you were asking for it."

"That's fair."

"Did I hurt you?"

He smirked. "Crushed my lungs a bit. Nothing permanent." He tilted his head. “Why? Is it going to become a common occurrence?”

Persephone's face clouded. "I don’t know, Stephen. It’s a process. I can’t just–”"

“You can’t just forgive him like nothing happened. He understands.” Loki pinched her cheek playfully, leaving her to bat it away with an irritated pout. "Hold your grudge. Keep it for as long as you need, but don't let it poison you. Stupid things happen when you let grief color your perception."

"Whatever. I promise not to murder him, at the least.” Heavy expression fell on the Asgardian, next. “Also, if you ever use the phrase self-immolate in your name, again, I will punch you in the face. I didn't need to know that."

"I WASN'T!"

"I don't care if you did. I don't want to know while I'm still really pissed at you. Got it?"

Both of the men mumbled a "fine" under their breaths before a collective click resounded around the room. They were free once more. Stephen hesitated at the door, his demeanor giving off the impression that he was building up to say something. Seph watched him expectantly only to have him drop his shoulders and turn on his heel, twisting the doorknob to make a hasty retreat.

"Him? Of all people? Really?"

Seph laughed, rolling her eyes. "He was the boy next door. And he's always been pretty hot."

"You can do better." His voice was smooth and rumbly and made her raise her eyebrows.

"I think you mean I can do worse."

Loki smirked. "Norns, I hope you do."

[sherrybaby14]

Blessing or a Curse?

Request:  I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll do a Mummy movie Imhotep dub con where when you accidentally raise him and he makes you his thinking of it as a gift type shenanigan.

 Response:  I would love to.  

 Pairing:  Imhotep x reader

 Warnings:  Dub-con, smut, Monster banging (He’s the Mummy, but he’s not A Mummy), alcohol

 Fandom:  The cinematic masterpiece The Mummy (1999)

 Words:  4K

                 Most family’s heirlooms were jewelry, old photographs, vases, or even ornaments.  Sure, yours had all of those too, but none as valued as the key.  You picked up the strange object in your hand and opened it, loving how quick the spiked points set out.  

                  “What does it open?”  You’d been obsessed with the question since you first found out it was a key.

                 “Nobody knows.”  Your aunt’s voice broke your concentration.  “Like a lot of the family secrets it was lost with time.”  

                  “Along with most of the family.”  You sat down on your aunt’s couch.  “Do you really think we’re cursed?”  

                  The family tree and fortune traced back to 1926, a couple named Rick and Evelyn O’Connell.   They were your great aunt and uncle.  You’d seen some dusty photographs, but saw no familial resemblance. Your great grandfather was Evelyn’s brother, but you looked even less like him.  Maybe that’s why you felt you never belonged.  

                  “I’m not sure bringing up curses when you’re here for a funeral is fair.”  Your aunt sat next to you.  

                  “I’m so sorry.  That was rude of me.”  Your Uncle was only buried yesterday.  

                 “It’s okay.”  Your aunt reached out and squeezed your hand.  “I know you’ve had your share of loss too.  If the family is cursed, may as well be cursed together. I need a drink.  Would you like one?”  

                  “Please.”  You needed something to break the tension.  “Are you sure you don’t mind me staying?  Would you rather be alone?”

                  “Don’t be silly.”  She walked over to the bar.  “I live alone in a mansion in England.  You live alone in a shoebox in whatever country you’re staying in now. Take off your boots and stay awhile.”  

                  “I never put down roots.”  You held your hand out for the drink.  “Maybe then the curse won’t catch up to me.”

                  “Smart girl.”  Your Aunt cheersed you.  “Now distract me from my husband’s death.  Tell me some of your world travels.”  

 ~~

                 Two weeks at your Aunt’s and you were getting stir crazy. Ready to move on and resume trying to search for whatever it was you were searching for.  She wasn’t ready for you to leave yet.  So if you couldn’t explore the world you would explore the mansion.  

                  You could tell it was built for another time. Updates over the years had ruined some of the 1920s charm.  You barely got cell reception and the only time the internet worked was if you were close to the router.  These walls were thick, not designed for WiFi.  

                  The attic was your favorite space.  Antiques no longer desired and an occasional random old thing someone didn’t want to throw away but didn’t want around either. You were looking at a box of dresses, holding them up to your frame and wondering if any would fit you.  

                  You twirled in front of an antique mirror, laughing at the style.   BOOM! The thunder was followed by lightning.  It took you off guard and you tripped.   You tried to steady yourself, but your feet were off balance.  You crashed into the mirror, knocking the thing to the ground underneath you.  

                  It happened so fast you didn’t know how to respond. Shards of glass were all around you.   From what you could tell you weren’t cut, but you had to push yourself up with skill to avoid the pieces.  

                  “Shit.”  That mirror was probably worth more than your car.

                  You hoped your aunt wouldn’t be too mad.  You readied to push yourself up, going slow to not cut yourself, once you made it to your feet you looked at the destroyed antique.  All over some thunder.  

                  You were about to leave to get a broom when something caught your eye.  The base of the mirror.  With the glass cracked you realized it wasn’t a base at all.  It was a book.  The spine gold and the black pages hidden behind the glass.  

                  “Hidden?”  Why would anyone hide a book?  And in a mirror?   You reached down and grabbed it.  It was heavier than expected.  Like the pages were pure metal.   Ancient symbols were on the cover, but that wasn’t what excited you.  It was the shape.  The strange sun.  

                  Your eyes flared with excitement.  You no longer cared about the dress or the glass as you ran toward the stairs.  This was it. The most important heirloom.  The key.  

                  You were almost shaking with excitement by the time you made it to the sitting room, grabbing the relic you dropped to your knees.  The sound of the rain hitting the windows background static to your own thoughts.

                  In seconds you had the key opened and put it on the page.  It fit so perfect you almost fainted from excitement.  Then you turned and the edging of the book popped open with such satisfaction.   You flipped it open.  

                  Egyptian.  Ancient. Like your entire family tree, you’d spent some time studying the culture.  You grabbed your phone.  No service. That meant you had to wing it with your little knowledge.  Your fingers scanned the page.  

                  Each symbol you recognized you spoke the words out loud.   Unsure what they meant.  When you finished the page, BOOM! Another crack of lightning.  

                  You snapped your head to the door as it felt like all the air was sucked from the room and the power went out.  Your head cleared and it sounded like the wind was screaming.

                 What frightened you more, was what they were screaming: no.  A chill went down your spine.  You shut the book and locked it again.  

                  “What a storm.”  Your aunt walked in.  “What’s that?”

                 “I found it in the attic.”  You rose from the floor.  “I’m so sorry, but the lightning scared me and I broke a mirror.”

                  “More bad luck for this family.”  Your aunt rolled her eyes.  “You want a drink?  Power is out, not much else to do around here.”

                  “Sure.”  While your aunt was turned around you took the key out and flipped the book over.  

                  Something felt off.  You couldn’t put your finger on it, but didn’t think you should tell your aunt about the book.  It was just the storm, and the fall on to all that glass.  A drink would calm your nerves.

 ~~

                 The dreams started that night.  You tossed and turned, fisting the sheets, sweat dripping down your brow.  

                  He was handsome, strong, powerful. His voice was deep and commanding.  You didn’t know what he was saying.  His language was dead, but he loomed over you, his hand stroking your cheek.  

                  Even though you didn’t understand his words you understood his touch.  He was evil. Damned.  But he was gentle to you, almost grateful.  Like he wanted to thank you.  But as his lips moved closer to yours your blood turned to ice.  

                  The same scream of the wind left your lips as you woke up in bed, your chest heaving.  You glanced around the room.  Alone.

                  It took a moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving from the nightmare.  Who was the mystery man?  What was he saying?  Why did it feel so real?  

                 “Get your shit together.”  You put your head in your hands. “It was a stupid dream.”  

                  Something in your core told you it was something different, but you shook away the thought as you laid back down.

 ~~

               “You look like you could use some coffee.” Your aunt didn’t take her eyes from the television, you wondered how she saw you.  

                  “I didn’t sleep well.”  You turned to see what had her attention.  

                  The headline on the news said:  Raining blood in Egypt.  The talking head was rambling about some soil getting in the atmosphere and it not really being blood.

                  “That is insanity.”  You cocked your head to the side.  

                 “It’s on every station.  Some people are saying it’s the sign of the end of days.”  Your Aunt sipped her coffee.  “But the more logical minds are talking about red soil dying the rain and global warming.”  

                  “What side are you on?”  You sat next to her.  

                  “Oh honey.”  She turned toward you.  “The apocalypse has been happening for years.  The world isn’t going to end with a bang, it will end with a whimper.”

                 “T. S. Eliot?”  You didn’t take your Aunt for a poetry fan.  

                 “Stephen King’s opening to The Stand.”  She went back to the television.  “Want to go shopping today?  Get out of the house?”  

                  “Sure.  I want to be fashionable while I whimper to death.”  You laughed as you went to the kitchen.  

 ~~

                 You felt his presence and shot up in your bed.   He was sitting next to you and reached for your shoulder, being gentle as he pushed you back down.  

                  “No, no, no, no.”  You repeated the word, but he spoke over you.  This time in another language, but still not one you understood.

                  He was trying to calm you, the tone of his voice almost had a coo, but his hand on your skin, the way he touched you.  It was as if pure evil was in his veins.  

                  “Please.  What do you want from me?”  You crawled back on the mattress until you hit the headboard and reached behind you for something to grab as he moved with you.  Repeating words you did not understand.

                  His other hand came to your cheek too and he held your head in place, a warm smile on his handsome face.  

                  “Imhotep.  Imhotep. Imhotep.”  He was saying the word on repeat.

                  “I don’t know what that means.”  You were caged by him.  “Imhotep?”

                  A devilish grin spread across his face as he leaned closer to you, your foreheads almost touching.  

                  “Imhotep.”  He lowered his lips.  

                  You didn’t want the kiss, but at the same time you were desperate for it.   When his mouth crashed into yours you shut your eyes, your heart and brain wanting different things, but it was obvious this man was only after one:  your soul.  

                  The thought made you open your eyes and when you did the kiss turned into a bone-chilling shriek.  The handsome man was gone.  You were kissing a mummy.  

                  The dream ended like the last, with you popping up in bed,  your chest heavy and head spinning.  

                  “What the fuck?”  You reached out for the glass of water on your nightstand.  “Imhotep?”

                  It was gibberish meant nothing.  But tomorrow you were going to do some research. Just to clear your head.  You nodded as you laid back down.

                  “Only a dream.”  You pressed your thighs together and noticed you were soaked. “Great, now you’re getting turned on from dead people.”  

                  You rolled your eyes before shutting them.   You needed sleep.

 ~~

                 When you came down in the morning your Aunt was glued to the television again.   This time the headline read:  Egypt declares state of emergency.  

                  “Did the red rain get worse?”  You took a seat.  

                  “No. It stopped.”  She was glued to the television.  

                  “The after effects that bad?”  You imagined the cleanup would be gross.  

                 “Nobody knows.”  She looked hypnotized.  “Here it comes again.  Watch!”

                  The news switched to a reporter, walking the streets of Cairo showing the red grounds.  

                  “As you can see the red rain has stopped coming down.  Scientists have samples and are testing the liquid, but there are already rumors of sores appearing on…”  The news reporter dropped his microphone.  

                  Then the camera fell to the ground.  Both people started walking, the only thing visible their feet.   It almost looked like a parade was forming as a swarm of other feet entered the frame.

                  Even without the microphone, you could hear the one word they were chanting clear as day:  Imhotep.  

                  The news switched back to the talking head right as you gasped.

                 “The strange word they were chanting, Imhotep, scholars and researchers all over the world have been consulted.   Nobody knows what it means.   The origin is believed to be ancient Egyptian, but there is no known translation.”  The Anchor shifted his notes.

                   “It’s a name.”  You didn’t look away from the screen.  “It’s his name.”  

                  “They argued that earlier.  No known records of any person in Egyptian history with that name. At least none of importance.” Your Aunt took another sip from her coffee mug.  

                  “Because he was evil.   They wanted history to forget about him.”  Your stomach hurt as you sat on the couch.  “Put down your wine and listen to me, please.  This is important.”  

                  “Wine?”  Your Aunt looked away from the TV.  “It’s 10 am. This is coffee!”  

                  “Your husband just died.  Nobody is judging you.  But please, I need you to listen.”  You pointed to the TV.  “This. It’s all my fault.”

                  “You’re started a cult in Egypt?” Your Aunt rolled her eyes. “Made blood rain from the sky?”  

                  “No.  Imhotep did.” You swallowed.  “But I summoned him.”  

                  You blurted out the rest of the story in a frenzy.   Dreams, book, the key.  All of it.  By the time you were finished, you were struggling for breath.  

                  A concerned look crossed your Aunt’s face and she set her mug down.  She reached out and put the back of her hand to your forehead.  

                  “Are you feeling alright?”  She pulled out her cell phone with her other hand.  “I’m going to call the Doctor.”  

                  “Listen to me.”  You grabbed her shoulders.  “It’s true. I can go grab the book and show you.”

                  “I believe you about the book.”  Your Aunt sighed.  “It was probably a stolen artifact.  The house is filled with them.  Seems the O’Connells weren’t too keen on leaving valuable things in their country of origin.  But that’s all they are.  Things. You can’t use them to summon Mummies.”

                  “But the timing, and the dreams!  The book was in Ancient Egyptian!”  You didn’t understand why your Aunt wasn’t putting it all together.  

                  “Coincidence.”  Your Aunt handed you her coffee mug.  “Here. I think you need this more than I do. Listen to yourself Dear, you sound like one of the nutjobs that call into the shows.   So you’re having a dream man?  So you read a book.  Reading a book never hurt anyone.  You are thousands of miles away from Egypt.  Use logic. Those people were probably polluted from whatever was in the rain.  It’s much more likely government testing than a plague.  All that Imhotep stuff is just an infection.”  

                  You winced and glanced at the mug.  Your anxiety ran out.   She was right.  Those poor people had been exposed to something and here you were thinking about Mummies.  You took a gulp of the wine.  

                  “I’m feeling a bit stupid at the moment.”  You glanced down.  “Thinking a country that’s in a crisis was caused by a mythical being. When I say that out loud…yeah.”  

                  “Once this is settled down I will give the book and the key back to the Egyptian government.”  Your Aunt took the mug back and took a swig.  “Maybe then the curse on our family will be lifted.”  

                  That brought a smile to your face.  It was the right thing.  

                  “And for heaven’s sake, if a hot man comes and visits you in a dream and you don’t want him, send him down to my bedroom.”  She laughed.  “After all, I’m on the market again.”  

                  You rolled your eyes.  She was right though.  Why not turn the semi-nightmares into fun times?  A dream was harmless.

 ~~

               When bedtime rolled around you were a little nervous, of course now that you decided you wanted to play along with your mind’s fantasy there was a good chance he wouldn’t show up.   The thought kept circling your brain, making it seem like sleep would never come.  

                  You’d been tossing and turning for hours. Never once getting close to riding off with the sandman.   At three am you were about to give up and head downstairs to watch a movie or read a book.  

                 As you sat up a hand reached out and touched your cheek.  In the moonlight, you saw his features.  Imhotep. He was here.   You must have slipped into sleep and not realized.  

                  “You’re here.”  This time you put your hand on his, turning into his touch.  

                  “Yes.”  His English surprised you.  “Because of you.  For you.”

                  “And you speak my tongue now?”  Your brain finally got it together in this manifestation of him.  

                  “It took a few days to learn.”  He pressed his forehead to yours.  

                  Evil.  He was cold and evil.  You felt it in the contact and shuddered.

                  “You have nothing to fear.”  He pulled away and tucked a hair behind your ear. “I will never hurt you.  No harm will ever come to you.”  

                  “I believe you.”  You draped your arms around his shoulders.  “I shouldn’t, but I do.”  

                  A candle next to your bed came to life, you glanced toward it, unsure how it lit on its own.  

                  “A dream.”  You reminded yourself.  “None of this is real.”  

                  “I am not real?”  His finger hooked under your chin and turned your head to face him.

                  In the candlelight you got a better view of his face. It was beautiful and smooth. You ran your hand down his cheek.  He felt real.

                  “Is this not real?”  He ran his thumb over your lip before dipping his mouth again.

                  The power and coldness of his kiss were strange. Your brain screamed to run and shove him off, but it was like his ice spread to you with a burn as your tongue echoed his movements.  Your head started to go fuzzy as his hands were on your nightgown.  He pushed down one strap and then the other, pushing the garment down to your waist.  

                  The kiss continued as you lifted your hips and he pulled down your panties with the garment, tossing them to the floor.   His hand cupped your mound.  You gasped into his mouth as his finger ran up your slit and palm pressed hard into your clit.   One of his fingers teased your entrance and you grabbed his shoulders to steady yourself, moving to your knees.  

                   “How about this?”  He pulled away and watched you with a flash of lust as he slid a finger inside of you with ease.  “Is this real?”  

                  You moaned and squeezed his shoulders as he pushed his hand up.  His palm rubbing into your most sensitive spot while a finger worked inside you.  

                  “It feels real.”  You moved your head forward, wanting the kiss to resume.   He smiled as his hand went to the back of your head.  

                  “Thank you.”  His lips crashed on to yours as his hand went faster.  

                  Your hips started bucking on their own, the friction of his icy palm sending your body into a whirlwind.  The dizzy head came back and you couldn’t continue the sloppy kiss.   Your head fell forward on his chest as your lower body took priority.  

                  “I am here for you.”  He kissed your neck.  “You will come with me.”  

                  “I am going to cum now.”  You were panting as your body began to bubble over.  

                  “Not yet.”  He laughed.  

                  What the fuck?  Since when did your dream turn into an orgasm denial?  Even though he said no, his hand did not slow down and you were about to burst.  

                  “First, I will thank you.”  He scraped his teeth on your neck.  “Then we will leave.”  

                  The word “leave” cleared things up and your body exploded around his hand.  Waves of heat and relief made you tingle as your throbbing slowed.   Apparently, dream man who learned English in a day’s lessons didn’t include slang.  

                  His hand went to your shoulder as his finger left your body making you whimper.  

                  “Where will we go?”  You kept your eyes on him as he guided you to your back.  

                  “Home.”  He stood up and pulled at his robe.  

                  Your jaw hit the ground when you saw what your imagination had dreamed up for his cock.   It was the largest you’d seen in your entire life.  The sight sent more juices to your core.  

                  “Home?” You shook your head.  “I don’t have one.”  

                  “You do with me.”  He leaned over you, making you feel smaller than you were.  “Forever.”  

                  He ran the head of his cock down your pussy and stopped.  You tried to relax as you bent your knees.  He pushed inside, burning and stretching in all the right ways.   Your eyes rolled back into your head as you fell into the mattress.  

                  “Who are you?”  You barely got the question out before you whined.  

                  “Imhotep.”  He bottomed out and rocked his hips into you, his head poking at your cervix.  

                  It hurt in such a delicious way you lifted yourself to meet him, your nails digging into his biceps as he leaned down to kiss your collar bone.  

                  “What does that even mean?”  You didn’t know how you were asking questions when he felt this good.  

                  “It means I am here for you, because of you, and I will be taking you home.”  He pulled out, making you shake, but then pushed back in right away giving your toes a curl.  “You will come with me.”  

                   “Yes.” You let out a moan, the answer in the dream being the same regardless of the form of come he was referring too.  

                  “Good.”  He started thrusting faster, your bodies rolling into each other.  “Enjoy.”  

                  You nodded.  His eyes flashed and then he started going even faster.  Fucking and filling you in ways you didn’t know you could dream of, his cock slamming into you with such speed your entire body felt alive.  

                  It didn’t take long until you were a mewling in chaos. Thrashing to meet him, but hovering in ecstasy.   A layer of sweat formed over your entire body.  All the rocking and pumping made you needier than you’d ever been in your entire life.  

                  “Please.”  It came out as a whisper.  

                  “Of course.”  He placed a kiss on your forehead.  “Take what you need.”  

                  Your eyes popped open at his words.  Take it.  This was your dream and you were ready to cum.   You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, flexing your body up as he railed you.  Holding his cock inside your body at the angle you needed.  

                  The release started to form again.   A coil in your stomach tightening like a spring. You bucked and dug your nails into his arms.  

                  “That’s it.”  He cooed into your ear.  “You will come with me.”  

                  The candle blew out, sending the room into darkness right when your orgasm hit.  Maybe it was that or maybe it was so intense your vision blew.   In the darkness you only saw an outline of him, but you couldn’t focus on anything anyway.  Your head swam with pleasure and your body felt like it was on fire with euphoria.  

                  He let out a grunt and bottomed out, he was filling you, claiming you, owning you.  Your head fell back into the pillow.  

                  “What a dream.”  You regretted not taking the enjoyment the first night.  

                  “Sleep.”  He whispered as he softened inside of you.  

                  It was an order more than an idea.  Your dream vanished and you fell into unconsciousness.  

[stephenkohlbear]

The Assistant And The Comedian

Genre: fluff, slight angst if you squint

Word Count: 1,812

Summary: you're Stephen's assistant and it's the first day of the Late Show. Before the show, the two of you share a tender moment, but Stephen has trouble coming to terms with his feelings.

Being Stephen Colbert's assistant was both tiring and sort of fun. For most parts, you can get anything from other people in the blink of an eye just by mentioning his name. Paperwork can get done and filed with ease, But just because your work-life was easy, didn’t mean that your personal life was any different.

Your boyfriend, Robert, viewed your job as an inconvenience. He couldn't comprehend how you were able to "tolerate an idiot like Colbert." He brought it up every chance he could, making you feel guilty about your job. The last argument you'd had resulted in him admitting his jealousy. 

He scoffed, "I mean seriously, Y/N, he's so full of himself, for goodness sake, he has a building with his own name on it!" 

"You have absolutely no idea what he's like, Robert!" You hastily continued to shove your clothes into a bag. 

"Of course I do! I go with you to every one of those damn parties he throws! The man is such an asshole," he threw his hands up, "everything he does, he does to spite me. All the dinners, parties, and late nights. Who the hell needs to work late to discuss guest appearances!" 

You abruptly stopped your shoving. "Are you suggesting I'm sleeping with my boss?" 

"Yes," he snapped, "I am."

You sighed heavily, "Can anyone tell me where Stephen is?" 

Today was the beginning of a new chapter in Stephen's life, and everyone who worked for him. After 5 months of being off the air, he was returning to TV as the host of The Late Show. 

Of course, you were thrilled for what lie ahead, yet you worried about how the public would view Stephen. For the first time in ten years he wouldn't be behind the mask he'd always worn. He'd be himself, the real Stephen Colbert, the one you've always known.

Paul walked by, a mic and props in his hands, "Check his office." 

You listened to him and made your way to Stephen's office, only to find him sitting at his desk. 

"Stephen," 

He raised his hands in defense, "I know, I know," he sighed, "I'll be out in a minute," he stood up to walk over to the window, admiring the cars below, "just first day jitters." 

You set the papers in your hands down on to his desk before walking over to where he stood. You stood so closely that both your shoes touched, like they always did. You and Stephen had been like this for years.

Neither of you minded your bodies accidentally brushing against each other; you barely dodged him anymore when it happened. 

You didn’t mind the occasional touch on the shoulder, on the arm, on a thigh even. You would lean over and dab a runaway drop of sauce off each other one’s face and think nothing of it. 

You hugged to celebrate. You hugged to console. Sometimes you just hugged for the hell of it. The concept of personal space was almost entirely lost to the two of you. 

Everything felt heavy, weighed down by the tension in the small office. Stephen glanced down at you. Never before did you feel this feeling that was currently rising in your chest. 

There was just something different about Stephen that you couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was his sharp and elegant appearance that had you at a loss of words. Possibly his grin, or even those dark brown and beautiful eyes of his.

The glass windows showcased both your figures, standing inches apart from each other. Stephen loved moments like these. He loved admiring you, even if you weren't interested in him, he cherished you, he always had. 

He was in love with you. 

He was in love with you and planned to be in love with you for the rest of his life, if you would let him. Stephen had always said there was no greater testament than love itself. 

To him, love was in every sense of the word to offer his entire heart and place it on someone's bare hands, in this case your hands, despite knowing that you might crush it before his very eyes.

Your eyes sparkled in the night as the street lights from below hit them. He noticed all the things you didn’t, all the things you couldn’t.

He hesitantly opened his mouth to speak, "Oh thank God! Stephen where have you been?" The moment was interrupted by Paul, "we need you in hair and makeup for touch ups, we have an hour until show time." 

Stephen brought his right hand to his temples, rubbing them dubiously, "Paul, please I'll be right there, just give me a second," he stared at his best friend, a hint of annoyance in his eyes.

He seemed to have gotten the message and quickly exited the room, "alright, alright." The door shut softly.

Stephen turned to you again, smiling weakly, "I was going to say something," his smile faded," but it looks like I don't have much time." He glanced at his watch

Your eyes fell to the floor, "it's okay."

Stephen brought a finger to your chin, slowly lifting it, "Could my lovely assistant help me with my tie before I leave?" He's almost shy, speaking with an air of delicacy.

“Anything for my favorite comedian,” you jest, moving to fiddle with the black silk, “Windsor knot?”

"Y/N you know me all too well."

The moment is quiet, and you take your time to make the knot even and clean, your fingertips grazing the hot skin of his neck as you flip up his collar. His aftershave is heavy, dark and very Stephen. You find yourself feeling a little small under his gaze, as it burns into you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Stephen says, his voice lilting with something sweet, “just admiring the view.”

You laugh, your current choice of clothing was nothing to swoon over. You'd chosen a plain pearl dress shirt, black dress pants, all to be topped off with a pair of Vans. Needless to say you were a mess. 

Stephen’s eyes widen, and his lips part, confusion flashing through his eyes as he glances at you, “Hey!” He pouts, brows furrowing. "You're breathtaking.” 

You avoided eye contact as you laid his tie down, flattening it. "Thank you, Y/N." You nod.

You can't see it, but he smiles tenderly, wishing he had the courage to admit his feelings, to say what he'd been dying to say since he'd hired you. 

You smile, looking up at Stephen’s pretty visage. His office light casts a dim shadow on his face that insinuates his long, model-like eyelashes, showing the faint redness in his cheeks.

He holds back smiling like the fool he is. Admittedly, he is a hopeless romantic at heart, although the pursuit of pure heartbreak looms over him, almost taunting him. 

You brought him back down to earth, when everything feels as if falling apart or moving too far away. One look at you, and his breathing was steady. His heart rate picks up a bit, and his hands are clammy. Not because he’s scared, but because you make him nervous. 

You touch his soul so deeply, to the point where he is completely, and utterly vulnerable to your grasp. 

He loved the conversations you two had late at night, as you both forced your eyes to stay open a little bit longer. They were energy-filled with debates about love, adoration, knowledge, truths, and so much more. He wanted more of it, more of you. 

As he stands there, in the moment, admiring you as stand before him, he wishes he wasn't so terrified of loving you. Given his past relationships, forming a fresh new ache and vulnerability, for yet another person frightens the fuck out of him. 

"Y/N," he breathes heavily, "thank you, for everything," he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your cheek, "I'll see you after the show." He exits the room, leaving you alone in his office. 

"That's a wrap everyone! Thank you all so much for a great first show," Stephen raises his glass, "and here's to many more!" 

The entire staff is smiling and cheering, yourself included, at Stephen, who currently stood on the roof of the theater. The after party was in full swing.  

After his toast, everyone went back to partying, which left Stephen to himself. Stephen bobs his head and chews at his lip. His smile is anxious, despite the elated, conspiratorial expressions on everyone else. They’re all too distracted by their own excitement to notice that the man who gave it to them isn’t all there. 

He's too distracted by the thought of you. 

Hastily he jumped off the roof, and on to the floor, not acknowledging your presence. You cleared your throat, hoping he'd hear you over the noise currently being emitted from the partygoers. 

"Hey," he beamed, "I missed you." You blush at his comment, still flustered by the kiss from earlier. 

Slowly he makes his way to you, “Can I have this dance, Y/N?” He holds his hand out to you, kneeling in front of you as if you are royalty. You play along and give your best royal accent.  

“Of course.” You place your left hand softly in his right, his eyes glisten under the light, making you smile. He pulls you closer to him, one arm securely around your waist, while your arm rests on his shoulder, playing the curls at the nape of his neck. 

You both swayed to the rhythm of the music, completely ignoring the fact that some of the staff was watching. In this second, in this minute, it didn’t matter. 

As you dance, time felt slow. Together, you danced to the music, feet in perfect sync to the beating of your heart. As the song progressed, you felt relaxed as you let the words of the song tell each other how you feel. You allowed a small smile to form on your lips, and he reciprocates.

His eyes are deep and irresistible, but never leaving yours. He leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips, causing your heartbeat to accelerate. 

The warmth between the both of you grows more powerful by the second, as you get more emotional with the song. Your heartbeat was growing steadily along with it. 

Stephen decided to let go. Let his worries, his pain, and sorrow go. Right here, right now, he was living. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore, except for you. 

You continue to dance until the song ended causing you to fall into his arms for a hug. You feel him kiss the top of your head, with a smile still lingering on his lips. 

“Guess what?” He mumbles into your ear, causing you to look up at him. 

“What?”

"I love you."

[babywarg]

Ironstrange Bingo Entry 14: Scent

Title: Axe is Overrated

Summary: [Short] Stephen should have known better than to let himself get close enough to Tony to smell his hair.

Notes: It's been a night. this has been brought to you by the persistent I WILL WRITE SOMETHING SHORT AND FLUFFY IF IT KILLS ME feeling.

As well as this gorgeous pic: https://twitter.com/K4Sn5/status/1134044723994169344.

(Do people still use “PWP” as a tag? Because I feel it fits this one perfectly.)

For the @ironstrangebingo​ square "Scent."

[AO3 Link]

 ***

 Stephen should've known it was a matter of time.

Every time Tony - no. Stark. In this lifetime - got within half an arm’s length of him, four things assaulted his senses:

How tight Tony’s pants always seemed to be (and how few other people could pull it off);

How his voice commanded the room’s attention - when Stephen himself, wasn’t speaking, of course;

AXE BODY SPRAY; and

The scent of his hair.

Stephen was okay with Axe, personally - maybe thought it was a bit overrated - but the hair...that was different.

That got to him.

Especially if Tony had just finished a battle. Or a workout. Or a few laps around the large circuit-sized personal racetrack in his backyard.

As a doctor, Stephen knew that pheromones were released mostly through the skin and the hair.

And he guessed Tony didn't much pay attention to the artificial scents in the hair products that he used, wasn’t aware of the effect that the natural smell of his hair had on Stephen.

Stephen wasn’t about to confess, and give Tony an avenue to Bella Swan all over him, mischievously flood him with hair pheromones every chance he got.

No. He was going to keep this one to himself.

But really - he should’ve known.

He was the only one who could look into alternate lifetimes. So the onus to be careful was on him.

In many lifetimes, he and Tony got together. Stephen kept all those lifetimes - and the few other lifetimes where they didn’t get together - safely locked away in his head.

He'd had so much time to memorize Tony Stark's scent.

So much time to remember his knee-jerk reaction to it.

The reaction was, to put it plainly, to put his guard down. To make him feel at peace. Like everything was all right, because he was with the one person - the only person who could take the shitty parts of Stephen’s life in his hand, squeeze with minimal effort, and miraculously turn those turds into diamonds.

Safety was a feeling that was foreign to Stephen, since learning the mystic arts. So he should have known

- that the day would come when he walked by Tony Stark, come within half an arm’s length of the man

- and casually kiss the top of his head

- simply because the smell of his hair put him at ease.

That should have been textbook.

And yet.

It happened anyway.

And Tony looked up at Stephen, eyes wide with questions.

And Stephen looked down at Tony, eyes wide with sheer naked panic.

How was he supposed to explain this?

Okay, Tony, so...you know how I can travel between dimensions? Some of those dimensions are in really close proximity to ours. And in most of those dimensions, we’re lovers, so kissing each other’s hair is a normal thing between us. I know perfectly well it isn’t here. So I’m sorry. My bad.

Or...?

WHAT?! Me, kiss your HAIR?? How DARE you, Stark. I stumbled and lost my footing. My lips accidentally fell on your head. That’s ALL.

As he was thinking, Tony swiveled his work chair toward him.

“What,” he muttered, “the heck was that just now, Doc?”

The expression on Tony’s face was unreadable.

Stephen found all possible words fleeing his brain.

“I -- uh -- I -- “

His first instinct was to flee.

So he turned.

But Tony’s hand darted out and caught his sleeve.

And held on.

Tony pulled down on his sleeve. Hard. And given that his sleeve was made of hardy fabric, the rest of Stephen went down with it.

Before Stephen knew what was going on, he was face to face with Tony, their noses almost touching.

“What I mean to say is,” Tony said in a low, unexpectedly sultry voice, “after we’ve been dancing around each other for this long...that’s really all you got for me?”

Dancing around each other...? That was a concept Stephen had never seriously entertained.

Sometimes his memories of lifetimes blurred. In some lifetimes, yes, they “danced” around their mutual attraction. Unwilling or unready or simply unable to act upon their impulses.

But in this one...

...in this one, he saw the absolute certainty in Tony’s eyes, the infectious, indomitable feeling that things were falling into place.

Had Stephen simply been oblivious all this time...?

“Let’s try that again,” Tony said, and leaned up for a kiss.

A proper one.

One that Stephen was in absolutely no state of mind to refuse.

Because he was drowning in the scent of Tony’s hair.

The intoxicating feeling of Tony’s lips on his. Tony’s fingers lightly resting on the back of his neck. Their tongues intertwining. Every fiber of his being saying yes yesyesyes FINALLY.

And the stubborn undertones of Axe fucking body spray.

[theonewiththefanfics]

A Pirate’s Soul (part 1)

Synopsis: Pirates of the Carribean/ The Avengers mashup! 

The Reader, a skilfull Avenger had gone on a mission with a few fellow members, one of them being Stephen Strange. The mission turns for the worst as the Reader gets trapped with a no way out, but instead of Doctor Strange opening up a portal for Y/N to escape to New York or even just the woods outside, she gets transported to the 18th century Caribbean sea, where she meets a group of people that will forever change her world. Especially a certain son of a pirate with the sweetest heart.

Pairing: Will Turner x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: swearing but that’s a given with me

Genre: idk anymore

Word count: 2151

The thing about being an Avenger is that you’ll meet very different and weird people throughout your life. The thing about fighting alongside them is that not everything goes as planned. Ever. Especially when one of the people is a sorcerer with the power to open up portals and bend time and space.    That is what happened while Y/N, Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes and Wanda Maximoff had gone out on a mission. What was supposed to be a simple in and out turned into a full-blown battle with not only Hydra agents, but enhanced aliens running around and shooting at them.    “Strange, I need you to open up a portal for me!” the girl shouted, comms filled with gunfire. “Like now! Right this second! I don’t wanna die today!”    “A bit busy over here!”    “Yeah, well the building is about to collapse and I have no way out!”    She punched a six-armed alien and whipping her knives around she slashed a deep gash over its chest, organs and green blood spilling out. There was nowhere to go. Y/N was down in the lowest basement level and she was being ambushed. The rumble of explosions up above shook the ground beneath her feet and the stone walls, making it her own little tomb.    Her Y/E/C eyes were wide with fear, the terror so huge she could barely hear Tony calling for Strange to do something, could barely decipher Bucky’s yells of anger and Wanda’s tearful sobs.    She closed her eyes as the ceiling above her shook more and more, the last three creatures ready to pounce. Before the cold blocks collapsed on top of the girl, the alien’s hands grabbed onto her shoulders, waist and thighs. But instead of feeling the wind knocked out of her by a wall, she fell… and fell through it, greeted by an echo-y thud off a wooden surface.

   In an instant her eyes were open, bright sunlight shocking her system as a beautiful salty breeze of the sea invaded her senses. There was no time to relish in the feeling as the monster was still on top of her chest, seemingly just as surprised to be in their new surroundings. Y/N took it as her cue and sliced off the arms that held her thighs, eliciting a shrieking scream from the thing. Her second blade struck in its shoulder of the one that held down her hip. Y/N wiggled around a bit, hooking her leg over its tail and flipping them over, so that the girl was now on top of it and with a hard thrust she pushed the blade through its neck, pinning it to the wooden floorboards underneath them and killing the thing.    Her combat suit was ripped open, basically leaving it in shreds. Her chest was heaving as her palms grabbed onto what seemed to be a timber railing. Y/N let her eyes adjust to the scene beforehand, and if she wasn’t as exhausted, the adrenaline wearing off leaving a leaden feeling in her legs, she’d almost believe what was in front of her.    A tallish man with dark dreadlocks, a red bandana, a triangular hat and God only knows how many trinkets tied into the strands stood before her. His brown eyes were lined with charcoal and a hand with a ring on every finger was holding a sword up to her. A tiny goatee with beads hanging off of it swished around in the wind, but what drew Y/N’s attention more was the young man standing beside him.    Clad in a white cotton tunic, the buttons open revealing a muscular chest, his chocolate eyes bore into Y/N’s Y/E/C ones. His shoulder length hair was half up pulled away from his face revealing sharp cheekbones and jawline.    “I’m dead aren’t I?” she asked to no one in particular, noting that there were more men on the ship, each looking scruffier than the previous, all of them weirdly enough dressed like they were from the 17th hundreds. “Or did you transport me to a fucking amusement park, Stephen?” she chuckled turning away from the men.    There was no reply.    “Stephen?” she tapped the little black device still securely tucked in the shell of her ear. Again nothing.    Y/N’s voice shook as her eyes soaked in the scene. “Tony?” Nothing but blue water, the emerald and turquoise hues glinting in the sunlight. No land. No Hydra or New York. Nothing but the open sea.    She spun around, panic settling in her stomach. The man with the dreadlocks looked over at the man with the tied up hair giving a glance of confusion as his sword lowered down.    “No,” Y/N choked out, “no, no, no, no.” Her palms met the wooden floor of what she now knew to be a ship. “This can’t be happening! Wanda!” Y/N’s scream echoed in the open air. “Bucky!”    At this point, her back was pressed against the side of the ship and a palm going to her throat. Y/N couldn’t properly breathe, her head was spinning from hyperventilating. Suddenly a hand was placed on her shoulder. She could feel the skin-to-skin contact, courtesy of a giant rip in her suit.    “Miss, I need you to breathe, okay?” it was the one wearing the white shirt. His voice was soothing, like the waves the ship was lulling on.    “Where,” Y/N heaved out, “where am I?”    The man who had his sword pointed at her before, answered the question. “The Caribbean sea, love. Right in the heart of it.”    Fine. She could work with a place. A place was good. But then came the question Y/N didn’t really know if she wanted to get an answer to. “When am I?”    Her Y/E/C met the white-tunic-mans. They were soft, consoling, she didn’t want to look away, but then again, neither did she want to hear what his lips had to say. “18th century.”    Y/N took a deep breath. 18th century. She was in the fucking 18th century. Man, had Stephen fucked up. Her attention was taken away from the man by a woman, she hadn’t previously noticed. The blonde was just about to touch the alien but Y/N was faster, jumping up and wrapping her arms around the petite girl, shielding her body with her own.    “Don’t touch it! Unless you want the whole ship to go up, I suggest you back away.” Her eyes were a lighter shade of brown, golden specks glinting in the sunlight, plump lips open in an unheard question.    Hydra had scientifically grown the alien species in test tubes and then genetically engineered them to explode after dying if someone or something touched the skin, to cause the maximum effect of destruction. Back in the base that had actually helped her out in the mission, at one point setting off a chain reaction and taking a whole block out. Now, given the fact that there wasn’t land anywhere on the horizon, Y/N couldn’t risk anything.    A tall and lanky man, one eye darting around, clearly made from wood scooted closer to the strange creature. “You touch it and it’ll explode. The ship will go down and so will everyone else,” Y/N warned him, hoping the rest would take it to heart too.    The girl was barely keeping it together, opting for command mode to stay sane. She needed something to do, so a plan had to be devised to safely dispose or at least relocate the carcass before another curious mind came a bit too close and boom! went the dynamite.    “Well, what do you suggest then? Leave it out in the open? Where it’ll rot and then a seagull will flock down, sit on it and make my Pearl drown that way?” The guy with the deadlocks had approached Y/N and the girl, the Avenger still sorta shielding the other woman’s body with her own.    Back while fighting with Hydra, the bodies had exploded because of harsh movements, like rubble hitting it, a stray bullet or a graze of a knife. In an instant the green blood started to turn orange and then red, the dead flesh heating up before exploding, the shrapnel of bones and the sheer force of kinetic energy bringing down stone walls. But what if nothing did touch it?    Y/N had magic in her veins, but she was untrained, nothing like Stephen. ’Damn, it Wanda, I need you,’ she thought to herself before looking at the gathered crowd. The girl was terrified of what ran through her blood more specifically because one time as a kid she had accidentally set a house on fire, just because of her emotions and ever since then she had locked that part of her mind.    “Stand back.”    The girl immediately detached herself form Y/N taking a few steps away.    “What?” it was dreadlocks.    “I said stand back. I don’t know what’s gonna happen so you might want to keep yourself at a safe distance.”    He levelled a gaze. “And what is a safe distance?”    Y/N had no answer to that. “Preferably somewhere off the boat, but since that ain’t possible- as far away as you can.”    The girl steadied her mind, slowly feeling her heart rate come back to the normal thud-thud-thud. ‘Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up’ was a mantra ringing through her head. Wanda and Stephen had had years of training whereas Y/N had none, so freeing that part of her mind was terrifying. To allow the power she didn’t know how to control ooze out of her every pore was the scariest thing that had ever happen to her.    The girl concentrated, letting the tendrils seep out and feel the air. It was a shock to her system. She could feel every molecule around her, the tiniest ripple under the sea, where a crab left an indent in the sand or a fish moved its muscles to propel itself forwards. Y/N could fell everything, and as much as she wanted to revel in this newfound world, she had to focus.    Air. She could use air. Something warm trickled down her nose, the sticky substance worming past her lips and down her chin. Y/N had no time to wipe away what she knew to be blood. She extended a hand towards the dead alien and mentally pushed the air underneath it up, trying to picture it as a solid material the body could be laying on. She imagined it lift above the floor and it did. Green blood was spilling out from the places where its limbs were missing as well as through the giant neck wound.    “A bit more, a bit higher, a bit further,” Y/N muttered underneath her breath as she moved her palm toward the open sea, the body floating in the air immediately following that direction.    Red droplets from her nose splattered against the wood. “Just a bit more.” A huge headache was forming, ripping her skull apart. “Just a tiny bit more.” It was over the railing, hovering above the sea, yet it was still too close, what had dreadlocks called it- Pearl? It was still too close to the Pearl.    From somewhere behind her a voice kept calling. It was saying for her to stop. Or at least that’s what Y/N thought. The only thing she could hear was her own blood pounding in her ears. Her hand shook with the force the girl was exerting.    “A tiny bit more,” it came out like a strangled breath before she released the alien, it’s body splatting down into the sea, exploding in a matter of three seconds.    Y/N’s lips pulled up in an exhausted smile. “There,” she heaved out, “done.”     And suddenly she lost balance. Y/N would’ve smashed her forehead against the black railing if it hadn’t been for two strong arms that caught her just in time.    His mouth moved, yet Y/N couldn’t hear the words. Lick-the-bed? What no, that couldn’t be right. The woman she had shielded from the alien’s body reappeared in Y/N’s vision. She was carrying a cloth, a damp one that she gently pressed against Y/N’s flushed skin. No, Elizabeth, not lick-a-bed. That was the girl’s name.    The woman’s mouth moved as well, Y/N’s hearing catching onto one single word before falling into the blissful darkness where nothing hurt.    “Will…”

Tags: @fandamad

A/N: I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m a mess :D

please tell me what you think :)

P.S. if you have any requests or wanna be tagged drop a message 

P.S.S. please don’t repost without credit

[hrrytomlinson]

here are a bunch of fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of may. I recommend that you read these great fics in june, if you haven’t already.

(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)

1. Dance to the Distortion (96k)*

Louis accidentally breaks Harry's camera lens and in order to get it fixed, they decide to participate in a romantic couples study. The only issue is that they are not actually couple. Well that and the fact they cannot stand each other. 

2. Above Your Head (57k)**

What happens when an unstoppable object meets an immovable force?

Space AU. Louis is an astronaut. Harry works for Mission Control. They don't get along.

3. Curveball (15k)

“So when are you two getting married?”

Harry froze. Shit, shit, shit, this completely went against his whole ‘keep it casual’ stance he’d been planning on keeping. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.

Louis shrugged. “I don’t know, I mean, we haven’t really discussed that.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I mean, if it happens, then it happens. You know… Whatever.”

Whatever? Harry thought to himself. Did I really just say ‘whatever’ to when I’m getting married? When it's all I've been thinking of for weeks?

Harry couldn't believe himself. He knew he told himself to keep it casual and not put too much pressure on Louis for the idea of getting engaged, but for fuck’s sake, that was probably too casual.

Does Louis think I don’t want to get married now? What if he thinks I’m not ready for it? What if I just put him off proposing even longer?

He couldn’t shake the fear that he’d really just messed up.

Or, the Runner on Third sequel where Harry really wants to get engaged, and Louis doesn't seem to be picking up on that. Harry may or may not drop a few hints that are anything but subtle.

4. My Sweetest Downfall (42k)**

Louis is a retired guardian angel. After the death of his last charge, he became jaded. Humans die—what use is prolonging the inevitable?

He's more than happy to forget about humanity altogether until one day, when Louis is pulled from his desk job for a new assignment: protect One Direction's Harry Styles. It doesn't help that there's something about Harry that Louis can't resist, and it's making him question everything he's ever known. Humans are strictly off limits, and breaking that rule means risking everything, but Harry just might be worth it.

This is a story about forgiveness and discovery, featuring an angel who wants to be a little more human and a human who is so much more than he seems.

5. Suited For You (4k)*

“Louis Tomlinson, you have had that suit for almost ten years. It is time to get a new one, and it is time to get a good one.” Unfortunately, he could tell his mother wouldn’t budge. The discussion was over. They said goodbye, and Louis immediately dialed his sister Lottie.

She picked up straight away, “You have to get the suit, Lou.”

“Argh!” Louis yelled, hanging up on her. He missed his old flip phone, hanging up on someone was so much more satisfying.

Louis' family convinces him that he needs a new suit for some upcoming special events in his life. 

6. The World Turned Upside Down (71k)**

In September 1984, Harry Styles starts at Manchester Polytechnic with two goals: to take pictures and to join the Lesbian and Gay Society. He’s never paid much attention to the news, but everyone he meets in Manchester supports the miners. He realises how right they are when he meets Louis Tomlinson, a striking miner who flirts with him. A month later they are both at the founding meeting of Manchester Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners, trying to bring down the government. Through letters and visits they build a relationship, in a world very much not of their own choosing.

Manchester and Doncaster in the 1980s are grim, hopeful and alive. Niall is president of the Young Labour club, Nick Grimshaw is in love with the singer of an up and coming band, Fizzy wants to know more about the women of Greenham Common and Harry and Louis are brave.

A Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners/Pride AU.

7. Nocturnal Creatures Are Not So Prudent (24k)

Louis spins a finger in midair, like he’s indicating someone to turn around, staring pointedly at Liam as the faucet turns itself on and the can rinses itself in the sink behind him. Liam, moon burn him, doesn't rise to the bait, choosing instead to lean back on his stool and wrapping his hands around his own mug.

“Anyway, like I was saying and that you were ignoring, there's this new club near my school and I want you to go with me. Could do you some good, getting out once in awhile.”

Louis is a white witch with a little black cat named Hemlock and a best human friend Liam (they're a lot like Samantha Stephens and Louise Tate). When he's dragged out to a new club Liam's heard about from a friend and classmate, Louis comes face to face with that which witches do not touch: a charming vampire by the name of Harry.

8. When It’s Late At Night (25k)

Louis has zero interest in an ex-boybander turned solo artist when his appearance on the show gets announced, but that's exactly who he gets stuck with when Harry Styles shows up at the Late Late show to promote the release of his debut album. For an entire fucking week.

Or The Late Late prompt that we all need to get through this excruciatingly hard time. 

9. Why Can’t It Be Like That (63k)

Louis Tomlinson, head of his local hospital's charity fund, suddenly finds himself in the heart of the Royal family when his mother marries the third son of the reigning monarch. Such an upset in lifestyle brings a lot of changes for Louis, one of them being the need for a stylist.

Enter Harry Styles, a cutting edge fashion stylist who loves his job and prides himself on his passion. The first time he sees Louis Tomlinson on the cover of a tabloid he wants to dress him, style him, make him as beautiful as Harry knows he could be. When he's hired to do just that, he knows this will be a perfect partnership. That is, until he actually meets the man.

A fashion AU with a royal twist, where Louis doesn't need a stylist, Harry's thrilled to have a real life Barbie doll, and they're both very wrong about each other.

10. Looking Through You (41k)*

Just as Louis and Liam were starting out in the music industry, writing and producing for up and coming artists, a fateful meeting with new pop singer Harry Styles changes everything. Four years later, just as Harry is set to embark on his next world tour, a drunken confession causes a rift between once inseparable friends. As Harry tries to make sense of his feelings for Louis, he begins writing his next album to express them as it may be the only way to break through the walls that Louis has built between them.

11. Never Be Ready (7k)

“Remember the documentary film program in Los Angeles? The one that I got waitlisted for? They called me this morning and said that a spot opened up and they offered it to me.”

“That’s great!” Louis says, and he means it. “When do you come back?”

He and Harry have spent every summer of their lives together. Surely Harry won’t ruin that perfect record.

“The middle of August,” Harry says, clearly thrilled at the prospect of spending ten weeks in California, and Louis’ heart sinks to his stomach like a stone in the sea.

A high school AU where a summer without Harry makes Louis realize that he wants to be a little bit more than best friends.

12. Never Gonna Dance Again (55k)**

Harry is quiet for a moment and his fingers feel like they’re burning past the fabric of Louis’ jumper, branding his skin. “Can I kiss you?"

This is where Louis should walk away and leave Harry to pirouette and cambré by himself in the faint moonlight shining through the windows. He is a spy and Harry is a dancer. There are lines that should not be crossed.

Louis surges forward.

Louis is a spy and Harry is a dancer. The only real thing they know is each other.

13. Atlas At Last (83k)**

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting out of the road trip itself besides burping contests and too much shitty gas station food with Oli and Stan, but in the brief moment before Harry ambles up his driveway, Louis idly wonders if this is about to become some sort of Gay Coming of Age story.

Maine to California in ten days. In which Zayn’s an open-shirt hippie they meet somewhere in Ohio, Liam’s the pastor’s son running away from home, and Niall’s the number they call on the bathroom wall.

It’s 1978. Harry and Louis are just trying to get to San Fran in time for the Queen concert.

14. Adore You (66k)**

“We invited our new acquaintances from uptown. You’ve simply got to meet their oldest son!” said his mother with a flourish, and suddenly it became abundantly clear as to why his parents had so adamantly demanded he join them in Deansville for the entirety of the summer.

Against his wishes, Harry spends the holidays at his family’s summer estate, and is reluctantly pulled into a courtship he didn’t ask for. Harry doesn’t want to get married, but Louis does. They don’t fit, but then again they really, really do.

Vaguely set in the 1920’s. Headpieces, jazz, fashionable canes, and flapper dresses, and that.

15. We’ve Got to Get Away from Here (23k)**

“It is my understanding that you are the most comprehensive member of this agency in the field of extraterrestrial life, is that right?” the agent asks. He’s trying to sound calm, but Louis can tell he’s shaken as well.

“Um, I guess so,” Louis says, glancing over at the man in the blanket again.

Suddenly, Louis’s blood runs cold. There’s something off about the man, something in his gaze, something Louis can’t put his finger on. It’s terribly unsettling, but excitement bubbles in his gut.

Or, Louis is an FBI agent who likes to think himself a paranormal expert, and Harry is alien that somehow ended up in his office.

16. There’s No Antidote for This Curse (26k)**

New York City, 1924. Harry Styles is an Auror working for MACUSA. Louis Tomlinson is an investigative reporter for the Daily Prophet in London. They haven't seen each other for years, but when bodies start showing up in Central Park, Louis travels to New York to cover the story. The two work together to uncover the killer, and uncover a few other secrets along the way.

[wubwubnparmaham]

I just gotta ask!! I mean ur one of my favorite authors and I'm guessing you've been reading a lot of books and fics too, so who is your favorite author and what is your favorite book? :D btw, loved chapter 8!! so much drama xD (although it did break my heart for louis)

Ohhhh yes! Okay. My favourite book hands down is called “Un Lun Dun” by China Miéville. It is an absolute gem! I can’t shake the feeling this post is gonna be long as fuck....we’ll see....

So, as you can see, my copy of this gem has seen better days. I have read this thing back to front and apparently through a hurricane, I love it so very much. 

It is a dystopian (sort of) alternative dimension kind of deal wherein these two tween girls, Zanna and Deeba, accidentally embark on a quest to save the literal planet because after falling through a portal in London, and discovering “Un”London, where everything is topsy turvy as fuck, Zanna is declared “the chosen one” or the Shwazzy, so she’s expected to be this righteous catalyst for change, and she didn’t ask for any of it and nothing makes sense, and Deeba ends up being the badass instead and magical shit happens. 

But this world was so well thought-out. It’s essentially an anthropomorphism of the terrible shit humans do to our planet. Their form of rats is living litter and trash that people throw away in the real London, and the main antagonist is smog. So all the pollution and carbon blahblah seeps through the gutters of London, and ends up in Unlondon as a sentient, gloomy and villainous gas. Tons of cracks at the degradation we inflect on the atmosphere, it’s just woke af. And it was written in 2007, I can only imagine how bad the smog in Unlondon is now haha. 

AND! THE ILLUSTRATIONS?? 

Look at that skin-eating giraffe! Tons and tons of bomb ass illustrations throughout the whole book that pop up to give you a peek at the world and it’s fucking magical. Giraffes tear people’s skin off and wave it in their mouths like a flag, don’t ask me. There are so many layers to this amazing novel, everything is done fucking perfectly, and I could honestly talk about it until I died. I read it when it first came out because my (wow, I’m getting so fucking descriptive) aunt took me to a bookstore so I could have a book for a plane ride i was getting on, and I just picked up the first thing I saw. I didn’t want to read anything, but I also knew I was going to be on a plane soon, so I just grudgingly chose one and by the time I was off that plane, I was well over halfway through and walking into shit in the airport because I could not stop. That was in 7th grade. This book has traveled with me to many different places in my country, and that’s probably why it looks like shit. CHECK. IT. OUT. IF YOU. WOULD LIKE.  HIGHLY RECOMMEND. 

Moving on, my favourite author is hard to choose, because there aren’t many authors that I read entire collections of. Like, I don’t have a shelf full of stephen king or orson scott card or anyone like that, I just have little bits and pieces of people, but there is a series out there (beSIDES Harry Potter because that’s obviously so fucking up there on the list i don’t even need to mention it) that gave me a favourite author without reading anything else outside the series.

And that person is Michael Grant. He’s written a ton of shit, I know, but the Gone series....THE GONE. SERIES. 

Those bitches! 

My fucking god. This man created something that has never gripped me tighter in my life. Every single sentence that he wrote, along with his co-author and wife (how cute) K.A. Applegate, is pure liquid gold. I can’t even fathom what this series did to me throughout high school. I think I found the first one freshman year, around 2008 and 09, and I lived and breathed it so hard. I got sent to detention because I couldn’t stop reading it, got it taken away from me, had so many late reminders for return in the library (even though I worked in there as a TA multiple years in a row and got cut slack because mrs. sloan loved me) i still kept them all way too long. 

LISTEN. 

This fucking story, man. All at once out of nowhere, after a nuclear meltdown from the power plant that miraculously stops, everyone over the age of 15 is GONE. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on, but the adults zap and disappear like fucking magic, and there’s nobody left but kids. They soon find they are stuck in a huge dome that had a i don’t remember how long mile radius around their whole town, but it’s like a coastal beach town MAYBE in Cali but I could be wrong, but this dome impenetrable as fuck, and painful to touch if I recall. 

The adults are all on the other side, and nobody gets what’s happening, but even the military can’t crack through this fucking dome. can’t see through it either. it’s like frosted glass kinda. Anyway, they start to get worried or whatever because some of their birthdays are coming up, and they assume they’ll just pop out of the dome and be okay, like all the other adults and above-15-year-olds did, bUT YOU DON’T. NEWS FLASH, YOU DON’T. two girls on their birthday disappear, but they START SCREAMING FIRST. or something. and uughhkjf panic ensues. 

So, these kids start developing powers. Like mad weird ass powers and mutations the longer they’re stuck in the dome. Weeks, and months pass, alright? They’d eaten up and ransacked all the grocery stores hella long ago, they start eating each other, militias form, there’s giant worms with teeth in all the crops, disease spreads, they have to form a society with rules and shit, but it’s chaos, and when they think they’ve got something down, their resources run out. There’s no electricity soon. It’s all fucked. They’re starving, they’re rabid, they’re changed, some are killers, some are cannibals, some are now official doctors that have to do shit we can’t imagine to save people, and holy fucking shit. Like our protagonists become warriors real fuckin’ quick. 

There’s also a very reasonable reason why all this happened (I’m gonna laugh if you’ve read this series), but I can’t explain it. It gives way too much away. I actually just TRIED vaguely explaining it, and I had to delete everything cuz it was way too telling. 

All in all, it’s a fucking tear-jerker. Characters die like flies, and you can’t get attached to anyone or you’ll choke. Centered (kinda centered, but it really does touch on everyone. Like if you’ve read love endless, yeah, it’s a larry story, but it’s also a harlock, jenner, martin, tanner, azazel blahblah story, you feel me?) so Sam and Astrid centric (the cute lovers that never would have been lovers if it hadn’t been for this disaster because she was like the goody two shoes and sam was street trash, but ya know, circumstances...), and Quinn (the side best friend), and they are FULL OF BADASSERY. HFJKRHFWKLFEW. THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN THIS STORY, CAN YOU IMAGINE? GAH. I can’t hfeifhrjkdfre. 

AND i DON’T OWN THE SERIES? i DON’T PHYSICALLY OWN THE SERIES, I ONLY MASS CHECKED THEM OUT THE LIBRARY FOR FOUR YEARS STRAIGHT. I NEED THE GIFT SET. ALL. NOW. 

I’m a fucking mess, and none of this makes sense. Terrific. But yeah, just that whole series has irrevocably made Grant my favourite author outside of Rowling and Tolkien. I’d read his fibre supplement poop progress journal, I don’t care. He’s a MASTER. He just takes you in, throws you down in the panic, and MURDERS YOU. Makes you feel starving and desperate just like them, uiiegjkeghgjksfgerf. So good. SO. GOOD. 

i PROMISE YOU I’M DONE, YOU OPENED A CAN OF FUCKING WORMS, GOOD DAY. 

[operationcavill]

Professionals 2 - August Walker

August Walker is hired by Parker Industries to protect the companies most important assets; Mr. Stephen Parker himself and his workaholic, do-it-all executive assistant. 

Part 1

*Contains a bit of a time jump

He doesn’t normally feel so guilty after speaking his mind, but he felt as if he should apologize. He settles into his room and still can’t get the interaction off his mind, the way the tone of her voice changed. He begins to log the distractions Y/N causes, in order to learn from it. It's the only way he knows how to correct himself.

Week 1 Distractions:  

Humming

Scrunches her nose when reading

Rolling her eyes at me

Week 2 Distractions:

Pony tails

Making Coffee

Asked me to peel her orange 

Gin Gin??

Week 3:

Cut the crust off my grilled cheese

Eating pickles as a snack

Video Calls with Joey

Refuses to call me August 

Week4:

Dances in her bedroom

Waters all the plants except the one in my room 

Eats too many pickles

Still won’t call me August

About a month into their stay, August finally admits to himself that he’s attracted to Y/N. He gave up on his lists and although he would never say it, made tougher security measures for her. He was now working his hardest, for her. The best thing about it was that he could tell she was doing the same, she was ignoring how she felt about him. At night, it consumed him. It was almost torture. He would stand outside her door after his routine sweep. 

He’d listen to her sing along to Pearl Jam, which he did not expect at all. He could hear her laugh on the phone while talking to her friends. He could also hear her touch herself. He drove himself crazy with it. His forehead would rest against the wall as he listened to her gasp and moan to herself. He wondered how she did it. Did she tease herself? Did she use a toy? He’d let his mind run wild with the thought and when it was a particularly tiring day, he, too, would touch himself.

After weeks of back and forth meetings, long car rides, and occasional flights back to the city, they finally have a weekend free. The rest of the security is on call back at their hotel, but given permission to explore. Meanwhile, Parker, Y/N, and August are cooped up in this lake house that Parker insisted he stay at. 

August checks in for the evening, making sure boss man has no plans to leave for the time being, “Go on, Walker. I’ve finally got time to catch up on sleep.” He nods and continues his sweep across the house. Y/N is not in the house, he barges into her empty bedroom, then back to the study. He finally spots her on the veranda, sipping on a glass of wine and just sitting. Every so often, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breathe. 

He leans against door frame and speaks loudly, “You know, you’re supposed to tell me if you’re going out.” 

She gasps, almost spilling her wine, “Shit!”

August doesn’t seem phased by her movements, “Could’ve said you’d be outside.”  

“I don’t need constant security, and I didn’t go anywhere, I’m sitting on a porch.” She takes another sip from her glass. 

“Actually, as part of the company, you do need security and it’s also raining.” 

She rolls her eyes, her go to reaction, “I like rain.”  

He looks up at porch covering, “Yeah, well, it’s too cold and foggy out here.”

“I’m fine.” He watches her plop a piece of candy in her mouth. 

“Y/N—“ He gears up for yet another one of his speeches but she cuts him off before she has to endure it.

“August,” He doesn’t want to admit that he loves to hear her say his name, even if it comes out strange due to the candy in her mouth.

“The last thing we need around here is you with a cold. You’re miserable as it is.” His statement comes out harsher than he intended. He only meant that she’s already in a tough situation, and getting sick would only make it harder on her.

“You know what, Walker? You’re miserable! You have not once tried to be kind, not once tried to have a conversation with me. I don’t think you do anything but sulk. ‘Oh, I’m August. I have a mustache and a gun.’” She mocks his scowl, “I haven’t seen you smile at all, do you even have teeth?” 

August wants to give her an ear full of banter but he can’t bring himself to be playful, he’s tired snd she looks pitiful. He gives her a false, but bright smile, “It’s getting late and it’s about to storm.”

She grunts as she gets up from her chair, “Goodnight.” 

He notices her cardigan on the back of the chair and grabs it, making his way toward the stairs, then to her bedroom door. He stands there for a moment before knocking, trying to decide if he should apologize or not. She greets him with her hair in a lazy ponytail and a toothbrush in her hand, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you left your sweater downstairs.”

“Oh, thanks.” Y/N narrows her eyes at him, wondering why he’s just standing there, “Is there something else?” He’s sorry, but he shakes his head and bids her goodnight. 

Y/N would be lying to herself if she hadn’t been noticing little things about August. She notices that he tries to hide his smile when he hears Joey ask about him, or that his eyes seem bluer when it rains. There was a particular shirt of his that was a little tighter than his others and she didn’t want to admit to herself that she wanted to see what was underneath it. She tried to deny how good looking he was, even with that ridiculous mustache. 

Thunder claps just has Y/N snuggles into bed. She loved the sound of the heavy rain hitting the windows. When she was a little girl she would sit and just listen. Her brother, Jacob, would always make fun of her but it was something she enjoyed, just her and the rain.

...

The power flickers off and y/n heads to the hall linen closet for a lantern and maybe some candles for the hall. She knows she won’t be able to stop at this point in her book. The closet door swings open and she tries to catch something as it falls out. She winces at a broom smacking against the floor. Everything is still quiet, so she continues her search for a lantern. She hears a noise come from behind her and jumps. Y/N turns her flashlight toward the creaky floor and the beam lands on August, “Oh my god! You have got to stop scaring me!”

“I’m doing my job. I heard something.”

She points her light at his torso, “And came to check it out without a shirt?” She accidentally let the light linger there, taking in a very toned core. She knew he was in shape but, well, he was fit.

August tried his hardest not to stare, it may be dark but her can certainly make out her half naked silhouette, “You’re not wearing pants." 

“I didn’t expect to you to ambush me while I was looking for more flashlights.”

“Such a professional business woman with polka dot panties.”

She pulls her shirt down but it does nothing to cover her, “My underwear is none of your concern.” She presses one of the extra flashlights to his chest, and walks toward her room, “Go to bed.” 

Y/N huffs as she hears a knock on her door just as she closes it,  “I don’t want to go to bed.” 

She get’s ready to slam the door in his face but he has his hand on the door knob,“Then do something else.” He opens the door further and gives her and up and down. 

“I thought you’d be the whitey-tighty type.”

“Well, that’s ridiculously out of line.” She puts her hand on her hip.

“I don’t think you care what I say anymore.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He closes her bedroom door, leaning his back against it, “I have a thing for bratty smart girls in cute little panties.” He drinks in her shocked expression, “What? The one time you don’t have something to say?”

“I have plenty to say.”

“You seem pretty quiet over there.” 

The lightning flashes makes him look even more devilish, like a cheesy hour movie. He looks like he’s on a mission, and August Walker never abandons a mission. “I like to choose my words wisely.”

“That so?” 

She gulps as he walks closer, “Yes.” She feels so exposed, as if the small lantern on her nightstand was as bright as the sun. 

They’re only about a foot apart now. She could reach out and touch his chest if she wanted to, and she wants to. Just like he could read her mind, he whispers, “What are you waiting for?” She blinks hard, realizing people can’t actually read minds.

“I'm-I'm not waiting for anything.” He likes it when she’s nervous, he likes that he seems to be the only one who can do this to her.

“You’re so fucking stubborn. I see you looking at me, and I know you see me looking at you.”

He can see her brow furrow in the dim light and makes his move before she can argue. He grabs the back of her head, kissing her surprisingly softly. Her hands land flat on his stomach and he feels her nails on his skin when his tongue passes against hers. He pulls away and gently tugs her pony tail. Y/N looks doe-eyed and desperate. “You want me to go?” She doesn’t respond, “Fucking answer me, Y/N. I’ll pretend it never happened, if that’s what you want.”

[Tagged: If you’d like to be tagged, just shoot me a message or ask!]

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*This was supposed to be all in the first part but something funny happened and they got split up!