#alternate title: everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth

[zanezandell]

One does not prepare for Allison Goleta

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

Taglist | Form

@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @pychedelic-star @nova646 @theflightytemptressadventure @wantingtobekorra @computeringturtle @slayerette26 @kesskirata @greatcircle79 @boxdyeblonde @fangirl-316 @niiight-dreamerrrr @tanzthompson @theamuz @gallowsjoker @helmet-comes-off @jesfreedark @amyk-37 @altarsw @feminist-violinist @spideysimpossiblegirl @lazybeeches @shameless-h  @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @mamacitapascal @the-ginger-hedge-witch @disgruntledspacedad @asta-lily @aesnawan @frannyzooey @gaiuswrites @beskarboobs @honestly-shite @sherala007 @cats-are-a-girls-bestfriend @missminkylove @pedros-mustache @headinthestarz @leannawithacapitala @sharkbait77 @radiowallet  @danidrabbles @magpie-to-the-morning @mandocrasis @juletheghoul @javierpinme @voteforpedro09 @theorganasolo @aprilqueen84 @Prostitute-robot-from-the-future @wanderlustmags @darnitdraco @castleamc @outlawedmando @lawfulgranola @jaime1110 @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @taticalsparkles @chasingdreamer @beautyagegoodnesssize @pintsizemama @recklessworry @tarolovesyoo @xgoldenjenny @prideandpascal @amneris21 @mylovelycomandante @ohhersheybars @heartsofbeskar

A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots​ 

[venusiangguk]

may we see the fight tae oc scene pls pls please!!! u can delete later🤔🤔🤔🤔😳😳😳😳 i’m really curious. i mean ofc u don’t have to. still 😧🙃

idealizations concerning real life relations: deleted scene

>>pairing: jungkook x reader / icrlr!couple

>>genre: fwb, angst, rated PG

>>word count: 2.5k

>>warnings: alcohol, implied smut

>>notes: this is a deleted scene from icrlr, that i omitted simply because of the length of the final fic!! feel free to skip or ignore, it doesn't change anything, but since u guys are curious about it, i'll post it as a lil ty for helping me hit that milestone <3 it takes place after the tattoo party scene, and before the lecture scene.

this does NOT provide an alternative ending.

>>summary: taehyung tries to make you see things for what they really are, but it's hard to see through the rose colored glasses.

Winter break has been long awaited and it is finally, finally here. The snow has coated the ground thick, making the town look like a winter wonderland. The air is sharp and cold but not to a miserable extent. Just chilly enough to bundle up, to hold a hand a little tighter and soak up their warmth.

Your favorite season is fall, but the later months are a close second. You love seeing the way everyone’s faces get red when snow flurries come down to kiss their nose and cheeks. Love the way pom poms bounce atop little hats as children play and have snowball fights. Winter is surprisingly one of the warmest, sweetest times of the year. Like the hot coco Jeongguk has been swapping your regular macchiato with lately.

There’s a greatly anticipated party tonight- a mashup of Taehyung’s birthday and New Year’s Eve. Anticipated for the simple fact that said birthday boy has steadily been ignoring you for weeks, and tonight was a night where he couldn’t evade your attempts of reconciliation. He hasn’t returned a single call or even sent a text back. You can’t even be mad at him really, you know it’s justified. You know you fucked up. The coffee date you had with Yoongi last week let you know what you did.

Over an iced coffee, you learned that you had unintentionally skipped out on your best friend's Winter Showcase. The important one that he mentioned multiple times. The one you promised to attend no matter what.

It wasn’t on purpose; you wanted to go, to support him. But you just got caught up. In life, in school, in Jeongguk. It happens.

When Yoongi asked you why you had missed it, when he told you how hurt Taehyung was by your absence, your heart dropped, sank deep within your chest as your mouth fell open before closing, a small pursed frown on your lips. You didn’t have a good excuse. You went to get tattoos with Jeongguk and then to a party where you fucked him, and then home after that? You were too tired to make it? You just simply forgot? Those excuses weren’t good enough for you and you knew they wouldn’t be good enough for Taehyung.

Whereas Yoongi was okay with distance, long periods in between hanging out and talking, Taehyung wasn’t. He was the kind of friend that needed support, reassurance that you cared. He liked quality time and hangs outs that were planned ahead so he could look forward to them. He was looking forward to you being at his showcase.

The party is packed, even more so than usual. Students, drop-outs, alumni, and randoms alike, all congregate to bring in the new year, to celebrate the end of finals, and a certain art majors birthday. Bodies are on bodies, music is loud and deafening. Cups, bottles, and small baggies litter the floor and the smell of weed is nauseating.

Jeongguk’s hand in yours is sweet, though. Enough to ebb the distaste in your mouth as you watch the stereotypical disaster that is a college party.

“I’m going to go find the drinks, okay?” you lie, squeezing Jeongguk’s hand lightly.

He squeezes back, kisses the side of your head as he says, “Bring me one back too?”

You nod, and slip out of his view. Scanning the crowd until you see a familiar face.

Jimin is laughing, red cup in his hand, eyes curled and happy. He’s sitting on the arm of a couch, legs swinging as he laughs with a group of people. He takes a drink from his cup and let’s his eyes roam the room like he’s looking for someone.

The way his face changes when he sees you approaching is like a punch in the gut. It goes from happy, and carefree to stony- only a small, irritated, close-lipped smile on his face. Eyes harsh and cold, no longer holding the mirth they were just seconds ago. He says nothing when you step in front of him, he just looks you over like he’s bored and waiting for you to get on with it so he can be done with it.

You shift on your feet under his scrutiny. “Where’s Tae?” you ask.

Jimin narrows his eyes at you and tilts his head. “Now you want to know where he is? Haven’t been concerned with his whereabouts for months. Definitely weren’t worried about it last week.”

You wince but carry on swiftly. “Listen, I know I fucked up. I’m here to apologize.” You look at him expectantly, but he holds his ground. When he doesn’t falter, you resort to begging, “Please, Jimin. He’s my best friend… I miss him.”

You must look pitiful, because Jimin’s indifferent facade fades, and he clicks his tongue like he’s annoyed at himself for giving into you. “He’s getting us drinks in the kitchen.”

A smile takes over your face as you rush out a ‘thank you’, quickly turning on your heel to head in the opposite direction, before Jimin calls after you.

“Yeah?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“If he’s your best friend, maybe treat him like it, yeah?”

You continue to the kitchen without replying, and you can’t help the little simmer of annoyance that bubbles in your chest. Taehyung has been your best friend for years. And even though Jimin had a point, who was he to tell you anything about yours and Taehyung’s friendship?

Before the thought can fester, however, you see the boy you came looking for, two bottles of vodka in his hand like he’s trying to decide which to use. You see the little party hat atop his shaggy hair before anything else and your heart aches a little. You really did miss him. He lets out a small annoyed sound, and knowing him, he’s probably trying to figure out which has the highest alcohol percentage. You come up next to him, and say his name gently. He jumps, but when he realizes it’s you, the ghost of a smile curls on his lips like he’s happy to see you.

Until it’s replaced with resentment just as quickly. His sharp eyes squint at you before turning back to the bottles in his hands, scowl still in place.

“So you decided you could pencil me in between getting your heart toyed with and your back blown out?” He gives you a side glance and sees how your jaw drops in surprise. He carries on, unbothered. “Or did this just work out because it coincides with New Year’s and because he was invited? Only because he’s Jimin’s friend might I add.”

“Tae-” you try, doing your best to keep the hurt whine out of your tone.

“Save it, __. I don’t want to hear the excuses you have. Just-” he looks at you again, and you think that maybe he softens when he sees your crestfallen features. He sighs like he’s tired. “Just leave me alone. Just for a bit, okay? I’ll get over it eventually,” he finishes, finally deciding on the vodka he wants.

You know his request isn't unreasonable. But it’s already been so long that the distance in your friendship has been eating away at it, that you’re scared ‘eventually’ might take too long and by the time he comes around, there won’t be much of a friendship left. That the damage done, will be irreparable.

“Tae… It’s already been months, can’t we-”

Like night and day, the softness that you were able to pull out of him is immediately replaced with that resentment and anger you were met with when you first stepped into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he seethes, strong brows furrowed. “And whose fault is that?”

His words are sharp and the sting from them makes you take a step back. That is, until you feel anger of your own creep up your throat like venom. “You’re one to talk, Taehyung. You could have reached out to me, too. You’re no better than me when you’re in a relationship.”

He groans, gives an exasperated laugh before shrugging. “You know what? Maybe I am just as bad as you, but at least I’m actually in a relationship,” he spits, “You’re just fucking someone that doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

You know he’s hurt because of the distance. That he doesn’t intend to be so mean. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, and it doesn’t stop the angry tears from pooling in your eyes.

And although you’re angry, almost shaking with rage at the feeling of being cornered and blamed, your heart aches at hearing his words.

Jimin, who started seeing Taehyung after you started seeing Jeongguk, had already made your friend official. Had given him the title, the commitment, the relationship that you had been patiently and understandingly waiting for with Jeongguk. The bitterness that bleeds into your heart makes you feel gross and ugly.

You know what they say; that labels are superficial and don’t mean that much. But when you don’t have them? It makes you wonder. If a label really isn’t that important, like everyone says, why is Jeongguk so reluctant to give one to you?

“Jimin’s your boyfriend?” you whisper.

Taehyung gives you a short nod. “Month and half ago. You would’ve known if you got your head out of Jeongguk’s ass.”

Almost like he was summoned, the topic of debate waltz into the room, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He nuzzles into your neck.

It’s instinctual now, the way your body responds to him. The way you melt into his chest like second-nature, how your hands settle over his like they are keeping them in place. How immediately in his presence you feel calmer; the panicky, hurt feeling you were experiencing moments ago vanishing as if it were just a fleeting thought and not something that’s always in the back of your head.

Not in a possessive, ‘I need him to be mine’ kind of way, though.

More like, ‘Why won’t he be mine?’

“Hi,” he murmurs into your neck.

“Hi, baby,” you respond softly, out of habit. The room shirks around you whenever he’s near. Makes you feel like you’re in your own bubble with him.

Jeongguk’s about to reply, ask where the drinks are, but then he hears an annoyed scoff sound in front of you both. Jeongguk bristles as he looks up and sees Taehyung taking a big swig from his cup.

“Uh- am I interrupting? Should I go?” he asks hesitantly, looking between you and your friend.

“No-” you say at the same time that Taehyung says, “Yes.”

You cringe, and turn in Jeongguk’s arms, hands resting on his chest. “Just give me a couple more minutes okay? I’ll bring the drinks.”

Jeongguk searches your eyes, before looking at Taehyung one last time before giving you a stern nod and a quick kiss.

You turn back to Taehyung, ready to apologize for Jeongguk’s interruption, when he talks over you.

“You’re pathetic,” he starts, and you roll your eyes with an irritated sigh before he continues, “but I know you love him. And that you can’t help it,” he shrugs. “But as your friend, I have to tell you that it’s not going to end well. You probably don’t even need me to tell you that. You probably already know and are choosing to ignore it for the sake of the delusions you’ve made up in your ‘pretty little head’.”

You pout at him quoting you, and your brows furrow. “He cares about me. And he’s Jimin’s best friend. He’s a good person, you don’t even know him,” you argue defensively. Though you know your arguments make little sense and are flimsy at best.

Taehyung frowns. Pauses like he’s thinking.

“I didn’t say he was a bad person, and maybe he does care about you in his own messed up way. But he doesn’t care about you in the way that you want him to.” His lips are still down turned when he speaks again.

“And the difference between him with you and him with Jimin is astronomical; it shouldn’t even be a comparison, but I will humor you,” he rubs a hand up and down his face like he’s tired. “The dynamic is completely different, for obvious reasons. For one, Jimin is a safe relationship. You are not. Jimin isn’t in love with him, Jimin isn’t sucking his dick, and Jimin doesn’t want things from Jeongguk that Jeongguk cannot give, or does not want to give,” he says with a raised brow as he takes a sip of his drink.

It seems that the anger has died down some between you both, a semi-civil conversation finally being had. You wrinkle your brows in confusion at him. “What are you talking about?”

He rolls his eyes. “Cmon __. Why do you think he hasn’t made you his girlfriend? Why do you think he literally has not been in a serious relationship since high school? Why do you think he never agrees to anything more than 2 months out?” He waits for you to answer but you just purse your lips stubbornly. “He’s scared. Dare I say terrified of commitment, and that’s exactly what you want from him right?”

You stay headstrong and quiet for a moment longer, ignoring his question in favor of asking one of your own when you finally do speak up. “If I’m so scary, why hasn’t he left?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Fuck if I know? Maybe he does care about you like you say he does. I don’t think so, but hey,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, like he is throwing in the figurative towel. “Maybe you’re right and maybe I‘m wrong. Or maybe there’s some fucked up codependency fermenting between you both when you copulate. I genuinely have no clue, and frankly, I don’t care to find out. Don’t text me until you come to your senses. And don’t get mad when I tell you ‘I told you so’.”

And with that, he turns and leaves you to make your own drinks. You hope the smile you give Jeongguk when you find him is believable.

That night when you go back to his place, you voice your concerns to him in between sweet, heated kisses that taste like hot cider. You tell him hesitantly how Taehyung voiced his concerns about Jeongguk not caring about you and Jeongguk got a little irritated, a little miffed as he unlatched his lips from your neck. He asked what Taehyung knew, how he even came to that conclusion when he’s not around you both.

He assured you with gentle touches and tender words that of course he cares about you. He reminded you that he always makes time for you, he always answers your calls and your texts, he takes you out every now and then, too. He asks you what you think and when you contemplate your answer, going over what he said, you can’t really argue with him. Even if an uneasy, dismal feeling settles in the pit of your tummy.

~~~

hellooo!! again, this is just a scene and part of the plot that i chose not to use because i felt like the fic was already so long. i wish that i had ended up including it tho, so i hope you enjoyed even though its nothing special <3 feel free to do the things if you liked it: like, comment, reblog, send an ask~~ love u, ty again for helping me reach that milestone <3

[hlcreators]

AUTHOR REC: louistomlinsons / @adoredontour 

Be sure to show some love by leaving kudos and comments!

this town’s just an ocean now (31k)

“I have really great friends. Do you remember Louis? You guys were always hanging out when you were growing up.” Harry remembers Louis. Harry remembers Louis. Suddenly, his throat feels way too dry, despite the ice cream he keeps licking at. He chokes a little on a chocolate chip before saying, “I, uh. I remember Louis.” Her face brightens. “We have dinner every Sunday. He owns the house now. His parents moved further north, and he wanted to stay here, so they just gave it over. Now if you want to worry about someone being lonely, that’s who I worry about.” inspired by watermelon sugar, featuring picnics on the beach and boys being dumb

daydream about me (21k)

“Anything else going on for you at the moment?” she asks, leaning forward on her elbows across the table, mindful of the radio equipment in front of her. “What about you and that Louis Tomlinson?” Harry sputters, mouth moving but no words coming out. She can feel her cheeks heat up, darkening with embarrassment. “It’s not, Louis and I, we don’t—” Harry can’t finish the sentence, tongue heavy in her mouth. She takes a deep breath, thankful they’re not being videoed, and tries again, “We’ve never even met, actually.” alternatively titled 'harry styles does not have a crush on louis tomlinson and other lies she tells liam payne'

robbers and cowards (33k)

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think that you’re enjoying yourself.” The familiar voice immediately gets Louis’ blood boiling, shoulders tensing as he calmly spins around, trying not to draw any suspicion to the pair. “You don’t know me at all,” Louis spits, managing to maintain the polite smile he’s been wearing all evening. “You’re just some asshole who always ruins my nights.” “If I keep ruining your nights, why do you keep going home with me?” Harry asks, taking a sip from his own wine glass. “I don’t go home with you by any choice of my own,” Louis says. “I think you’re annoying and I have no idea how I keep ending up in your bed.” “You end up in my bed because you knock on my apartment door at two in the morning.” Louis wants to punch the smirk right off of his face. “Maybe you should move,” is what he says instead. or a modern day robin hood au where louis and harry (don’t really) hate each other but they hate greedy billionaires more

I’m a Rocket Man (47k)

All he could hear were the faint sounds of Pina Colada coming from the radio and his own heart beating erratically against his chest.

“Oops,” he heard coming from the other side of the front window. He quickly pushed the grey rubber towards the back of the car, the rubber of the thing groaning and squeaking as he did so. Finally, after wrestling the thing away from him, Harry came into view, face pressed against the other side of the window.

“Hi.” Louis smiled, looking towards Harry, eyes curious. He almost got lost in the way Harry’s face was so cutely pinched, green eyes glowing in the sunlight. He was brought back to reality when Harry tried to move, causing the grey whatever it was to push against Louis again. “What the fuck is this?”

“Uhh... it’s Randy?”

or, Niall is an investigative journalist, Liam is his biggest fan, Zayn is just along for the ride, and Harry probably isn’t an alien. A roadtrip au no one asked for.

sip it slowly and pay attention (12k)

“So I’ve got a guy I think you might like,” Louis says. He’s standing in the doorway of Harry’s office, drinking from what is most definitely Harry’s mug. “You’re going to set me up?” Harry asks, rightfully wary. He can’t imagine that this could end well. “Don’t look so afraid.” Louis takes a sip from his mug, wincing as it burns him. Harry rolls his eyes. He’s always warning Louis to be more patient before he loses all his taste buds. “I know you better than anyone else. Who better to set you up on dates than me?” “I guess you’re right,” Harry says, still slightly hesitant. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Louis, but. He doesn’t trust Louis’ taste. Louis has about the same track record with men that Harry does, if not quite as extensive. or, harry is a guidance counselor, louis is an english teacher, and harry just wants to go on one successful date

i hope that you won’t slip away in the night (13k)

He turns back to Maybe Jessica. “Who’s going to be here?” “Harry Styles,” she says. “The one-” “I know who he is,” Louis snaps. “Who invited him?” “Uh, you did, sir.” Louis didn’t think that was serious. When he had responded to Harry’s cheeky tweet about the gala with his own cheeky ‘You should come - I’ll put you on the guest list’ he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Least of all for Harry to show up. or the one where louis is a prince and harry is a popstar

feels like we’re finally free (13k)

louis just wants to write a breakup novel. falling in love was never part of the plan, but the cute barista at his favorite coffeeshop makes him think otherwise.

who’s that girl? (13k)

“So, do you want to tell us a little bit more about why you’re here?” “What do you mean?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows together. “I’m here because I need a place to live and you guys need a roommate.” “I guess let me rephrase that,” Leo (or maybe Liam) says. He taps his pen twice against the notepad, drawing Harry’s attention away from a large hole in one of the walls. “Why do you need a place to live?” “Oh, that’s easy.” Harry sits up straighter in his seat. “I walked in on my boyfriend of four years banging my boss. I couldn’t very well keep living with them, could I?” harry is canadian, louis owns a bar, zayn comes and goes as he pleases, liam's just trying to keep everyone alive, and nobody knows what niall does. a new girl au.

we’re not who we used to be (30k)

“Harry…” Louis’ voice catches in his throat, thick with tears threatening to fall out, so he coughs to clear it before trying again. “Harry is Liam’s best man?” “You didn’t know?” Harry is standing at the entrance of the garage, mouth slightly open and face pulled together. He sets his bag on the ground and puts his hands on his hips. When he does that, he looks just like the Harry that Louis remembers (and loves, he thinks with an aching heart). “I’m sure I mentioned it,” Liam says, but Louis can tell he’s lying by the way he chews on his lower lip and twists his fingers together. “You’re all a bunch of dick heads, I’m getting in the car.” Louis isn’t sure if he’s being unreasonable. He has no idea what the protocol is when your ex-boyfriend shows up after three years and nobody bothered to give you a heads up. He’s pretty sure he’s allowed to be upset about it, even if it’s only for a bit. or an exes to lovers canadian roadtrip au

old macdonald had a farm (5.1k)

Louis is a hedgehog, Harry is a fish, Niall is a parrot, Liam is a golden retriever, and Zayn is Zayn. It’s a crazy twenty-four hours.

or are you giving it to someone else (3.3k)

“Dude, last night I couldn’t tell if he was being murdered or having the best sex of his life,” Louis said, taking a sip of his beer. He tried to say it as quietly as he could in the loud pub, worried about who may overhear him. “Is this your neighbor?” Liam asked. He was newer to the group, and therefore, newer to the situation. He had only heard a handful of the stories about the strange things Louis heard his neighbor doing, as opposed to the book Louis could most definitely write about the man. In the hallways, he seemed perfectly normal. He would smile at Louis and sometimes make polite conversation. He didn’t seem like the type to be having loud, kinky sex every night at the craziest hours of the day. But he was. or, louis hears his neighbor having loud sex through the walls and it's not a problem until it is

The F Word (23k)

When Louis finds himself at a party for the first time after his boyfriend cheated on him, the last person he expects to meet is Harry. They hit it off immediately, conversation flowing all night. Louis finally thinks he’s ready to jump back into the dating scene, when a wrench gets thrown in his plan.

Harry has a boyfriend.

Or, a movie AU based on the F word

tonight’s not over (come over and stay) (16k)

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, pausing and worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he asks, “Have you heard that Cox guy is coming out with a new song?” Louis freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard where they had been typing his password. “No, I hadn’t,” Louis says truthfully. “Where did you hear that?” “Tell anyone this and I’ll kill you, but I’d consider myself a big fan,” Zayn says. His face doesn’t change in expression, completely serious as he admits this to Louis. “Big fan? Like run a blog and everything?” or, harry is a famous singer and louis is a student who just wants to write his novel

honey, honey (7k)

another sorority au that no one asked for - featuring squirt guns, copious talks of marriage, and more useless lesbians.

fall in love with the moon (and everything beautiful) (10k)

“It’s adorable that you think you can compromise with me on this,” Louis says. He places his hands on his hips and tries his best to look intimidating. “But I am not budging on this. Every book pun you say will result in one quarter in the jar.” “What jar?” Harry asks. He furrows his eyebrows together. Louis rolls his eyes. “Like a swear jar, but now I’m going to make yours ‘Harry’s dumbass pun jar.’ Maybe I’ll have you put a quarter in for every pun you say, not just the ones about books. Niall was right - you tell the worst jokes.” “One time Niall told me I’d never said a funny joke in my life,” Harry says casually. “Funny. He told me that too.” or, louis and harry work in a bookstore together and harry tells dumb jokes and they fall in love

get a little bit nervous (14k)

Liam goes to say something, probably something dumb, but he chokes on his spit, coughing loudly. The man in front of him is one of the prettiest people he’s ever seen in his life; he’s got thick eyelashes that fan out and frame his dark eyes and tanned unblemished skin. Liam forgets all of his previous thoughts. “You okay, mate?” he asks, concern filtering into his voice. “Yeah, yeah,” Liam says, still choking and coughing. “Sorry.” “We all reacted the same way we saw Zayn for the first time,” Niall says from next to him, laughter evident in his tone. “He’s a god, isn’t he?” or, ziam farmer's market au where liam, louis, and niall work at the produce stand, harry and zayn work at the bakery stand, and nobody's straight

i’ve heard it both ways (26k)

“I, uh.” Harry is scrambling, trying to think of something believable on the spot. He remembers the woman from reception and her phone call and says the only thing he can think of. “I’m a psychic.” Everyone stills. Zayn laughs, Detective Edwards looks confused, and the officer holding the door open looks mildly frightened. “A psychic?” Zayn gets out between his laughs. “I’ve heard it all. You’re definitely spending the night in the holding cell now. You’re wasting all of our time here.” an au based on the tv show psych where harry is shawn, louis is jules, liam is gus, niall is mcnabb, and zayn is lassie.

i just know you (got to taste like candy) (3.9k)

Harry seduces the cute cell phone repair girl with her phone's wallpaper.

i just want you to dance with me tonight (7.6k)

The sorority au no one asked for. Featuring a prank war, Lirry friendship, and useless lesbians.

beautiful wreck, colorful mess (4.4k)

Harry's been desperate to try out the toys she bought for her and Louis.

she says she doesn’t love me (don’t believe her) (17k)

Harry is a disaster gay who works in a coffee shop and Louis doesn't want to admit she's in love.

only you know me (4.5k)

“It’s just unfair.” Louis can’t help her complaining. “You always get these opportunities I would die for to throw parties. I’ve got, like, a billion siblings, so I never get the house to myself. You’re home alone at least three times a semester. Your parents wouldn’t even be mad or anything.” “That’s not even the point,” Harry says, calmly and evenly. Sometimes it’s frustrating to Louis just how easily Harry keeps her calm. “And what is?” Louis asks, throwing a goldfish cracker in Harry’s direction. It misses. “That I don’t want to.” - Based on the prompt, "Nothing really specific just a harry/Louis sleepover while Harry's parents are out of town involving sexy lady times? "

[blouisparadise]

There were so many amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of July. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Bound (To Falling in Love) | Mature | 958 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #2 on this list. 

Harry and Louis innocently cuddle on the couch until things get heated.

2) Nuh Uh, Honey | Mature | 1170 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #1 on this list.

So this is the ending of Bound (to falling in love) but with more detail. Long story short, Louis and Harry fuck.

3) 100ft Away | Explicit | 2479 words

Harry opens Grindr for a hookup and ends up with more than he bargained for. It all works out in the end.

4) I'm Looking for Closure | Not Rated | 2503 words

Note: This fic is the third part of a series. You can read the previous parts here.

“Say you can read my mind.” Harry said to Louis as he pushed Louis down onto the mattress. Louis squirmed as the covers rubbed against his skin.

“I can’t read your mind.” He said simply to Harry as he reached up to put his hands against Harry’s chest, trailing them down to Harry’s narrow hips.

“My mind is saying that I should just… just fucking go back in time. Go back so I could be your first.” Harry said, leaning down to lick into Louis’ hot mouth.

Or They finally fuck, sorry, I mean, make love.

5) The IT Fic | Mature | 3112 words

A fic where Harry is Pennywise & Louis is Georgie... Louis goes down to the sewers & Harry fucks him with a balloon as a condom.

aka a pwp that i wrote for shits and giggles. & yes, louis is of age

6) Souls | Mature | 3890 words

The first time Harry showed Louis two ghosts.

7) The Unfinished Fic (With an Ending) | Not Rated | 4013 words

Note: There is no smut in this fic, but it contains omega Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup.

Louis greatly regretted all of his life decisions up to this point. Okay fine, maybe not all of them, but definitely a vast majority. After all, if he’d not told one little white lie about loving cricket just to impress a fit guy at the pub, maybe he wouldn’t be stuck at what was, one hundred percent, the most boring “sporting” event of his entire life.

8) Save You Tonight | Mature | 4841 words

Note: There is no smut in this fic, but it contains omega Louis, so we’ve included it in this monthly roundup.

Louis is a headstrong Omega in charge of his own life. But he's more than grateful when an Alpha comes along when he needs it the most.

9) Whisk Me Off My Feet | Explicit | 5054 words

When Louis locks himself out of his apartment in just a pair of novelty underwear, he hopes his new neighbor can come to his rescue.

10) Can You Feel the Fever | Explicit | 5113 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

Tour has Harry exhausted. Luckily exactly what he needs is waiting for him in his Sacramento dressing room.

11) Gotta Catch 'em All | Not Rated | 5186 words

Louis loves Pokémon GO, he gets a little crazy and ends up ramming into a guy. Harry gets mad, calls him a brat and treats him like one. Oh, and they're in central park.

12) I Just Can't Get Enough Of You | Not Rated | 5466 words

Or the one were Harry got inspired from watching Louis on The Late Late Show.

13) Why Don't We Go There? | Explicit | 5654 words

Louis is a perfect model for Abercrombie & Fitch. Harry is a grungy, tattooed model for Hot Topic. When Louis walks in on Harry changing for his photo shoot, things only grow from there... including their dicks.

14) Act Out | Explicit | 6721 words

Harry and Louis try to spice it up a little for their 10th year marriage anniversary. Cliché role play ensues.

15) Life Imitating Art | Explicit | 6881 words

Note: This fic is the fourth part of a series. You can read the previous parts here.

Louis is taken on a very real journey through his fic back catalogue - life has never imitated art so salaciously.

16) You Can Show Me Your Heart | Explicit | 6935 words

Everyone knows about the unsinkable Titanic, which tragically did just that in April of 1912. However, not many people know the story of the Carpathia - the ship that raced to rescue and aid the survivors of the Titanic when the distress call came through. This is the story of the events leading up to the luxury liner crashing into an iceberg on that fateful spring night. More than that, this is the story of how two of Carpathia’s passengers - Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson - met, fell in love and helped over 700 people in the cold Atlantic water.

17) Kisses and Coffee Breaks | Explicit | 9350 words

Midterm season was finally here and all Harry wanted to do was study, however his boyfriend, Louis, seems to have a better idea.

or the one where Harry just wants to study and Louis needs Harry's cock.

18) Swallow The Knife (Outtake) | Explicit | 11186 words

Note: This is an alternative scene to fic #25 on this fic rec.

Alternate sex scene from Swallow The Knife.

19) We've Been Here Before | Mature | 11536 words

Harry goes to Louis in the wake of his sister Felicite's death, and Louis asks Harry to help him clean up a family cabin he is ready to get rid of. Along the way, they attempt to heal many things, even those that they thought were long past.

20) With Words Unspoken | Explicit | 18341 words

The one where Louis is lost, Harry is an excellent tour guide, and age is no barrier to finding the love of your life.

21) The Aurora Zone | Explicit | 19633 words

The one where Harry is busy crossing off his bucket list while Louis is busy falling for the guy he's supposed to hate.

22) Be Mine, Dear | Not Rated | 20104 words

The one where Louis just wants to meet his mate, and all it takes is for him to get a new neighbor.

23) Deflower Me | Explicit | 20154 words

Everyone is 19 and horny, and Louis just really wants to get fucked by Harry.

24) You Are Half Of Me (And I Am All For You) | Explicit | 24731 words

Note: This fic has a mention of BH.

One Direction, an obscure indie rock band, is about to embark on their first cross-country tour, living out of Louis' beloved van named Patricia.

Harry is in love, and Louis is oblivious. Or is he?

Featuring skinny-dipping in Texas waterfalls, getting lost in the desert, stargazing under the New Mexico sky, performing in front of crowds that grow in size each night, and falling in love on the road during the greatest summer of their lives.

25) You Are In My Bed, But Your Heart Isn't | Not Rated | 25595 words

Rock Band AU. Louis is an omega who fucks around, doesn't know the meaning of "feelings" until he starts crawling into Harry's bed at night. Harry gets jealous easily and they all write a lot of songs about each other.

26) Play Me A Memory | Explicit | 26932 words

Louis lives with his nine-year-old son Jake in a peaceful beachside community on the east coast of Australia, working as an entertainment coordinator at the local five-star resort. Harry is a recluse who lives on millionaires row and writes musical scores for blockbuster movies. When the roots of a wayward willow tree create havoc at his home, Harry is forced to stay at the resort while repairs are carried out.

27) Book Worm | Explicit | 37018 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

“Dad said this is his very favourite place to go,” Leon divulged, much to Louis' embarrassment. 

“Did he?” Harry's olive eyes flicked to Louis, lips quirking in a way that didn’t match his beige cardigan.

“Yeah and he said you have the best books. May I look?” He asked, smiling winningly.

Leon had inherited Louis' blue eyes and his mother's dark hair, his smile quickly becoming a replica of his father's.

“You may,” Harry permitted and Louis set Leon down.

“Don’t destroy anything,” he instructed. “And if you so much as crease a page then bring it to the till because I’m going to have to pay for it...”

Leon raced straight to the back of the shop and threw himself onto the beanbag seat front first.

“I put the Kama Sutra back on the top shelf, by the way,” Harry told him with a dimpled smile. “You left it by the Hungry Caterpillar.”

28) Waiting for the Tides to Meet | Explicit | 59637 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

29) Swallow The Knife | Explicit | 76168 words

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

30) There You Are | Explicit | 82237 words

Note: This fic has a mention of BH.

Harry’s entire life has fallen apart - in one night, his carefully planned future is suddenly uncertain.

Then he meets Louis.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[vernonfielding]

Strip us of our crowns

Story No. 16 of my Season 7 Countdown Project. Thank you to @exploding-snapple for the prompt!

Summary: “Look, prison is awful. I hate it here. I'm lonely, I'm scared. I just want to be back home.”

We know how prison treated Jake, but what about Rosa? Takes place during The Big House (1&2). (Read on AO3.)

Rosa starts a riot her first day.

They’ve put her in gen-pop even though everyone hates cops, and thank God she hasn’t personally put away anyone here. She’s not the only cop at Edwards, but she’s the newest, and the rest of them are in for stuff like violent assaults and murders and police brutality that make bank robbery look like child’s play. The only way she can stay safe is to earn their respect, and the only way to do that is to lose her shit a little.

So at lunch, Rosa smashes her tray, turkey sandwich and all, into the face of one of the dirty cops, then throat punches her and puts her in a chokehold. Four guards have to drag her off, kicking and screaming.

Five hours after getting to prison, Rosa is in solitary.

+++

Rosa studied meditation for a while in college. She never reached the deep inner silence and spiritual awakening of transcendental meditation, but she found it pretty damn useful for clearing her head anyway.

Her cell in solitary is so small that she can touch both walls at the same time if she stretches her arms. There’s a dented shelf at the far end with a single bar of soap stuck to it, and beneath it a stained sink and beside that a toilet. The bed is a cot, the mattress thinner than her yoga pad. Rosa gives herself about an hour to freak out in there, to tear the mattress and the threadbare blanket off the bedframe and beat them against the dingy walls, to alternate between screaming and cackling, a sound that makes her scared of and for herself.

She exhausts herself, and then she just stands there in the center of the cell, breathing hard, sweat cooling on her face and neck. She swipes her hair up into a messy bun, pulls it into a knot, and then sits in lotus pose in the middle of the floor and takes a deep breath through her nose. The space smells old and stale, of blood and sweat and piss and, horribly, mashed potatoes.

Rosa closes her eyes and breathes.

+++

She spends more time in solitary than not over the first couple of weeks. Usually it’s in 48-hour stints – two days in, one day out. But by the time Holt and Terry visit she’s been out for a few days straight. The other inmates still hate her, they still stare when she walks by, she can feel their dark gazes burning into the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades. But they keep their distance.

Lonely is alive, at least.

Her cellmate is in for aggravated assault. She says she beat up her own pimp, that the guy had it coming, and Rosa believes her but also figures there’s more to the story. She talks in her sleep, in Spanish, calling for a girl named Esme. Rosa curls up on her side, knees pulled up toward her belly, back to the wall.

The stress of this place is like a poison. She can taste it, can feel it in her blood, thinks about it settling into the marrow of her bones and becoming part of her. She thinks about Jake and how when she sees him again, they’ll both be so different. She knows that he’s harder than he looks. Stronger. But he’s being poisoned too, after all. Even if they get out tomorrow, or the day after or next week – already something’s changed. She’s already lost something but she doesn’t know what.

+++

Rosa love-hates that Terry and Holt visit. She can’t help it: She’s so ashamed, sitting on the other side of the greasy glass barrier, in her faded gray uniform and her lace-less shoes and her recycled underwear. But everything about them exudes comfort and safety and she’s so fucking glad they came. Even Hitchcock is a welcome presence. 

They insist on doing her favors. And she gets it and she’s even grateful, but it’s annoying. She hates coddling under any circumstances, hates the pity and hates giving up even an ounce of independence. In here, she already feels so vulnerable, everything in her life out of her own control.

Still, she comes up with a list of chores for them. It keeps her occupied an entire afternoon, which isn’t so bad.

She sits in the reading room with a pad of yellow legal-sized paper and a pencil and bullet points her requests, each more absurd than the previous. She likes the feel of the pencil scratching across the paper, likes watching the letters form in her own familiar print. For the first time she understands, a little, why Amy likes nice pens and pretty stationery – she would kill (not literally – but maybe she’d stab) for a rollerball pen in blue ink, for crisp white paper.

Writing letters to Adrian is hard, at first. She’s never been to Argentina, never even seen pictures of his ranch, has trouble imagining him in this space she doesn’t know. She never even found out for sure what he did with the scorpions.

She starts by telling him that prison sucks and she misses him. It’s blunt and too personal and she hates it, hates herself, so then she tells him how she wants to gnaw on the tendons in his neck and lick his teeth and the roof of his mouth. From there things get deliciously nasty and she writes until her hand is cramping and she has to stop after every half-page to shake it out.

Around halfway through the legal pad she goes horribly, shamefully confessional again and she can’t help it, doesn’t even try to fight it. She tells him she misses him she needs him she can’t do this she can’t she can’t-

+++

“Diaz,” Holt says. He’s with Amy this time. It’s the first time Amy’s visited, and her face is so kind and pretty and familiar that an ache settles in Rosa’s stomach.

“You have a plan.” Rosa can read it all over them. Amy is practically vibrating, and Holt’s eyebrows are slightly raised.

Rosa hates the plan. And she respects the plan. And even though she’d told Amy that imagining herself strangling the life out of Hawkins wouldn’t be good enough, Rosa does it anyway, all that afternoon and that night after making her request for a visit.

Anger, at least, feels a lot better than fear or despair or shame or a thousand other dumb emotions. Anger is familiar. Anger makes her feel a little like her old self. 

She picks a fight with one of the dirty cops after Hawkins leaves. The ex-cop is in for a string of beatings and bribes and threatening witnesses. Rosa bumps her shoulder and the woman tells her to go to hell and Rosa takes her out at the knees and punches her in the kidney and presses her face into the cracked pavement. It feels great, even when the guards lift her up and carry-drag her away.

When she leaves solitary two days later, she doesn’t even stop at her cell to gather her things. She’s going back to her old life. She’s going home. She already has everything she needs.

End Notes:

Title is from Focus on the Game (Bash Brothers).

This was a tough one to write – not so much in that it was hard to find the words, it just felt very dark (I mean, obviously).I hadn’t really thought much about how Rosa handled prison, and now I think it was probably both easier and harder for her than for Jake. Easier in that I’m guessing there was somewhat less threat of immediate violence/death. Plus, I think Rosa’s just generally got her emotional shit together better than Jake. But harder in that I think she’d feel more anger/shame/frustration? Also, I think Jake was helped a lot by knowing he had Amy waiting for him on the other side. Rosa was with Pimento at the time, but that relationship wouldn’t have provided nearly the same level of comfort and support. Man. Poor Rosa.

[artemisegeria]

Love by Design (8/?)

Title: Love by Design (Chapter 8/?)

Rating: T

Word count: 2084

Warnings: None for this chapter.  

Summary: Vision makes elaborate foam art as a barista at the coffee shop that his brother owns. One day a new customer comes in, and he completely loses his cool. As she keeps coming back, they grow closer. A casual acquaintance becomes something much more.

Chapter Summary: Vision and Wanda adjust to their new relationship, and Ultron starts behaving strangely.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272371

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7  

A/N: Here goes! After six and a half months, I have finally updated. Thank you to everyone who has waited for this update and any new readers who have started it along the way. Since it’s been so long, I’ll offer a brief recap of the last chapter. Vision traveled for a week to meet with his dissertation adviser, he started to realize that his feelings for Wanda had changed, and they finally admitted their feelings to each other and sealed their new relationship with several kisses.

I kept changing my mind on how to handle certain plot points and resolve everything, but I think I finally decided how I’m going to finish this story. I anticipate probably two to four more chapters. I swear I will reach the end, but as always I cannot promise when. I hope you enjoy.

Wanda sat sipping her drink while Vision refilled some supplies when Ultron strolled through the door whistling. He didn’t even spare them a glance before climbing up the back stairs. They waited until the door had closed upstairs before they turned to each other with matching raised eyebrow looks. “What’s gotten into him, I wonder?” mused Wanda. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I don’t know.” It was a good thing that he had not come in a few minutes earlier to find them kissing across the counter. It was unwise to continue to do so in the shop, but something about the danger made it irresistible. The risk was worth it since Ultron was hardly ever up before eight or nine.

She thought nothing more of it. She was far more interested in distracting Vision by clasping his hand. Even after a month of being officially together, though they had not revealed their secret to any of their friends, Wanda still felt that she wanted a little more time to enjoy this new stage of their relationship in peace. She had no doubt that their friends would be happy for them, but they would be obnoxious about it.

The shift in her relationship with Vision had been less of an adjustment than Wanda had anticipated, but she knew that it was due in part to not having to explain her feelings to anyone. She and Vision felt remarkably similar about easing into this new stage, and they did largely the same things as before they had admitted their feelings to each other, hanging out with their friends, talking in the mornings, watching movies together. Except now, instead of sitting next to him on the couch, she would cuddle up to his side. Sometimes they would forego a movie entirely and simply alternate between conversation and kissing for hours.

***

Vision was sitting in the living room reading when Ultron returned later that night. He had been gone all day, even smiling at Vision when he left again later in the morning.

“The world has so much beauty in it, doesn’t it, Vision?”

“I suppose.” He agreed with the sentiment, but he had not seen Ultron in such a mood for years. The last time this had occurred, his brief optimism had been followed by an even greater descent into bitterness.

“Come on.” Ultron patted his shoulder, no punch, no unnecessary force. Vision was curious about the cause. “You’re always saying so.”

“Yes, the world is beautiful,” Vision replied uncertainly. It was unusual for his brother to make such an observation without an air of mockery. “May I ask what has you in that frame of mind?”

“Oh, just a new business venture.” Vision’s heart fell. Ultron’s business ventures always started out with grand plans, but they usually only left him and the shop in more debt. “By the way, I need the books.”

Vision hesitated. “Does this venture require a great amount of capital to get started?”

“Oh, ye of little faith! Just bring the books out.”

Vision steeled himself. There was a time when he would have simply given in, but titles aside, this was his business as well. “I would like to attend the meeting with you.”

Ultron scowled. “Why?”

“I simply want to be involved, and I would like to help.”

“Fine.” Vision could not believe his ears. He never expected Ultron to go along so easily. “The meeting’s the day after tomorrow at nine in the morning. So may I please have the books to study?” Vision willingly brought out the books. This new attitude from Ultron was a welcome change. He should have been suspicious of his mood, but Vision was always an optimist. His new relationship with Wanda had only enhanced his belief that the world would always get better.

He and Ultron spent the rest of evening studying their finances together. It was the most amicable time he had spent with his brother in years.

***

The next evening, Wanda prepared dinner for Vision at her apartment. Vision had been granted the day off, but had spent all day in the library preparing for his dissertation defense and conference. He came straight to her apartment. Dinner passed in light chatter about their respective days. Then, they cleaned up together.

Once they finished, Wanda pulled him over to her piano. She had been dying to try something practically since she met him. Wanda spread Vision’s fingers out along the keys of the piano. He had wonderful hands for piano playing, though he had never tried it before. Pressing the keys as she instructed, he moved through a simple chord progression. After a time, she let him try it on his own. With a few slight corrections, he was able to play them through perfectly.

She stretched, lifting her arms above her head. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Do you want something to drink?”

“I’ll have tea, please.”

She brought over the tea and two mugs. Vision had moved over to the couch and she sat next to him. When they were finished, he leaned forward and brushed her hair away from her face. He ran his thumb over her cheek. She found herself leaning into his touch. He just paused there.

Finally, she moved forward to kiss him. The first kiss was a mere press of her lips to his. She pulled back after a brief moment. Add.

Suddenly, her computer that was sitting on the coffee table chimed with an incoming call. “Give me a minute. That’s my brother.” She carried her computer to her kitchen table, so that Vision was out of frame. She took a moment to compose herself before answering the call. “Hey, Pietro.”

“It is good to see you, sister.”

“Did you need something or did you just want to talk?”

“Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Of course not. Just wondering.”

“I just noticed that freakishly tall guy was in your pictures again this weekend.” It was a struggle not to let her gaze flick over to Vision.

“Vision. His name is Vision. And you’ll notice that those were all group pictures.”

“Yes, and you were standing right next to him in all of them.” She didn’t have a response immediately prepared for that one, so Pietro pressed his advantage. “You’ve never said whether he was the same one that showed you the flyer for the symphony.”

“I have more than one friend you know.”

Pietro grinned irrepressibly at her. “That’s not an answer.”

“That’s all the answer you’re going to get.” Wanda knew that being so defensive and surly was not doing anything to deter Pietro, but she was not prepared to have that conversation right now, with Vision sitting across the room.

***

Vision stretched out his legs on Wanda’s ottoman and waited for her to finish the call with her brother and to rejoin him. Eventually she settled next to him and turned into his side. Draping his arm around her, he pulled her slightly into him. She looked up at him and kissed the underside of his chin. Vision smiled at her. “Sorry about my brother.”

“I would expect nothing different from what you have told me.” He kissed her cheek, still slightly amazed that he had this opportunity. “Are you ready for your concert next month?”

“Almost. But starting next week, we have two practices per week, rather than one.”

“That is convenient. I have to prepare for the conference. Less temptation.”

Wanda grinned up at him. “Am I a temptation?” Vision considered the question for a moment. He had never thought that he would be tempted in such a way, but he found that simply spending time alone with her, cuddling, and exchanging soft kisses had become more appealing than he had ever thought possible.

“Yes.” He tightened her arm around her, leaning down to kiss her mouth lightly. “I cannot pull myself away when we are together like this.”

“I know. Me either.” She proved her statement by giving him several more slow kisses that evolved into something more passionate. So much so that he was chasing her mouth when she pulled away until she held him back. “Unfortunately, it’s already nine o’clock, and you have to be up early tomorrow and you have that meeting.”

He could not repress the deep sigh that passed his lips. Wanda giggled, but she pulled him to his feet and urged him to the door. “You’ll thank me for sending you home tomorrow.”

“Of course, but I will still miss you.”

Wanda laughed, but her genuine smile told him that she appreciated his words. “Nice try, but I’m still sending you away.”

“I had to make the attempt.” Grinning into her exasperated face, he leaned down to kiss her goodnight. She returned the kiss with alacrity.

“Okay. Good night, Vizh. Let me know how that meeting goes.”

“I will. Good night, Wanda. I had a lovely evening.”

Vision smiled all the way down the steps and the short drive to the shop.

***

Wanda had settled in her room with her computer to watch some YouTube videos before going to bed when she heard a knock on her door. She couldn’t imagine who it could be. Peeking through the keyhole before opening the door, she saw that it was Vision, looking lost. She scrambled to open the door for him.

“Vizh, what’s wrong?” She flipped the light switch and pulled him inside. He wandered to the couch without answering her. “Vizh, you’re scaring me.” Still no response. “Vision.”

He finally looked at Wanda as she sat beside him. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

“It’s fine, Vizh, but what’s going on?” She reached for his hand, stroking her thumbs over the back of hand.

Vision just shook his head at first. Because he didn’t seem to be injured or in any immediate danger, she didn’t press him. He simply rested his head on her shoulder, and Wanda wrapped her arms around him.

After long minutes of silence, Vision finally raised his head. “My home is gone.”

Wanda placed a hand on Vision’s cheek. “What do you mean?”

He closed his eyes, but his voice was steady. “When I parked in front of the shop and took out my key to open the door, the locks were changed. I walked around to the back, and that lock was different as well. I tried to yell up to the second floor. I even tossed a few rocks at the window, but there was no answer. Then, I noticed that a sign in the front window said it was temporarily closed due to new management. I don’t know what to do now.” He nestled back against her.

Wanda smoothed her hand over his hair. “There’s nothing to be done tonight. Do you want to watch a movie?” He nodded into her neck. She reached for the remote, trying to move as little as possible to avoid disturbing him. She settled on a classic Disney movie, where justice was done and the good guys won.

They spent the rest of night watching several more movies. Neither of them were sleepy, but Vision relaxed more until he was finally able to properly enjoy them. Wanda was grateful that she didn’t have to go to work in the morning, so that she could comfort Vision this way.

When the sky lightened, Vision made them breakfast. Wanda offered him the use of her shower before he tried to find out what happened to the shop. He eventually emerged back into her living area, looking calm and put together.

She approached him and straightened his collar. “You’re coming back here, no matter what happens today, right?”

“Yes.” Vision raised his own hand to smooth a few stray strands of hair behind her ears. “Thank you for letting me stay.” His fingertips lingered on her cheek, and she reached up to grasp onto his wrists.

“Of course, as long as you need.” Wanda squeezed him a little harder, willing her courage into him. “I was thinking of inviting people over tonight to take your mind off things. Would that be okay?”

“Yes, that sounds wonderful.” He lowered his head to kiss her. “I will let you know as soon as I have any news.”

“Good luck.” He left the room with a smile, and Wanda set out to organize things for the night to distract herself. She hoped that everything was okay for Vision’s sake.

[threedaybreakdown]

Rematch

Word Count: 3937

AO3 Link

Carolina was a champion MMA fighter who lost her title when aggressive newcomer Texas entered the scene. Carolina spends a year training day and night for a chance at reclaiming her title.

~~~~

It was late at night. How late? Carolina had no idea at this point. All she knew was that her form needed to be better. She needed to be better. This is all she could think as she repeatedly attacked the punching bag. Her grunts of exertion mixed with the sound of the from a top sports commentary broadcast were the only sounds to fill the large and deserted gym.

“We haven’t heard from Carolina in awhile.”

“Yeah, now she wants a rematch. Does she actually want a shot at winning?”

“Who knows, maybe she’s been doing nothing but training since their last match.”

“For her sake, I sure hope she has.”

“Even if that was the case, would it even be enough?”

“It’s Texas. No amount of training can truly prepa-”

The broadcast clicked off and was replaced with a new voice.

“You really shouldn’t be listening to that shit. Especially not while training,” said a man from the doorway. Carolina didn’t need need to turn around to see who was intruding upon her space. It was York. Whether she liked it or not, he was always there looking out for her.

“Did I ask your opinion? Did I even ask you to be here right now,” said Carolina, still not diverting to her attention from the bag.

“No, but seeing as it’s one and you never showed up to the dinner plans we had, I got concerned.” Carolina didn’t respond, but her movements slowed, but only minutely. “I just wanted to know that you were alright is all. You weren’t answering your phone.” She didn’t respond so York kept talking, “You see, I figured ‘She’ll be fine. Just a late practice. She’ll respond eventually.’ But after a few hours I figured you could be doing one thing.”

To Carolina's surprise he stopped talking. Their conversations normally ended after telling her not put this much pressure on herself. That losing to one person didn’t make any less of a talented of a fighter. He would ask her to rest. To find a moment where her only thoughts weren’t about beating Texas. They’ve been having this conversation since she lost the bantamweight title to Texas a year ago. Carolina was almost happy for the change of script. That inspirational introspective crap was the last thing she needed to hear right now. York may not like it, but Carolina was determined to work herself to death for a mere shot at reclaiming her title, mental and physical well-being be damned. This didn’t stop her from feeling a twinge of guilt though. Carolina knew that York only had her best interest at heart, and that every time she pulled a stunt like the one she did tonight she was not only hurting herself. She was also hurting the person she cared for the most.

Carolina stopped training and rested her face against the punching bag for a brief moment. Her exhale was deep and heavy. When she lifted it again she felt a twinge of fatigue strike her. The toll of her training finally started to catch up to her.

“I’m sorry York. I couldn’t focus on anything but this all day.” She turned to face him. “I just can’t relax knowing that the rematch is only two weeks away.”

“So destroying your body before is the answer?”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry for standing you up and not answering your calls, but this is what I need to be doing. If I don’t win…” She couldn't finish the sentence. Failure was an idea that she could not entertained at this time. “I need to win, York.”

He sighed, “You’re going to stay here no matter what I say, aren’t you?” She held his gaze. “Fine, then I might as well stay here too.”

“No, you’re not.”

York took a seat on the floor by near the wall, “What, so when you collapse from exhaustion no one will be around to help you?”

Couldn’t argue there. The less she moved he more her fatigue caught up to her. “I’ll start my cool down,” was her only response.

After another thirty minutes Carolina finally finished for the night. With her muscles feeling like lead, she let York drive her back to her apartment. She’ll just take an Uber to the gym to get her car tomorrow.

The car ride was quite. The only words exchanged were their goodbyes once they finally got to Carolina’s place. She took a quick shower and fell into her bad without drying her hair. It’ll just go back in a braid again in the morning so who cared.

She fell asleep as soon as she closed her eyes and not much later did she have the dream again. The closer the rematch got the more she had the dramatic retelling of her biggest regret.

It was that night one year ago. She was in the octagon waiting for her match against the newcomer Allison “Texas” Church to start. Tex might have won all of her previous matches with can only be described as brutal efficiency, but she never faced Carolina. She has never lost either making this match the most anticipated of the year.

The bell rang.

Everything after that was a struggle to keep the upper hand. Carolina never faced someone who can even be considered on the same level as her. So finally facing someone matched her skills with an unchecked rage to to boot made this fight nothing short of stressful.

Tex got in a well-placed shot on Carolina’s face. Her lip most have split because she was suddenly tasting blood. Ignore it, she thought as she countered. She seemed to be taking more damage than she was dealing, but that didn’t mean anything. As long as she was still standing there was still a chance she could knock Tex on her ass. Unfortunately that was her last thought before everything went dark. She was now standing outside of her body. Nose broken and bleeding on the mat as her title was given to Texas. Her corner came up to see if she was okay. She was roused and helped out of the ring. Her form disappeared from the scene altogether as everyone else cheered on Texas. The new reigning champ.

Carolina woke up. It was seven am. She cursed. She should have already been on her morning run.

That’s how she spent her time leading up to the fight. Exhausted and stressed but refusing to stop moving. She only stopped to sleep, and eat. She didn’t want to think, because every time she did she just remembered her own failure.

It was time for the weigh-in, and Carolina waited for Texas to arrive. This would would be the first time she saw Texas face to face since their last match. She dreaded seeing that blood-thirsty gaze again, but seeing her just meant that she was that much closer to knocking it off.

She kept that confidence going up until she caught sight of her opponent across the room. She stared motionless at her. Carolina had been anticipating this but it just didn’t seem real. The Tex of her nightmares seemed more corporeal than the one she was looking at. Just then Tex turned and caught her gaze. Carolina remembered herself and gave a nod in response.

This wasn’t right. This was not the look received at their last weigh-in. Texas’ eyes weren’t filed with rage or contempt. Instead they seemed calm. Relaxed almost. Was she really that cocky about their rematch? Regardless, this was a whole new level of arrogance.

Soon enough Carolina was called up to the stage to. She stepped on the scale. She made weight. No surprise there. She weighed herself everyday after all. Then it was Texas’ turn. Again, no surprises. It wouldn’t be like Tex to screw herself like that. Carolina still couldn’t get over the look in her eye. Even when they faced each other and shook hands she could not find a single trace of hot-head she fought a year ago. This was wrong.

They parted and the announcer came over, “Carolina, you haven’t had a match in a year. How are you feeling going up against the woman who beat you after all this time?”

“It’s just another fight. Her beating me once doesn’t make her special.”

When she came home for the night anxiety consumed her. The closer the fight came the more distorted her dreams got. They used to be semi realistic only getting distorted after she lost. Now her entire match was five seconds, and she watched it from outside of her body. She briefly considered not sleeping, but that would just set her up for disaster. She paced her bedroom thinking of alternatives. Calling York was an option, but she doubted he could help. At least that’s what she convinced herself. Meditation is bullshit, and herbal tea wouldn’t do shit. In the end she rewatched her last fight with Texas as well as Texas’ most recent fights. Again.. Studying how an opponent fought wasn’t that unusual but keeping tabs on Texas became something of an obsession for her. She needed to know if Texas was acting calm today because she already beat Carolina, or if something else going on.

Her dream that night was different than the rest. She was dressed for her fight, but she wasn’t in the octagon. She wasn’t anywhere. She existed in an expanse of black nothingness.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show your face, Carolina,” said a voice from behind her.

She turned to face her opponent, “You think I was just gonna leave you undefeated?”

“You showing up isn’t going to change that.”

The second Texas’ voice stopped Carolina was knocked to the ground. ‘How did that bitch get to here so fast?’ she thought. Caroline tried to fight back but she couldn’t move. Something was holding her in place.

“Now what did I tell you? You can’t win, Carolina,” Texas said with a casual tone before she straddled her. Her face looming over her own.

Being unable to get up would be enough for a fight to end but that didn’t seem to matter to Tex. She punch Carolina’s face without restraint. First, Carolina’s lips split. Her mouth filling with blood. Then her nose broke. The pain was enough to make her scream. Her vision was blurring as blood ran down her face. She struggled to get free. To make this stop, but the invisible force kept her still as Texas unloaded on her.

She snapped awake to the saving grace that was her alarm. Today was the day. She shoved her residual fear aside and got ready.

It was now or never. Carolina could hear the shouts of a probably full crowd through the metal doors. They were all cheers for Texas of course. Why would she still fans after all this time. She shook the thought off. This was her chance to get her life on track and she wasn’t about to let such superficial things get in her head.

The doors opened and she walked into the stadium. Carolina almost forgot how bright the lights could be, or how loud it all was. It was a bit overwhelming, but she kept reminding herself that she's done this countless times before. She redirected her attention from the spectators and the cameras, and focused on the ring. With all of the chaos that surrounded her in this vast space that was the only thing that seemed grounding. This is where she was meant to be. Her coach was talking to her, but she didn’t hear him. Her skin was crawling and she couldn’t stop moving. She just needed to get into the ring already.

The cheers got louder. Texas was making her entrance. Carolina started to grind her teeth. God, did she want to knock her out. It’d be poetic justice really. Humiliating Texas in the same fashion she was all Carolina really wanted.

They stepped into the ring, and the match started. Last night Carolina learned that Texas no longer tries to throw a punch right out of the gate, but Carolina still expected it to happen. That absence made her feel uneasy, but not uneasy enough not to try to kick Texas in her left flank. Her intent must have been written all over her face because her foot was caught with ease, and quickly countered sending Carolina onto the mat. She rolled and got back on her feet. The match continued in a similar manner for awhile. Every attempt Carolina made was was countered like it was nothing, and yet all the while Texas seemed unwilling to do any major damage. Carolina felt like she was a mouse being toyed with. Was she not worth any real effort? Why wasn’t she trying to knock her out?

Carolina had now lasted longer than she did last time, but this match still felt harder. Everything seemed to drag on for eternity even though she knew it was still only round one. Hell, they were probably only three minutes into the fight. Carolina’s rage was making her irrational and her attacks were proving less and less effective. She needed to calm down, but how could she when she was up against this arrogant asshole. She needed to change strategy. If she could just get in close maybe she could get her that way.

She deflected one one of Tex’s shin strikes. Carolina took that as her chance and closed the space between the two of them, and struck Texas in the head. Or she tried to at least. Texas blocked and then hooked Carolina’s ankles thus sending her to the ground yet again. She tried to recover, but it was too late. Taxes had her pinned. As Carolina struggled to break free the ref began to count. She fumed and fought, but she couldn’t get any leverage. The familiarity of this made her panic all the more. And just like that the match was over.

Texas got up and accepted her victory. Her face face barely held a smile. Only a slight upturn of her lips. She expected victory Carolina decided. That thought made something go cold inside of herself. She left the ring. On her way out she ignored everyone around her. Granted, only her team and vulturous reporters wanted her attention, but she couldn’t find a reason to care about their existence. She didn’t even care for what York had to say. He came to see the fight of course, and found Carolina the second he could get to her. She told him to get lost. He refused. She wanted to chew him out for this, to make him hurt, but she knew that’s not what she really wanted. Instead she told him she needed to be alone. He squeezed her shoulder, said he’d call her later, and left.

This fight didn't sit right in her. At least in the last one she had a clear failure, but this one felt like it didn’t really happen. All this time she thought the only option was a knockout on either side. This was like an option that shouldn't have existed in the first place.

She was on her way out when she caught Texas. Her mind went dark and as if on autopilot she stormed over and unleashed everything that’s been bothering her.

“What was that?” Carolina demanded.

Tex look shocked and confused at the sight of Carolina fuming before her and simply said, “I’m sorry?’

“Don’t act confused. That fight. Why did you pin me?”

Texas started to shake her head ever so slightly, “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Carolina wanted to punch her, but decided against it, “Why did you treat me differently this time. Why didn’t you try to win by knockout?”

“You wanted to be knocked out?”

“No I didn’t want to be knocked out you idiot. I wanted to win. I just want to know why you went easy on me. So spit it out already.”

“Carolina, I didn’t go easy on you. I just fight differently than I did a year ago.”

“Are you kidding me? What kind of excuse is that? Just admit you don’t see me as real competition.”

“I don’t know where you got that Idea but understand, this is just how I fight now. This has nothing to do with you.”

That was not the answer Carolina wanted. She opened her mouth to say more, but she froze. She saw that the few people who had access to this part of the building were watching them. More importantly, some had their phones out to capture her melt down. Not wanting to give them anymore satisfaction she left.

By the time Carolina got home her rage faded to sadness. She lost to Texas, again. She didn’t even make it to the second round. She wished she was still raging. She wished she could just scream to get her frustration out, but instead she empty. Like nothing mattered, and maybe it didn’t. Who the fuck knows. With a loss of what to do, Carolina did the basics. She showered, and got ready for bed. As she dried her hair, she noticed her phone ringing. It was York. She couldn’t stand the thought of talking to someone, not even him. She let it go to voicemail and continued drying her hair.

She didn’t dream of losing that night. Instead she dreamed of her meltdown in front of Texas. She re-lived it all over and over again. She couldn’t seem to escape her own child-like rage. As much as she regretted how she fought in the ring, she regretted making a fool of herself just as much.

She woke up feeling sick to her stomach. She lied in bed not moving for as long as she could. She didn’t want to face the world, but she knew she had to sooner or later. She dragged herself in to the kitchen made a pot of coffee with her too heavy limbs. As the coffee brewed she convinced herself to turn on the TV to see what people were saying about her now. Immediately she was confronted with her own yelling. It was a video one of the maintenance people took of her when she confronted Texas. Seeing her rage matched with Texas calmness made Carolina hate herself all the more. She switched to other sports channels but it was just more of the same. The only thing that anyone could talk about is how she finally lost it. She tried to watch a few more minutes, but was too disgusted with herself to do so.

With the TV off and the mere thought of ingesting anything twisting her stomach, she dumped her coffee and slumped against the counter dumbfounded. She considered going back to bed, but doubted she could. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to for fear of more nightmares. The sound of her own voice screaming that Texas was messing with her rang through her head. Why did she do that? Why couldn’t she leave and get drunk like any other person whose unable to cope with their situation? She replayed all of her mistakes. Starting with yelling at Texas, to all the places she went wrong in the match, to the past year, their first fight, hell she started to analyze her whole career. Everything she did lead her to this mess. She just need to figure out how.

She stayed like this until she heard her phone ring. She walked towards the source of the ringing. Oddly enough she left it her bag. She was surprised it still had a charge.

She stared at the name on the screen for a bit before answering, “Hey, York.”

“God, I’ve been trying to reach you since last night. I was starting to think that you were never gonna pick up... How are you?”

She didn’t respond so York continued for her, “You saw the footage, huh?”

“Of me exploding at Tex like a crazed idiot, yeah I saw it. It’s everywhere. How could I not.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Oh yeah, did you hear what people were saying about me. They said that my year off only made me worse. That I’d sooner die in the ring then lose like that again. Worse yet, I’m starting to think they’re right and I hate it.”

“You were stressed for a year straight, and you snapped. It happens, but you can’t let other people tell you how to feel. That won’t help?”

“I’m not letting anyone tell me how to feel. I let myself stew in fear and regret for a year and now, now I’m worse than I was before.”

“I can’t begin to imagine how you are feeling, but you can’t do this to yourself. If you hate that you stewed in all of that for a year, maybe fight someone that isn’t Texas to get yourself back into the swing of things. What do you think?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You don’t have to decide anything right now, but I want you to know that I’m here for you, and as long as you’re willing to fight so am I.”

“York, I… ” she pressed the heel of her free hand into into her eye, “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can. You’re the most resilient person I know. If anyone can bounce back from all of this it’s you” He sounded so hopeful and that only made Carolina feel worse for what she was about to say.

“No, I mean I can't do any of this anymore. Not the interviews, not the training, and most importantly, not the fighting. I’m done.”

“Carolina.” His voice was stern, yet soft. “You can’t quit after only two losses. You’re better than that.”

“No, I’m really not,” her voice started to break, “I lost once and I stopped fighting for a year. I lose again and I explode at my competition for not breaking my nose a second time. Who does that sort of thing?” She could now feel tears building up, but she fought them off. If she started crying now she knew that York would feel guilty that he wasn’t there to comfort her. She wasn’t about to do that to him.

“Carolina, please think about this,” he pleaded.

“I have, and I can’t live with this kind of stress anymore. Between the expectations, people trying to narrate my every move, the hard days, and the nightmare filled nights, I just can’t.”

“It’s okay to feel that way, but please let’s talk through this.”

“No, the only thing I can do is quit. Goodbye, York.”

“Caro-”

The second she hung up she sank to the ground and cried her eyes out. Her tears flowed like waterfalls and her sobs were loud and ugly. She stayed like this for longer than she would have liked, but she knew that she needed this. She didn’t cry or let herself think about anything except winning and regaining her title for the last year. This was the accumulation a years worth of frustration, anger, and fear coming out of her all at once.

When her breathing became easier and the tears let up she moved into the kitchen and retrieved a large garbage bag. If she was going to give up on her professional career she wanted a clean break. Her mind was made and she rounded up all of her gear, and started to think of a life outside of the ring.

[a-weird-rusted-android]

Yugi has 2 names as his soul mark and one of them is his own.

Thank you for the prompt! I wasn’t sure what ot3 you wanted exactly so I went with Flareshipping, I hope that’s what you like!

Ifyour soulmate was already born when you were, their name was on yourarm since birth. If they were born later than you, their name wouldappear at that point.

Yugi'ssoul mark had perplexed everyone when he was born. Not kanji, norletters of any alphabet anyone could think of. A dark stain on hisarm, a blur. No matter how much he tried, once he knew how to read,he couldn't find any real shape to it.

Unusual,but less strange, was how a few months after his birth a second nametook shape right underneath the blur. Having multiple soulmateswasn't too common, but not unheard of.

Yugiwas ten when that name started itching. No matter how much hescratched his arm, the itching just wouldn't subside. Yugi wasgetting rather annoyed with this Seto, more so than withwhoever had just left a shapeless stain on his arm.

Then,the kanji of his last name started blurring, before reforming,completely different from they had been at first.

Grandpatold him sometimes a person changed name, and once they startedthinking of themselves as that new name, their soulmate's mark wouldchange.

Yugiwasn't sure why would one's name change, but he supposed he wouldhave to get used to calling him Kaiba Seto now.

***

Hisarm began that infernal itching again at sixteen. At first he didn'tthink too much of it, sometimes it happened that the wrappings hekept around his marks were just particularly itchy.

Butit was terribly intense, and after a while he started to connect itto those days Seto had changed name.

Hetook off the bandages as soon as he got home. He didn't see why wouldSeto change name again, so perhaps it was the other one.

Oncethe bandages were off, he expected to see something that would makemore sense than his old stain.

Instead,Mutou Yugi stared back at him from his arm.

Yugiwanted to scream.

Whydid his soul marks like to torture him?

First,Kaiba Seto. Yugi had very nearly choked on his own spit whenhe realized it was the name of one of his classmates.

Exceptthe guy was at school maybe once a week and he never even looked inYugi's direction, not even to taunt him like almost everyone did. Andno way Yugi was brave enough to even try and approach Kaiba. At thispoint, either Kaiba wasn't his soulmate or he was straight up ashamedof Yugi.

AndYugi still hadn't quite made peace with that, but now it appeared hissecond soulmate was none other than himself. Just perfect.

Helooked at the newly completed Puzzle dangling from around his neck.Was the thing really magical and had it decided to mess with him? Atthis point, nothing would surprise him anymore.

***

Unlessit turned out he had developed a second personality. Or that a spiritwas possessing him, he didn't know what was less likely.

Buthe had known his black outs weren't normal even before he and hisfriends became aware of this second Yugi that appeared at times. Onethat was confident and self-assured and fearless, basically the polaropposite of Yugi.

Yugididn't want to think what exactly it would mean for his soulmate tobe this other himself, but there was no denying he was likely theonly other Mutou Yugi he would ever meet.

Atleast he didn't seem like a bad person. From what he could piecetogether, he only ever appeared when Yugi or his friends were indanger and he protected them, so Yugi supposed it wasn't too bad.

***

HisOther Self didn't really like Kaiba. Even without being able toreally communicate yet, Yugi could at times feel some sort ofcontempt, irritation, that wasn't exactly his, when he was thinkingabout it.

Notthat Yugi liked him either. He was cold, cruel, and generallyunpleasant. He pitied him, because if what Mokuba told him abouttheir past was true, then Kaiba had to have suffered a lot to becomelike that, but it didn't change the fact Yugi didn't really want tohave anything to do with him ever again.

Butmaybe, he thought once the deal with Pegasus was over, whatever hisOther Self had done to him, as drastic as it had been, had managed tobrush away that layer of hate Kaiba had wrapped himself in.

Notcompletely, that was for sure, but in part. Enough for what goodthere was in him to resurface and hold onto his younger brother likehis life depended on it.

***

Ifhaving his own name on his arm before had been weird, it wasdefinitely wrong now.

HisOther Self was Mutou Yugi only because he didn't know how tobe someone else. Because he hadn't been anyone at all before Yugicompleted the Puzzle.

Yugihad half expected his arm to start itching again after Battle City,but the name stayed the same. It made sense it wouldn't, he supposed.Pharaoh or whatever other title could be what his soulmatewas, but not who he was. It was simply a title, one that was stillforeign for both of them.

Hehad accepted that his soul mark indicated the spirit that had takenresidence in his mind, it had been almost comforting to know someonewho was meant for him was going to always be with him. But now thathe knew the truth the name was just a reminder of how much his OtherSelf was and had suffered.

Andof how selfish it had been of him, to think he could just claimsomeone's whole soul like that.

"You'rehurting," came the voicewithin his head.

Yugifroze. His thumb had been unconsciously stroking his name on hisskin. They had nevermentioned what it meant for them before, even if both of them knew."I'm fine."

"Youaren't." A pause."I'm sorry."

"It'snot your fault."

"Itis." His Other Self's tonewas unusually soft. "I wish you didn't have to gothrough this. You deserved better than, well, this."

"Don'tspeak like that about yourself. You are one of the best people Iknow."

"Thankyou."

Yugiswallowed. "Anyway, would you say you are worse than thealternative?" he asked, hoping for a joking tone, trying tobreak the mood that had settled over them.

"Well,he's not as bad as he used to be," hisOther Self said diplomatically.

"Yes.But he's still arrogant and rude. And he hates me."

HisOther Self laughed. "He's obsessed with you!"

"No,he's obsessed with you. I'm just an unfortunate presence he can'tavoid."

"Hestill insists we're the same person, so he's obsessed with you aswell," his Other Self said.

Yugismiled a little. "I suppose."

***

Atem.

Theindividual hieroglyphs were still a mystery to him, but he knewexactly what they were meant to read as.

Hewas supposed to be happy for his Other- for Atem. He had had monthsnow, to prepare to when he would be gone.

Butpeople hadn't been lying when they said few things could hurt morethan losing your soulmate. Yugi was almost surprised not to see agaping hole in his chest when he looked down at himself.

Hewondered what did Atem's arm look like in the Afterlife. Would he seethe kanji of his name, and of Kaiba's?

Didit hurt Atem too, to be alone in his head?

***

"Youaren't serious," Yugi said.

WhenKaiba had invited him to his office to discuss business, he hadthought he wouldn't have to hear any new crazy idea. But this wasKaiba, and Yugi didn't know why he should even be surprised. To thinkhe had believed Kaiba had managed to get over Atem's loss.

"Iam. We have things to settle."

Yugiwasn't one for physical violence, but Kaiba had the rare ability tomake him want to throttle him. "You aren't trying find a way totravel to the Afterlife and back just because you wanted a duel."

"Itwould be very satisfying to find a way to bend the rules of theuniverse at my will," Kaiba said.

"No,that's not what I." Yugi took a deep breath. "Kaiba. Wouldit hurt you so much to think maybe, maybe you miss him?"

"Hewas a good rival."

"Ican duel you just as well as he did, this isn't about needing someonewho is as skilled as you are."

Kaibaglared at him. "Then what would it be about?"

Yugihesitated. This was going to be like threading on ice. It was aconversation that needed to happen, but more planning would have beenbetter. "You like him. As a person, not just as a duelist."

Kaibajust kept glaring.

"AndI'd love to see him again as well, and I'm not trying to stop youfrom going on with this, you wouldn't anyway. But it's not healthy tokeep denying things like this."

"I'mnot sure what you are talking about, but I have survived until now,didn't I?"

"Youknow exactly what I'm talking about." Kaiba's eyes darted for asecond to Yugi's arm, a barely there action he probably hadn'tmanaged to control. "And as good as you might be at pretendingthings you don't like aren't-"

Yugitrailed off. A realization just hit him.

"What?"Kaiba asked.

"Youhad the same name twice. That's why you didn't believe we were twodifferent people," Yugi said. Why had he never thought of itearlier? It was so obvious.

Kaibalooked about to punch him for a moment. Then he said, as if someonewas dragging the words out of him by force, "can you blame me?"

"Notreally," Yugi conceded.

"Nowthat you made me acknowledge this, can we never talk about it again?"

"MaybeI want to talk about it again." Kaiba made to open his mouth,but Yugi interrupted him. "Listen, we don't have to date oranything. I can, I don't know, duel you if you want?"

"Why?Are you telling me that's all you want?"

"No.But I can compromise."

Yugifeared Kaiba would physically throw him out of his office as hewaited for him to answer his offer.

"Fine,I'll humor you," he sighed eventually.

Yugibeamed.

"ButI'm still making that travel."

"I'mvery tempted to ask you for a ride, just so you know."

Kaibashook his head, apparently tired of talking with him. "You areinsufferable."

"Iguess we are made-"

"Saythat and I will hit you, Mutou," Kaiba growled.

[hogsmeadeshoneyduchess]

My Favorite Fanfictions (Part 1)

I have read some truly wonderful fanfiction recently, so I thought I’d compile a list and share it with you all! (I linked to the stories; click on their titles to go to them)

Note to all: These are in no particular order, but they are ALL Dramione.

Note to these authors: I don’t know most of your tumblr names and/or if you’d like to be tagged. If you would like me to take you in this post, just message me! I tagged a couple of authors, in which case, click on their name to go to their tumblr home!

1) The Politician’s Wife - pir8fancier. I am OBSESSED with this story! I think I’ve read it about a dozen times since I first discovered it last week. Draco and Hermione are older in this story, and it’s a slow burn between them. Did I mention I’m obsessed with it? Here’s the official summary: Hermione hates Draco in the springtime, Hermione hates Draco in the fall, Hermione hates Draco 247. Rated M, Complete

2) Boggart - Flightglow32. This is a delightful story and I am always eagerly awaiting updates!  It moves quickly, and it is such a fun read. The author introduced some pureblood rituals that I am fully hoping will be explored in more detail later on. Here is the official summary: Returning eighth year students have to face a boggart again. Hermione deals with the fallout of her boggart. Being looked after by the slytherin eighth years has far reaching consequences for her friends. Draco/Hermione, Blaise/Harry/Ginny, Theo/Neville pairings. Slow burn with later smut. Rated Explicit, Work in Progress

3) The Fever - Flightglow32. This was my first introduction to @flightglow32 work and I found it while looking at a list of sex pollen stories. It’s such a fun take on that idea and is a really fun read. Here is the official summary: After the war, due to the decimation of the wizarding race all the signs say a Fever is coming. All witches and wizards aged 17 to 21 will feel it. The Burning lasts until they find their match. The Ministry sends all those affected to Hogwarts.Hermione's concern about her match grows as she watches others around her succumb to the Fever. When one touch is all it takes and the Burning inside you wants it how much self control does it take to hold back and not give in to your most basic desires? Rated M for sexual content and mature language. Slow burn dramione. Rated M, Complete

4) The Wrong Strain - Colubrina. A fun and unique take on the Veela trope. Here is the official summary: Everyone knew what veela were. Veela were magical creatures, breathtakingly beautiful, who captivated men with a single look. It would have been nice to have been that strain. Instead, Hermione Granger was infected by another. Instead of captivating all men, she was captivated by one. She'd die without him. She was already in almost constant pain. DRAMIONE. Rated T, Work in Progress

5) Blood Traitor - Zalia. Another fun take on the Veela trope. This one is nice and long, but the chapters are on the shorter side, so it’s not overwhelming! Here is the official summary: Draco Malfoy has been living a lie to protect the girl he loves. He has inherited the Veela gene and on his next birthday he will become the first male Veela for three hundred years. Canon, (except the epilogue of HPDH). Rated M, Work in Progress

6) Drinking Buddies - MrBenzedrine. I adore @mrbenzedrine89, so I’m sure there will be more works in this list by them! I just want to eat this story up, I love it so much. All of MrBenzedrine’s work is phenomenal, so even what doesn’t make this list should be read. Here is the official summary: Hermione and Draco find solace in each other as drinking buddies, but so much more develops. Rated M for graphic lemons. Post Hogwarts. Rated M, Complete

7) Eros and Psyche - RZZMG. @rzzmg is my online mom, I love her to bits and pieces. She’s had a rough couple of years, but keeps plugging away at her AMAZING fanfiction.  She updated this story recently, so I’m adding it to this list, even though it’s not a recent read for me. Treat yourself to all of her fanfiction - you won’t be disappointed!! Here is the official summary: Draco challenges Harry and friends to play EROS & PSYCHE, a scandalous card game with a dark, mysterious history. It's Slyth vs. Gryff, male vs. female, pride vs. desire in the ultimate game of hearts and amour! Pairings: Draco/Hermione,Blaise/Ginny,Ron/Pansy,Seamus/Lavender,Theo/Daphne,Harry/Tracey. AU 7th yr. Secrets, romance, angst, and sex await the turning of the first card... Rated M, Work in Progress

8) Better for You - toavoidconversation. Shameless plug for this fic, as I’m helping to beta it. But it’s so great, please check it out! It does bash Ron, so if that’s not your speed, there’s your warning. Here is the official summary: Dramione, Post-War: Draco and Hermione are working on a difficult case of alleged magical medical negligence: a child caught fire during an operation at St Mungo's. The two have to deal with aggressive media, new magic, and the less-than-subtle fact that Ron's drinking is taking its toll on Hermione. Will Draco prove that he's better for her? Will they win the case? Rated T, Work in Progress

9) If I’m Gonna Fall in Love - Colubrina. This story makes my heart happy. I love it when love hits people unexpectedly! Here is the official summary: Draco had made a list of everything he needed to fall in love. She had to be beautiful, and deferential, and from a good family. She had to be someone his parents would like, someone his friends would approve of. But how was he supposed to meet the perfect girl if he kept getting caught up in arguments with Potter's bushy-haired sidekick? Dramione. ONE SHOT. Rated T, Complete

10) The Closet Relativity Theory - MrBenzedrine. This story has a lovely kind of squirmy angst to it. Misunderstandings between Hermione and Draco make for intriguing reading! Here is the official summary: Draco Malfoy gets locked a closet with Hermione Granger at a party. But is that all to the story? Comedy, Romance, Mystery and so much smut to come. Dramione 3 part series. Rated M FOR A REASON (smut) -The unofficial sequel to A Touch of Bourbon. COMPLETE! Rated M, Complete

11) Sex Ed - MrBenzedrine. I love this story cause it’s a little silly and goofy and lovely. Here is the official summary: Hermione Granger comes to Hogwarts to teach a much needed Biology curriculum to the students. Draco Malfoy, the Potions teacher, doesn't approve of the sex ed. A bet ensues. Who will come out victorious? Rated M for lemons. COMPLETE. Rated M, Complete

12) Minimal Risk - galfoy. I love everything galfoy writes; this is NO exception!! Here is the official summary: This was not how she had imagined her year would end. Rated M, Complete

13) Split - OogieBoogie. This is such a fun take on Dissociative Identity Disorder. Here is the official summary: Hermione Granger by day, Something Else by night - IF she forgets to take her meds (or in this case, fail to work). She works at Gringotts by day and becomes some sort of vigilante at night - stealing from the wealthy and giving it to the poor. That's until her alter ego steals from Draco Malfoy, meets him, and decides she likes him. Rated M, Complete

14) Vibrations - Craft Rose. @craft-rose This may be my favorite fanfic of all time. I love some dirty talk! Here is the official summary: After three years of a mundane, sexless existence and far too much wine, our favourite brunette happens upon the magic equivalent of a sex line. There, an intriguing, deliciously devilish caller manages to pique her interest. Rated M, Complete

15) Bite Marks - provocative envy. Oh. My. Word - I could not love this story more if I tried. It’s a non-magical AU and it is so beyond. @provocative-envy writes the best non-magical stories. Just read them all! Here is the official summary: TWO-SHOT: "So—you're upset," he says with a nonchalant nod and discreet adjustment of his slightly too-tight khaki corduroys. She blinks at him, her expression alternating between indignation and incredulity and flat-out fury. He had been right about her being pretty beneath the intimidation tactics. HG/DM. (Companion to 'Punch Drunk'). Rated M, Complete

16) The Alkahest - Shadukiam. I can’t with this story. @shadu-kiam is amazing, and this story is all the feels and wonderful! Here is the official summary: The Marriage Law, once enacted, has the power to destroy Hermione's perfectly normal life. Luckily, she and Ron are already planning to obey the horrific law together as a team... Until a Malfoy-shaped wrench gets thrown into the works. Dramione. Rated M, Work in Progress

17) The Hedgehog’s Dilemma - Shadukiam. This story. I broke my own rule of only Dramione for it. It’s a Dramione x Harry triad story. And it is SO GOOD!! Here is the official summary: Hermione is Harry's best friend, and Draco is Harry's long-term boyfriend. The problem, of course, is that he's sort of in love with both of them. The Age of Aquarius has finally met its match. Draco/Harry/Hermione triad fic. Rated M, Work in Progress

18) First Thursday - hogsmeadeshoneyduchess. I can’t not req my favorite story I wrote. I wrote it for @rzzmg and enjoyed the heck out of writing it; check it out and let me know what you think! Here is the official summary: Draco and Hermione have a standing hang out on the first Thursday of every month. In the midst of all this time together, what will happen when they develop more than friendly feelings for each other? Can they overcome the odds stacked against them? Please take heed of the rating - this story earns its MA. Language and sexual content ahead! Turns out Hermione has a dirty mouth! Rated M, Complete (at least for now. It’s possible I’m working on a sequel of sorts)

Okay, that’s enough for now. To all these authors: I love you SOOO much!  Thank you for writing these stories and for loving Dramione enough to write them stories that twist my heart and turn it to goo. I adore you. 

[im-not-a-what]

Sorcerer Supreme

Title: Sorcerer Supreme

Summary: For the Gold children, it's a fight for honor: who is going to be the superhero of their choice for Halloween? Belle comes up with a solution.

Rating: G

Genre: humor, family, sibling rivalry

Characters/Pairings: Gideon, Rumbaby OC, Rumbelle

AO3 Link

Note: Set in the Golden Quartet verse

“Mummy! Tell Gid he’s wrong!”

Belle was still reeling from the heated argument between her twelve-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter. They’d spoken so quickly that she’d caught only snippets as she entered the kitchen. Something about how girls should dress up as girls, that no, that’s not fair, Téa could pick any costume she wanted. No, Gideon had already picked and she should just pick another one.

With no ready answer to Téa’s accusation, Belle demanded that the yelling stop immediately and that the kids, who were glaring each other down over the kitchen counter, sit at the table.

“All right,” Belle declared once the children promised not to speak out of turn, “I want to hear both sides. Now, I’m thinking of a number between one and ten. Each of you pick a number. Whoever guesses closest goes first.”

Téa guessed four. Gideon guessed six. Belle’s number was five. This happened a couple more times before Belle picked nine. Téa guessed ten while Gideon guessed nine. Téa immediately whined, “I was gonna guess nine!”

“Well, you didn’t,” Gideon said, his voice bouncing with smugness.

“Gideon, don’t provoke your sister. Now, what are you and she arguing about?”

Gideon folded his hands on the table. He made sure to sit straight, gaining a few years on his countenance. He looked like a law student ready to deliver his opening statement at a mock trial. Belle didn’t doubt he put on a similar show for his school teachers. “We were having a conversation about our Halloween costumes. I mentioned that Robin, Neal and I had made a deal to dress up as superheroes this year for the school Halloween dance. I planned to go as Stephen Strange. That’s when Téa flew off the handle.”

“You stole my idea!” Téa cried.

“Téa.” Belle spoke low but punched the ‘T’ in her name. She’d worried in the early years that she’d never get the hang of being stern with her children. As it turned out, she’d become an expert, startling even Rumple with that edge of authority. “I said you could speak after Gideon was done.”

The girl squirmed in her seat. Her face started turning red, like she was trying to hold in a volcanic outburst.

Belle knew to get to the point of Gideon’s side before the explosion happened. “So, Gideon, you want to be . . . who again?”

“Stephen Strange,” Gideon said with crisp articulation. “Doctor Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme.”

Téa coughed. Somewhere in that cough came out the phrase, “Comic books.”

Belle snapped a stare at her. Téa sat still, then glanced at her mother with feigned befuddlement.

“Yes, he’s a comic book character,” Gideon said, as though it wearied him to explain what to him was a self-evident fact.

“All right,” said Belle. She faced Téa. “Now it’s your turn.”

Téa gripped the edge of the table like the reins of a bronco. “I want to be Doctor Strange for Halloween! I told Gid a long time ago that he’s my favorite character!”

“I’m your favorite character?” Gideon quipped.

“Shh,” Belle hissed.

Téa grinned, showing off a gap in the row of her upper teeth. “Ha!”

“Téa,” Belle said, “just because Gideon wants to be Doctor Strange for Halloween doesn’t mean you can’t be, either.”

“We can’t both be him!” Téa looked outraged by the notion. “Everyone will think I’m copying Gid!”

“Because you would be,” Gideon said.

“No!” Téa lunged over the table. “You’re copying me!”

Belle held up her hands at them both. “Enough! Gideon, not another word until I say it’s your turn. Understand?”

Gideon sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Téa poked her tongue at her brother. She flicked it fast enough that it slipped back into the safety of her mouth before her mother saw. There was a shadow of imitation in her wiggle to sit up straight and her tightly clasped hands.

“Téa,” Belle continued, “can’t you make a . . . Doctor Strange costume in your own way?”

Téa tried to keep her tone as plain as white bread at first. “I want to be Doctor Strange, but I can’t be a good Doctor Strange when my brother is Doctor Strange, too. He’ll look exactly like him. He doesn’t even care about Doctor Strange that much. He likes Batman, but Neal is going as Batman. Now he’s taking out his disappointment on me!”

Gideon grit his teeth together. “I’m not—” He stopped himself just as his mother directed a sharp glance at him.

“Then Gideon said I shouldn’t be Doctor Strange because I’m a girl! He said I should be Catwoman or Wonder Woman!”

“Those wouldn’t be so bad,” Belle said.

“But it was my idea to be Doctor Strange! It’s not fair!”

Gideon raised a finger. “May I speak?”

Belle sighed. “You may.”

“I didn’t say she had to be Catwoman or Wonder Woman. There are superheroines with magic powers. Zatanna. Scarlet Witch. The Enchantress.”

“The Enchantress is a bad guy! I don’t really know Zatanna or Scarlet Witch. I shouldn’t have to be someone I don’t know!”

Gideon laid his hand over his heart. His expression mockingly softened. “I’m helping you learn more about superheroines. You should have more female heroes to look up to. Mom agrees, right?”

The call-out caught Belle so off-guard that she could only guffaw.

Téa anchored herself on her elbows. “Yeah? Why don’t you dress up as Scarlet Witch?”

Gideon’s face twisted in a blend of confusion and repulsion. Belle hid a snorted giggle behind her closed hand. Clearing her throat to chase the laugh away, she regained her neutral frown. “Anyone here is free to choose what hero they want to model themselves after, regardless of gender. So, Téa, you may dress up as Doctor Strange. And yes, Gideon could dress up as Scarlet Witch.” Her aside look at Gideon came with a half-hidden smile. “If you’re comfortable.”

“Mom,” Gideon cut in, “you know why she wants to be a superhero for Halloween so badly. She wants an excuse to hang out with Robin and Neal.”

“Oh?” Belle checked with Téa, who grimaced but said nothing to deny the claim. “Well, why not?”

Gideon nearly jumped out of his seat. “Why not? She’s in second grade! The guys don’t want to hang out with a second-grader! Besides, we’re going to the school dance. We’re going to do more grown-up things.”

“Grown-up things?” Belle inched toward him with intensified parental interest. “Like what?”

“Uh . . .” Gideon retreated and tried to find anything to look at but his mother’s insistent stare. “N-nothing all that . . . nothing bad. I swear.”

“I can’t believe you trust him to babysit me.” Téa shook her head with precocious disapproval.

Belle coughed out another laugh, collected herself, and like her children joined her hands in solemn contemplation of the dilemma. After a minute in this pose, she said, “I think you should both be Doctor Strange.”

“No,” Gideon said.

Téa gaped at her mother. Then, as though succumbing to the braindead condition her expression suggested, she slumped forward and thumped her forehead on the table.

Belle raised her eyebrows. As far as childish gestures went, Téa’s display bordered on a performance piece. She graced it with an impressed, only partly sarcastic, “Wow.” Then she addressed Gideon. “If neither of you is willing to pick another costume, that’s the only compromise we can reach.”

“I’m not going around Storybrooke as ‘twinsies,’” Gideon said.

“Me neither,” Téa said.

As neither was ready to budge or see reason, Belle saw no immediate recourse. However, her curiosity sent her on a little research binge to learn more about Doctor Strange and other comic book superheroes. Inspiration struck. She confided her plan to Rumple, who initially expressed some puzzled trepidation. As he came to understand the plan, confusion transformed into enthusiasm.

On the afternoon of Halloween, the kids returned home to two Doctor Strange costumes standing on mannequins in the living room. One fit Gideon; the other fit Téa. Despite the presence of the one intended for her brother, Téa oohed and aahed over the faithful recreation of the Master of Mysticism’s outfit. The capes even levitated! Clearly her father had put his magic touch into the costumes.

“But they look exactly alike,” Gideon pointed out with a sigh. “Twinsies.”

“Maybe it won’t be that bad,” Téa said, still marveling at the cape that playfully twitched when she petted it.

“Don’t worry,” called their mother’s voice from the staircase. “We have a solution in mind.”

The kids whirled around. Gideon gasped, almost choking on air while his face drained of color. Téa spit out a stream of air that bloomed into laughter.

Belle sauntered down first, head to toe in black spandex with a bit of yellow trim, including the bat symbol on her chest. Her hair hung loose under the mask with the short, pointed bat ears. Behind her came Rumplestitlskin in a green and gold cloak over a black and gold armored tunic. His head was adorned with a golden helmet. Two, long horns curled out.

Gideon coughed out, “You’re not going out like that, are you?”

“Why not?” Belle said, not at all bothered.

“You guys look awesome,” said Téa, having found air and words again.

“Why thank you, little mortal.” Rumple completed his descent and knelt before Téa. “Now, Batgirl and I have consulted on the matter of your . . . contention. So, the alternative.”

He snapped his fingers. Téa’s regular clothes were swept up in a magic cloud. In their place appeared a wild costume of green and black. The onesie was simple, but the cape arched from her shoulders and billowed out in strips like octopus tentacles. The mask covered her head, just like Belle’s, but the black, zig-zagging extensions vaguely resembled elk antlers.

“Whoa!” Téa touched her mask. “Who am I?”

Rumple summoned a hand mirror. He held it far away enough that she could see most of herself. Téa squeaked. “I’m Hela! Oh, that’s so cool!”

“All right, good.” Gideon inched toward the mannequin with his Doctor Strange outfit. “Then I’ll just change into this—”

“Oh, no,” Rumple sang as he stood. “You have an alternate, too. Either you both go as Doctor Strange, or . . .”

Another snap. Gideon started and looked down. His body suit, like Belle’s, was nearly all black. Whereas her outfit had a yellow bat and gloves to provide contrast, his had the blue silhouette of a bird.

“Nightwing?” he asked.

“Oh, I get it!” Téa gestured at him and herself. “I’m Loki’s daughter! Nightwing and Batgirl are in the Bat family. Family costumes!”

“Oh. Great.”

“Doctor Strange is still an option,” Belle reminded him, “but you both must wear those. Now, who’s ready to go trick or treating?”

Téa jumped up and down, making the tendril-like antlers on her mask bounce. Her cape fluttered behind her. “Me! Me!”

“But the sun is still up!” Gideon glimpsed at the Doctor Strange costumes.

“You have that dance to go to, right?” Rumple sidled up to him. His smile matched his costume entirely too well. “If we all go now, that will give you ample time to meet up with your friends at the dance. Perhaps we’ll run into them on our route!”

“O-okay, okay, Téa can wear the Doctor Strange costume! I’ll stick with Nightwing but please, please don’t make me go trick-or-treating like this!”

Rumple tilted his head. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Dad, my two friends are eighth graders. The costumes are cool, but matching costumes with my parents? I’ll never live it down!”

“Pfft,” was all the commentary Téa deemed necessary.

Belle joined Rumple’s side. “Well, we wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But if you’re willing to let Téa—”

“Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine with it! Go have fun!”

“I don’t know,” Téa said, giving her Hela costume further consideration. “This is nice, too.”

“I don’t care, just leave me out of it!” Gideon zipped past his parents and up the stairs. His thumping feet faded within a few seconds.

“Wow.” Téa put her hands on her hips. “He should’ve been the Flash instead.”

Belle and Rumple didn’t need to know who that was to appreciate the remark. They laughed, as did their little girl. Rumple waved his hand. The Hela costume and Doctor Strange costume swapped places.

“Yes!” Both of Téa’s fists pumped up. “I am the Sorcerer Supreme!”

“For today,” Belle reminded her. She helped her daughter twist her long hair into a bun. The ‘do prevented any interference with the high cape collar that was already attempting to lift her off the ground. Rumple placed a jack-o-lantern bucket in one hand while he took the other. He told her how to command the cape so it didn’t take off against her wishes.

“Will we be back in time to see Gideon leave for the dance?” Téa asked as they headed out the door. “I want Neal and Robin to see my costume!”

“We’ll make sure they see it,” Belle said.

“Even with magic, both your costumes took a good deal of effort,” Rumple said. “We might as well show them off.”

[snowbellewells]

“Looking for a Heart that’s not Walking Away”  ~chapter six

Here is the next part of my Liam/Belle story for those who are interested.  I’d still love to hear what you think...

“Looking for a Heart that’s not Walking Away” 

by snowbellewells (TutorGirlml on ff.net)

chapter six

( “…turn the lights down low, walk these halls alone…”)

 Flashback to six months past, in Hade’ lair after Belle is gone…

           “Now then, ‘Dark One’…” Hades purrs silkily, almost mocking the title that would cow most adversaries in the way he rolls it around on his wicked tongue, “your lovely, sweet little wife is no longer here to see, so let us get down to our real business.”

           “As you wish,” Gold seethes, his voice an equally malevolent hiss as he responds by giving a bare dip of his head to signal his readiness to deal, though his gaze never wavers from the scorned deity, not trusting for a moment that the Lord of the Underworld will not strike out at him if his guard wavers for a moment.

           “Good,” Hades affirms.  “You like deals, Rumplestiltskin, so let’s not mince words. Here is what I require…”

           Gold’s eyes narrow dangerously, used to giving ultimatums and resenting being given one, but clenching his teeth and forcing himself to listen.  If Killian Jones could see the way his eyes glimmer menacingly now, he would note the reptilian glint he has always asserted was in his old crocodile’s stare.

           Hades continues unperturbed, clearly confident in his possession of the upper hand.  “You see, I have had a recent loss here in my kingdom – a reduction of my forces, if you will – and that simply will not do.”  He shakes his head with a clearly false look of hurt dismay.  “I mean, granted, all the souls here in this realm answer to me and ultimately operate according to my will, so it’s not that I actually miss one or two who might move on or escape, but, how does that look?  I mean, if I let this escape go unanswered, the other might start getting ideas…”

           When he pauses significantly for a beat, Gold does not hesitate to hiss nastily, “I cannot cay I blame these residents for wanting to be rid of your oily presence, but I do understand your conundrum.  Once one seizes control, he cannot let it falter again, or he risks losing it.”

           “Precisely,” Hades allows smoothly, and regains rule of the conversation. “So, here is where you come in – if you wish to be free of this domain, and to safeguard your unborn child as well, I must have souls in exchange. One must be the rightful property I have already possessed for some time now – Captain Liam Jones.  One does not simply cross me and then waltz from my purview without consequence.  I will grant you, Dark One, choice over which two other unfortunate souls complete your debt, but three in total are needed to replace the three I am relinquishing: you, Mrs. Gold, and the infant due me.  Though…” an almost ravenous gleam flashes in his eye as he drawls his last words out with thoughtful relish, “I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on Killian Jones again. Tormenting him is all too rewarding, and it might take the actual length of my reign to fully break him.”

           While Gold’s teeth grind together to hold back a retort at Hades’ mention of “granting” him anything as if doing him a favor, a pleased and voracious fire kindles in the depth of his dark gaze at the god’s parting suggestion.  “Well,” he murmurs sleekly, nearly rubbing his hands together in glee, “if he is your wish, you needn’t even make the order.  Him I will bring you simply for pleasure.”

           Details hammered out, and malicious deal struck, Hades grants Gold his leave, knowing he has the slippery spinner right where he wants him – a bind with no loopholes even a master can find – so feeling magnanimous enough to let the evil imp carry out his task in his own way and on his own time.  He might be a fallen deity, but that doesn’t keep him from a swelling sense of near-giddy satisfaction at the way their little détente has gone.  Besting the Dark One is a rare occurrence indeed, and so he is shocked to have things proceed exactly according to his plans. Humming some snatch of an unremembered tune to himself, Hades began to stroll toward the lowest rings of his reviled dungeon.  He needs to make sure all is ready for his awaited guests: his lost captain, the pirate he had barely begun to deliciously torture, and – he suspects – the Enchanted Forest’s Savior herself…

~~~~~000000~~~~~~~000000~~~~~~

           Time seems to move in a sort of vacuum at Storybrooke’s hospital; for those waiting anxiously to hear news of Belle, her child, and their well-being it trickles so slowly as to not seem mobile at all.  They sit, or pace, aimlessly – like islands separate from the rest of the hospital bustling around them, and from the rst of the world outside its walls.  The small group came with Belle have been joined by an anxious Snow White, Prince Charming, and their second child, but none of those gathered speak, only wait and nervously hope for the best.  Killian alternates between raking his hand in sharp frustration back through his much disheveled dark hair and jolting up to pace the waiting room from wall to wall and back a few times, then slumping into the chair by his brother and beginning the process over again.  Emma wants to go to him, wrap him up in her arms, and promise him that this gentle kindred spirit he’s found – surely his best friend apart from her, her family, and his brother – will make it through this unscathed, but she stops herself time and again before she can reach out; not having the words nor the power to make such a promise.  Instead, she stands in the room’s entryway, leaning against the wall and watching the distraught men before her.

           In contrast to Killian, Liam is still as a statue, eyes focused somewhere far off that the rest of them cannot see.  Emma would like to go to him to offer comfort as well: the right whispered words and a hand on his shoulder, but she is held back by uncertainty.  She can’t read his thoughts, but the tension and worry within him is all too clear in the way he clenches and unclenches his fist over and over, studying the movement as if none of the rest of them are even there.

           She can’t hold back a small, fond smile though as her gaze comes to rest on the third person in the room.  He doesn’t move or speak, but Henry sits at Liam’s left elbow, offering stalwart support. Emma knows that Henry has taken to his “step-uncle” of sorts with incredible gusto ever since Liam was able to return to Storybrooke with them, but it isn’t until now that she clearly sees proof of just how deep the connection runs the other way as well. Henry has his chair so close to Killian’s older brother that their knees practically touch, and every so often Liam nods or reaches back to pat Henry’s hand, even if he doesn’t say a word or break from his near-trance of concentration.  Clearly, he is drawing some relief from her son’s earnest presence.

           Catching Henry’s eye, Emma offers him an encouraging smile and tosses him the water bottle she’d been to the vending machine to get.  She is nearing the point of tapping her toe anxiously on the linoleum of the hospital floor or joining her True Love in his circuit of the room, when a nurse finally enters just behind her, clears her throat, and asks if they are waiting for an update on Belle Gold.

           Killian and Henry are at either side of her in the next moment, and Liam fairly vaults across the room to stop just in front of this messenger.  His throat works desperately for several moments, but when no words escape, Emma finally lays her hand softly on his forearm and answers for them all, “Yes, we are.”

           The nurse dips her chin curtly, clearly not intending to waste time in delivering the news and heading back the way she had come.  “Well, we had to sedate her.  She was in such a state of distress that her heartrate was harmful to her and her fetus; thus the sedation to bring it down.  She’s stabilized now, and aware again, but I’m afraid she is in labor. At this point in the pregnancy, the baby is still premature, but far enough along that she stands a good chance of being healthy and whole – if an extra bit small and fragile, now if –”

           But she is interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from Emma, Henry’s gasps and bugged eyes, Killian Jones abruptly demanding, “So the baby’s coming now? What can we do to help?!”, and the general clamoring to their feet and moving forward of Snow and David as well. Liam’s eyes are solemn and bright at this news as he whispers in soft awe, “A girl?...Belle so wanted a girl…”

           The nurse’s gaze finds him at that and she beckons to him amidst their small crowd.  She gives a short, apologetic smile to the rest of her captive audience, already shaking her head at the rest of them slightly in regret.  “I’m sorry, there’s not time for more discussion now.  I need to get back to the delivery room.  The doctor will be out to notify you as soon as possible.  Your friend is in good hands and doing as well as can be expected.”  Turning her full attention to Liam alone then, she speaks to him over her shoulder while already beginning to move back the way she came, “You may come with me though, Captain,” she offers with the tiniest hint of a smile.  “Someone has been asking for you.”

           Liam is flabbergasted, jaw dropped for a moment until his younger brother huffs out a humored breath and jovially punches him in the shoulder adding, “Well, go on then!” and Emma nearly giggles at the break in the tension, lightly pushing him forward as well until he comes back to himself and snaps into motion. Without another moment’s pause, Liam hurries forward, all too ready to be back at Belle’s side if that is her wish.

~~~~~000000~~~~~~000000~~~~~~

           Once Liam has disappeared from their sight, Emma takes Killian’s elbow and steers him toward two seats in the corner of the waiting room a bit away from everyone else.  Her love looks more than a bit on edge and distraught for his friend and his brother, mouth pressed into a thin, tense line and hair practically standing on end from his pulling at it, but he still follows her lead without resistance.

           When they have resettled themselves on side-by-side seats, turned towards each other, her fingers intertwined with his and her other hand grasping the smooth curve of his hook, Emma tries to really study Killian’s face deeply.  She can see the stormy whirl of confusion, worry, and anger at both the situation and his inability to improve it, but she also needs him to break free enough to focus and hear what she is going to say. “Killian,” she starts, speaking slowly and plainly, “it’s going to be fine, okay?  Yes, Belle’s early, but women have babies at this point and things work out.  They’ll have to take precautions; Belle and the baby may have to stay in the hospital a little longer, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be alright in the end. Belle is strong – stronger than most of us give her credit for a lot of the time – and she’s got Liam at her side, and all of us out here pulling for her too. Plus, for all that he’s kind of a creepy letch, Whale’s a pretty good doctor.  Quite a few people around here can attest to that.”  She offers Killian a lopsided half smile at this last little concession, trying for a bit of soothing humor.

           Her pirate returns the barest hint of a smile in return, but it’s clear he’s only forcing it to please her.  Bobbing his head in just a bit of a nod, he agrees, “Aye, Swan, I know that,” but then he hesitates, wets his lips, and plunges forward more hesitantly, “but there’s more.”

           Emma’s brow furrows, studying her True Love’s conflicted expression with genuine desire to understand, to sooth, and to support.  “Tell me then,” she whispers, releasing his hook briefly to brush her fingers over his face, lightly tracing his jawline and then up across the faded scar high on his cheekbone.  “I want to know what’s wrong, what I can do…Let me help.’

           He shakes his head just slightly, bringing their joined hands up to press his lips to the back of hers.  “Swan, would that you could, but there is nothing anyone can do to change this tale of woe.”

           Emma, however, is not to be dissuaded and doesn’t pull back even an inch. She strokes affectionate fingers through his unruly hair with a sad, knowing little smile, realizing that whatever haunts him will be painful and something he possibly hasn’t been able to speak of for years.  “Well,” she responds, “I can listen.”

           Huffing out a sigh, Killian drops his gaze for several moments, studying their fingers laced together, the rings on his fingers, and even a loose thread at the hem of her sweater.  When he looks up again and finally speaks, his voice is a hushed whisper.  “Not only is Liam afraid for Belle right now,” Killian offers, “but this has to make him think of our mum.”

           Emma can’t help tilting her head to the side in curious interest. It happens almost unconsciously.  Killian has never offered to speak about his mother in even the most passing fashion, and she has wondered – quite often in fact, if the truth be told – what sort of woman Killian and Liam’s mother must have been.  Now that she knows the real story behind what their father had done to his sons, she is even more certain that the woman who bore them must have been someone extraordinary, bringing two men into the world with such boundless depths of honor and bravery, despite the horrible paternal example they’d had and the many obstacles and trials the world had placed in their paths.  Still, even with all of this in her mind, Emma tries to seem casual, only wanting to gently help when she urges him to continue, “Your mom?  Why? You…You’ve never mentioned her to me before.”

           Killian swallows hard; she sees his Adam’s apple bob in his throat and the way he seems to be gathering the strength to continue.  She wants to make it easier for him, but some things just have to be said; must be spoken out loud and finally purged from the collective weight on one’s shoulders.  So instead she merely waits, pressing his hand in silent encouragement, but not speaking.

           “Aye, well, that would be because I never knew her,” Killian murmurs, his voice low, clearly wanting to share only with his True Love, and barely her at that. “She died just days after my birth…some sort of complications, infection…at least that was what my father told me when I asked later.  The only memories I have of her are borrowed from what Liam told me.  But he…” Killian falters here, his words wracked with pain and a sort of guilt that she hates to see in him, “he was seven.  Old enough to remember all too well; to be frightened by what happened and miss his adoring mum who was just suddenly gone.  He never made me feel as if he blamed my coming for her loss; he took such good care of me when neither of us had anything and he was still a child himself, but it must make it worse for him now.  He cares deeply for Belle…and with this early labor…it has to take his mind back to a place he would rather not venture…”

           Emma nods her understanding, throat tight with unshed tears and knowing no words are needed to convey her sympathy anyway.  In the strangest of ways, it is yet another link between them where she can understand as few others would, having grown up with no mother that she knew of herself.  Bringing their joined hands up to clasp to her heart, she simply has to wrap her other arm around him and pull her pirate in close.  “This isn’t going to be like that,” she tries to reason convincingly, sounding far more confident than she feels.

           “I hope you’re right, Lass,” he answers simply, allowing himself to lean on her support for several moments, head almost resting on her shoulder.  “I hope you’re right.”

           The quiet contact has almost managed to suffuse a sort of calm between them when they are rousted from the moment by Henry’s anxiously worried voice.  “Mom! Killian!” he calls, already at Emma’s side almost before she processes his words.  “Something’s happening! See?”

           Henry thrusts the large, handsomely bound and well-loved book he has carried almost everywhere with him since he found her in Boston years ago before their eyes.  A story has begun to form on the pages in front of them, but Emma merely glances at it, then returns her attention to her son for answers.

           “I was writing down what’s happened today, hoping that later it might be nice for Grandma Belle – you know, help remind her how strong she is…” his voice trails off here and he shrugs almost sheepishly.

           Before Emma can even start reassuring her son, Killian speaks up with a hand to the young man’s shoulder and a kind, soft smile.  “That’s a wonderful gesture, Lad.  Truly.  And with Belle’s love for the written word, one that will mean much to her.”

           Henry’s cheeks color slightly, clearly pleased with the man’s praise, but it doesn’t shift his focus for long.  “Thanks, but that’s not what you need to see.  Look there!” he points to the last few sentences on the page he has shown them, which end abruptly in a hasty splat of ink and unfinished scrawl off the edge of the thick paper.  “I started to write one thing, and it was like the pen had a mind of its own.  Some sort of inspiration brought this out before I could even think it.  I think…maybe…the book is trying to warn us.”

           Emma couldn’t help her surprise at that one.  She’s learned that many things and people she never could have imagined being real did truly exist in Storybrooke, but this surprises her all the same.  “Wait…Henry…you mean the book is speaking to you – or, through you?”

           He shrugs, a bemused smile on his teenage face, knowing it’s crazy but also that it’s happening nonetheless.  “More or less, yeah,” he affirms.

           Their exchange has drawn in Snow and David as well.  “The book did appear to me, and I just knew it should go to Henry,” her mother reasons softly, looking somewhat awestruck.  “He is the Author after all, and the Truest Believer.  Maybe it can tell him things others couldn’t read from it.”

           Emma scrubs a hand over her face in an attempt to process.  Shaking her head in good natured disbelief, all she can do is agree.  “That makes sense, I guess. Honestly, it’s not even the strangest thing I’ve heard today.”

           Killian huffs out a low, startled chuckle at her words, but then his eyes fall to the written words again and he gathers all too easily why Henry had been alarmed in the first place.  His expression sobers in an instant, and his spine snaps straight, “Henry,” he breathes, fingers poised over the newest additions to the story, “does this mean…?”

           Henry frowns along with the quick bob of his head that follows.  “That’s what I was afraid of,” he answers seriously.

           Emma finally turns her eyes to the words on the page long enough to read the new passage: “With the personal totems belonging to both Captains, the Dark One now had them trapped in a sort of thrall, a dense magical force field surrounding them which no one else could pass through and which held them motionless and still at the evil imp’s whim.  ‘Now, if only I possessed something which belonged to the Savior as well, we could have Miss Swan and be on our way…’ he sing songed maliciously.  Emma realized briefly that she was no longer in the hospital waiting room with her loved ones, but seeing and hearing this all play out behind her eyes; however, before she could break through any further the vision sucked her back under. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes glinted with a feral power more frightening than any other incarnation of him that she had yet encountered.  She could see clearly from where she, Henry, her father, and Belle were standing on the outside of the pulsing, glowing wall of enchanted power, yelling and beating, desperate to find a way in.  Their collective blood ran cold as Rumplestiltskin let out a gleefully sadistic cackle of triumph, ‘Oh wait,’ he crowed, ‘I believe I do!’ before he plunged his clawed, scaly hand into Killian’s chest, removing his heart and squeezing just enough to torment.  ‘This is hers, isn’t it, Pirate?’ he mocked…

           Her eyes fly back up from the page and Emma blinks dazedly, glancing around her at matching worried faces. “Did you guys see all of that too?” she whispers.

           Killian takes her trembling hand in his while her family looks on in puzzled confusion.  “Only what is on the page, Love,” Killian answers, brow furrowed in thought, “that the Crocodile possesses items which belong to Liam and I and will use them to trap us.  But that is more than enough trouble for now, I would say.”

           “There was more after that though…I saw it!” Emma presses, “It was like some sort of premonition.”

           “Maybe some bit of foresight…from when you were the Dark One yourself?” Killian suggests hesitantly, hating to bring up that bleak time whatever the reason.

           “It might be,” she muses, “but if that’s true, he thinks he’s going to take three souls back to Hades to save his own skin.  And we are not going to let that happen.”

Tagging a few who may enjoy or being interested in this, previous chapters are posted on ff.net: @whimsicallyenchantedrose @drowned-dreamer @bromfieldhall @mossandmushroom @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable @kitkattin92 @dramawiie @midnightswans @katealexandra26 @kmomof4